You have a halo above you like you’re the devil’s own queen.

With apologies to Kris for publishing his work online without his permission,
I give you…

Beth

Why are your eyes pointed at the side
Like a knife trying to enter my soul?
How many knives would it take
And how many nights with your nails in me
In me?

You have a halo above you
Like you’re the devil’s own queen
But I beat the devil at chess last night, baby
Your eyes could say goodbye without looking
Your eyes could put me in a lead coffin
With no black coffee or tea

Beth

©2002 Kristin T. Heath. All Rights Reserved.
Originally from the limited-release EP Beth the Devil Saintress Maid of Ghosts.

Not Feeling The Love Here

Yeah. I see from my logs (which are tedious to browse) that I’m getting hits, but nobody is tagging. Ah, well. I guess I’ll press on and hope someone gives a shit about what I’m writing. If not, well, it’s still a good outlet for me.

I have ten rolls of Super-8 film in my refrigerator. I got them for cheap at a garage sale last year. I still haven’t figured out what to do with them. I still haven’t sent in the few rolls I shot back in the year 1999 or 2000. I finally have one mailer, though, so I’m going to send in a roll and see what comes back. None of them are labeled, so I guess it’ll be a surprise. I’m guessing most of my movies will be hopelessly underexposed, but we’ll see.

Work tally today = 11.75 hours.

After you’ve gotten used to eating less than 20 grams of carbohydrate a day, bumping it up to 25 is a challenge. I have a pretty set list of things I eat, and adding carby stuff to that requires thought. So far, it’s midnight, and I’ve only eaten about 13 carbs total. Won’t even make it to 20 today, much less 25. Egh… never thought I’d have that problem with this diet.

I’m tired, and I should at least go read, if not go to sleep.

Randomness

Of all the blogs I frequent, everybody except Sheryl seems to be in a bit of a blog hiatus. And, while I would like to complain, I will instead make myself part of the solution rather than the problem by updating my own site. And, boy, do I have a bunch of randomness to throw out there. I’ve been saving it up.

I ate tuna salad for lunch yesterday. So all afternoon, at my desk at work, I had the most awful tuna burps. I finally just had to share this fact with my co-workers, and they were rightly amused — not so much that I was belching tuna, but that I felt the need to share.

Oh, and I managed to miss last week’s fire drill at work, though it sounds like it was so pathetic that there might be another one before it snows. One department just didn’t leave the building. I guess they didn’t want to stop working or something. Wish everybody had that kind of balls.

Here’s an announcement you’d never want to be applicable to you: "Heather Ard, please return to your desk." Now, I don’t know Heather, but I know she’s the building’s new Executive Assistant. And all I could think of was poor Heather, whoever she is, sitting on the shitter and hearing herself paged back to her own desk. You are our prisoner! Muah-hah-hah!

The quotable for yesterday: "Are you trying to make me cry?" After I’d reminded our 23-year-old temp that it would soon be her turn to process the god-awful huge account that all of us hate.

Have you ever listened to the lyrics of Chicago’s 25 or 6 to 4? Sounds like the dude is fucking high.

Staring blindly into space
Getting up to splash my face
Wanting just to stay awake
Wond’ring how much I can take
Should I try to do some more
Twenty-five or six to four

Get to the part about the room spinning deep, and he’s in the middle of a goddamned acid trip or something.

Psychologists at the University of Liverpool in England have completed a study wherein they measured people’s reactions to overweight or obese people. The results showed a lower opinion not only of those who are fat, but also those who socialize with fat people. So, yeah, sorry ’bout your luck, folks. I didn’t mean to make people think you’re a lazy, slothful bum just because we hang out together. 🙂

gravity games desktopAnd in conclusion, let me unveil my very first desktop background! Ta-dah! I decided that this photo of a dude jumping a dirt kicker (read: hill) would make a good desktop. Plus, I felt the urge to dust off the old Photoshop skillz and learn some new stuff.

The only thing I scammed off the internet was the Gravity Games logo — and damn, getting it to look that nice in plain black was a trick, I tell you. Check out their page and see what I mean. But, anyway, the skyline photo and the biker photo are both original work. If you’re wondering what kinds of fun tricks were used, think masking and layer blending modes. Whee!

If you like it, it’s available for download in 1024×768 and 800×600 sizes. Oh, and if you want to set your desktop color to match, it’s R:26 G:120 B:167. I’m so proud of myself. Go me!

Blog, Interrupted

Well, I had started an entry back on Sunday, the day after the righteous Pietasters show Aaron and I went to in Cleveland, at the new Grog Shop. Then I walked away from my computer for a while, and a power surge hit, and our power went out for a split second. And that was all she wrote for the aborted Pietasters review. I was even starting with the end and working backwards, so I wouldn’t stop before I got to the good part, like I always do.

So, it occurs to me that I haven’t updated in a while. A good couple weeks here. I know I get frustrated when other people don’t update their blogs on a regular basis, so I guess I’d better get on the ball.

I’ve been sneaking a few grams of sugar a day, here and there, and pretending that they wouldn’t hurt. Hey, I missed my Miracle Whip Light, and I bought a whole box of those Atkins Advantage bars, and the cream cheese was calling to me. And so, I have gained back five pounds in the past few days, and my ketosis has put on the brakes, though it hasn’t stopped completely. Although it occurs to me that it might not be entirely my sugar-sneaking that has bumped me back up a few pounds, as it’s about time for my Monthly Visitor, as my mother used to call it (when she still had one).

Not a whole lot else going on… Got rid of the Macquarium shell and my old copy of Norton Utilities 2.0 for Mac by posting on some Mac newsgroups. They’re headed out soon, for only the cost of shipping them to their new homes. Um, what else…? I have the next few days off of work, which is nice. Aaron’s vacation ends Monday, which makes both of us sad. But we’re going to see Kill Bill on Friday, and off to the Apple Butter Fest on Sunday (where I am only going to have a handful of Kris’s kettle corn), so that’ll be fun.

And that’s about it.

Idiocy

What draws imbeciles to congregate at the Post Office?

So, I had to mail two packages of eBay goodness, a roll of film from the Ren Fest, and a few bills. Since I knew Tuesdays are usually super-light at work, I opted to wait until after work to mail all these things. Three-thirty rolls around, I get to leave work, and I head to the BG Post Office. Parking lot looks a little busy, but I find an appropriate spot, park, gather my crap, and head in. And here’s what I find:

  • Indian woman and pre-teen (or is it "tween"?) daughter are standing next to their packages on the form-filly-outie counter. This leaves space for two or three non-existent people in front of them in line. The rest of us are crowding out the door of the lobby. Indian woman is talking on her cell to someone about a job interviewee, saying things like, "He must say he wants to be a part of the team," and, "Skill set matches the job description. Yes. Skill set matches…"
  • Only two out of three windows are open, despite the out-the-door line of waiting customers.
  • At window #1 is a college-age woman who apparently owns no envelopes and must wait until she gets up to the window at the post office to put her writing sample in a large envelope. Townie woman behind me mutters, "She couldn’t have done that at home?" I decide I like the townie woman.
  • At window #2 is a couple who has moved from New Jersey, and did the proper thing in having their mail forwarded. Unfortunately, someone with their same last name moved into their old house, and the less-than-intelligent postal carrier out in Joisey is forwarding the new tenant’s mail to these former tenants. Postal clerk tells them to write a letter to the Postmaster of that city, explaining the issue.
  • Meanwhile, the stupidity at window #1 has moved along, and the Indian woman and her daughter lug their two giant boxes up to the counter. (The pregnant lady in front of me moves up in line, allowing the five people behind me to finally enter the lobby.) In these boxes are books headed for London, and they need to be shipped as cheaply as possible. They proceed with filling out customs forms and miscellaneous tags.
  • Confusion from window #2 is complete, and the pregnant woman takes her turn at the counter. She has two packages — to return to sender. (?!) The postal clerk scribbles the correct things on them and puts them in the appropriate place behind the counter. The woman then proceeds to buy stamps, but must see all the nifty choices before selecting a book of postage to purchase. The townie behind me is fidgeting and preparing to go postal, so to speak.
  • Finally, finally, after about 15 minutes, it’s my turn. Package number one: Media Mail with Delivery Confirmation. Check. Number two: Cheap Airmail to Canada. Check. Need stamps. Check. Done. Move aside and let crazy townie take her turn while I put my change away.

    Is it that difficult? Sheesh.

    And in the news… a Romanian Gypsy family recently arranged a marriage between their 12-year-old daughter and a 15-year-old boy. [brief pause for consideration] OK, comments from the peanut gallery:

    I don’t know about you, ladies, but by age 12, I hadn’t even officially "become a woman" yet, and had barely even discovered the joy of, um… self-gratification. Real sex? Jinkies. Come to think of it, boys had only recently ceased to be icky — like, within a year or so beforehand.

    And how about responsibility? I wasn’t even responsible enough to keep my room clean, much less clean an entire abode. And I was lucky to be making macaroni and cheese from the box at that age. I’m guessing Gypsies have a much different upbringing than I did, but still…!

    OK, rant over.

    By the way, since I started the Atkins Diet, I’ve lost one inch in my waist and a little more than an inch in my bust (which I’m chalking up to back fat instead of actual boobage). And while my actual weight loss has stalled, I’m still losing about half an inch a week, so I’m sticking with it. Rama at work is amazed at how much I’ve lost, and is excited to be off of work on Mondays in time to go to her Weight Watchers meetings again. It’s the battle of the diet plans… 😉