Not only do you get a big black cross on your forehead, but you’re supposed to fast (one light meal or something like that). Generally, this isn’t a problem. Hell, I fast all the time (and yet I remain fat. Ugh.) and it isn’t a problem. But every year when Ash Wednesday rolls around, I am starving. I ate an entire pot of soup by myself about two hours ago and I’m hungry again. I mean, what gives? I swear, it’s bad karma or something.

In other news, I desperately need to get some new plugs. Right now I have in acrylic plugs/pinchers in my ears, and they’re really pissed off. I have some 6g steel flesh tunnels on the way, but I still need some 10g steel somethings for my second set. I took out my bottom pinchers to clean them off and my ear was not happy in the least. Sigh, I need money to so I can afford to keep my ears in good condition.

I’ve added some new piercings to my list of ones I plan to get: a medusa and cheeks/dimples. They is spifty, yes. Anywho…still waiting to get my septum done. Whee.

That’s all I have to say.

Okay, so it seems a little silly to be grieving over a blog, but this wasn’t just any blog. It was the blog, the first blog, the perfect blog. I remember the day I found it, all the hours I spent posting over and over, finding new templates, messing around. It was bliss. But it’s no more.

So, I set off on a search for a new blog. I keep up my Xanga, post every day and what not, but most of the shit I post there is fluff. My Diary X I used for more “deep” thoughts, for lack of a better word. I guess this is the replacement. But you know, it’s not half bad. I just have to figure out how to make my own templates…this prefab nonsense is bothering me.

It’ll take me a little while to get used to it, but there’s something liberating about throwing all caution to the wind and setting up a new blog, under a name you’ve never used before.

…what can I say, I have no life.

In other news; today dad was going through all of our old home movies and recording them onto normal VHS tapes. He’d call me and the twins or Abra in every once in a while to look at something – the family on the beach, a birthday, a trip to the cemetary. They brought back memories.

There were a few with me and my goats on it. I’ve always hated being on the camera. I stood sheepishly off to the side, shooting nervous glances between the camera and my goats. It’s been awhile since the goat days, I suppose. I was twelve the summer I have them, that’s pushing three years, but it seems like it wasn’t that long ago. But watching it, I see big differences.

I was able to run around in cut offs or just a big t shirt, free of worrying constantly about covering up my legs. I didn’t look so tired. I had long, annoying hair. I think I was fatter then, which is a little disturbing. Hannah called me Rach back then, “Rei” didn’t exist like it does now.

I miss my goats. I’d like to get some more. Maybe this summer. If I’m not in Colorado or Oregon or Australia or Canada or God knows where else.