Webkinz: Virtual Crack

Hi my name is Christie.

Hi Christie.

I am a kinzaholic. It has been 25 minutes since my last spin at the Wheel of Wow, and 2 days since I last enrolled a pet at Kinzville Academy.

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It all started so innocently. As I was searching out ideas for Christmas gifts, I noticed that in every Hallmark or doo-dad shop their hung a flyer: "Webkinz Sold Here!!!" What is the big deal with these things? I wondered. After a lengthy explanation from the overzealous Hallmark worker, I understood that these cute little stuffed animals come with a code which logs you onto webkinz.com. It is like a virtual world for the pets. So if you buy a pig, you log his code onto Webkinz and now you have virtual pig in Kinzville. You take care of the pig, buy him food and clothes, decorate his home, etc. Sounds cute, right? So, come Christmas morning, Mario the black lab and Tootsie Roll the Clydesdale horse joined our family.

At first, we barely ever "took care" of these online pets. Every so often the kids would ask to log on. They would feed their pets and buy them little outfits, but their play was always limited by the fact that they needed Kinzcash to buy items. To get the cash, you have to play the games. A LOT. I repeat, A LOT.

A couple of months ago, I was talking to a friend, whom we will refer to as The Pusher. She was telling me that she plays some of the games on webkinz to earn the cash for her kids. What?! I thought. Is she serious? Some of the puzzle games were actually fun, she tried to convince me. I nodded aggreeably, but inside I was thinking, We are so not having playdaytes with these people anymore.

Not but a couple of days later, I kid you not, I was at the Spectrum, letting the kids frolic in the water turtles. Behind me sat some sort of mom group. I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but they were practically screaming as they excitedly spoke about the Webkinz games they played late after the kids had gone to bed. I seriously could not believe my ears. This is end times, I thought. Locusts, floods, famine and crazy mothers playing on webkinz.

But later that night, I couldn't help myself. I had to see what the fuss was about.

So. I logged in. That's all it takes, folks. One hit, and your spiraling out of control down the slippery slope of Kinz Care.

First I was just playing a little solitaire. Then some word games. The thing was, the games were fun. I like doing word puzzles and sudoku kind of stuff, so if I was going to play these puzzles anyway, why not earn the kids a little cash for their pets, right?

And, I mean, if I am earning all this cash, I might as well take a peek at what is available for purchase in the shop. And of course, if I am going to peek, I might as well buy those cute pink tutus for the Clydesdale. And she will need a dresser for the clothes ... a fridge for the food and a backyard in which to exercise. What? You can plant a garden in the backyard? Cha ching! Before you know it, I wasn't just playing the games anymore. I was feeding the pets, buying them things, taking them to school and getting them jobs. Why? I don't know. Why does anyone turn to the underbelly of the web?

So, the kinzcash was vanishing faster than you can say "neurotic," and I still hadn't gotten the pool for Tootsie Roll's backyard, and Grace really wanted one. (Not really. I just said that to make me seem less weird.) I knew what I had to do. Call in reinforcements. The big guns. El Supremo.

My mom.

My mom, word puzzle aficionado and supporting grandmother, eagerly took it upon herself to earn mega bucks doing daily puzzles. The cash was pouring in, and the kids were stocking up on loot of all kinds. Pools, kitchens, bathrooms, toys, etc. It was the glory days.

And then. I called my mom one night, and she happened to be logging on to webkinz.

"This is weird," she said. "The horse is crying."

"What? Tootsie Roll?"

"Yeah. He's crying."

"Well, why?! Why is he crying?!"

"I don't know! How am I supposed to know why he's crying?"

"Ask him! Click on SPEAK!"

"Where is SPEAK?"

"SPEAK! SPEAK! It's in the corner."

"I can't find it!"

"Just take him to the doctor then! Dr. Quack! Why is he crying???!!!"

"Oh wait. He just said, 'It is lonely without you here.'"

"What?"

Does this sound like a typical almost 30 year old woman talking to her mother?

It only got worse, when one night I accidentally (?) ended up battling another webkinz owner in a game of Go Fish.

"Dude." I said to Matt. "I am totally killing this chick."

"This chick is, like, six." he replied.

Perhaps it was then, that I realized I had a problem.

One night, for laughs, I googled "parents addicted to webkinz" and discovered that their are entire online communities devoted to parents who own their own webkinz, talk about them, and search for friends through these sites. No joke. One of the board threads was titled "Looking for friends???" Another is titled, "How many do you have? Sex and Name?" What?! How do you decipher the sex of a stuffed animal??? Okay, so maybe my problem had not evolved quite as far, but I was willing to bet my Clydesdale's blue bubble vest that none of my other mom friends, The Pusher aside, were spending their evenings raking in kinzcash and tending to their Webkinz gardens. It was time.

And, so, it is with fondness that I bid adieu to Mario, Tootsie Roll, Luigi, Peanuts, Cookie, Oinky and Muncher. Though I may stop in from time to time and play a few games, I will no longer be able to take you to Dr. Quacks, enroll you at Kinzville Academy, or cook you meals on your Pinkrageous! stovetop. We have had good times together, but it is time I leave you at the mercy of your true adoptive parents - the children. God help you.

P.S. Mom, this does not mean you have permission to stop stockpiling the cash. Not that I care or anything. You know, for the children.