Huzzah! Drinks all around, kittens, I'm going to the moon! It's been a while since I've written, and a lot has happened, but most importantly, my dreaded messy room mates from hell have moved out! All right, enough already with the exclamation marks.

Yup, Kiki and Bond are gone. After weeks of passive-aggressively piling their dishes on the counter in the hopes that they would take the hint and WASH THEM, things between them and Laney and I reached a fevered pitch. After returning home from a long weekend only to find that they had not touched the brimming sinkful of pots, plates, and seemingly every damn piece of cutlery in the house in five days, Laney had had enough. "I'm not washing them, but I don't want to look at them either. So, they're going in a box in front of their bedroom doors." I didn't even try to stop her, because frankly, I thought the idea was bitchy and fabulous, and if she wasn't going to do it, I certainly was.

So, Bond and KiKi come home to find disgusting, filthy dishes sitting upstairs, and fly into a rage. They are apparently completely offended at our catty, under-handed behaviour, and it doesn't alleviate their pain at all when I point out that I've asked them *repeeeaaatedly* to try and wash the dishes a little more often. Evidently, unless every.fucking.plate in the free world is sitting in our sink, then they can just put off doing them a wee bit longer. Twits.

The next day, Bond retaliated by taking her microwave, coffeemaker, and toaster and put them up in her room. Which was fine by me, cuz (a)Laney and I already had a coffeemaker and toaster, and (b)I heard later on that night one of Bond's friends say that the microwave made her room smell like foot. Hee. Laney and I decided to up the hostility factor in the house by collecting all their Ikea crap decor into a corner, and putting up some of our art work, and vintage licquor posters. Juvenile, yes, but it was deliciously mischievous and fun to boot.

After a week of doing the avoidance thing, and Laney and I cackling to ourselves like evil witches whenever we conciously made the effort to annoy Bond and KiKi, I discovered from a half-way mutual friend at our Halloween party that they had decided to move out (which the drunk friend thought was "so stupid. You and Laney are frucking [sic] awesome!). Oh, happy day! By the way, I also learned that we are "crazy" because we had a Mexican Margarita Night (I am tequila's bitch), and we like to knit. Fuck that noise, I've got the coolest scarf on the planet, and it cost me three dollars to make, as opposed to the forty dollars that Bond's mumsie spent buying for her. Die, princess, die.

When I remembered to tell Laney the next day, we literally broke into happy jigs, hugging and smiling like loons. You would have thought we had learned the secret to cloning our TV Boyfriends (Alias's Sark for me, thanks, in case anyone asks). The following Monday, they were gone.

Now Laney and I have the house to ourselves, and it's splendid. Luckily, because we live in the college Residence, our rent isn't affected no matter how many people live here. The house has been clean for a record two weeks now, in case you were wondering, which I'm sure you weren't.

By the by, my Halloween was smashing. I dressed as Alex DeLarge of "A Clockwork Orange", complete with derby hat, big fake eyelashes, and a blood-soaked straightjacket that I fashioned myself (yeah, I'm an effing genius). A grand total of one person knew who I was, a totally cute random guy at a party we hit down the street. And that? Made my night.

Wow, must not go so long between entries. Apparently, I had a lot to say.

Miss Black

Listening to: Maroon 5's "Songs About Jane" album, and it's totally rocking my socks.

Reading: Unfortunately, the only thing I've been reading lately is my Psych textbook. Fuck midterms.

Watching: Alias. Which has finally stopped sucking this season. Sark? Needs to call me. No. Seriously.

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Miss Black also contributes to a David Anders/Sark site under the name Chaton Espion. Feel free to visit her there if you'd like to witness the terrifying depths of obsession.