... and I am FUCKING CONFUSED AS HELL, not fine.

This is an entry probably only my sister Cat will understand or care about. Also, I type in ALL CAPS alot and profanity abounds. You've been forewarned.

WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING!?!?! Calgary beat Detroit?! They're moving on to the next round!?! What the FUCKING HELL!?!?

It's official: the Calgary Flames are the new Anaheim Mighty Ducks, and I am FREAKED the FUCK OUT. Did I stumble into some alternate universe, where every day is opposite day, and the Flames just DON'T suck anymore? What kind of world am I goddamn living in where motherfucking CALGARY is moving up in the playoffs, and the Edmonton Oilers are sitting at home with their thumbs up their GODDAMN ASSES because they didn't even make the playoffs this year?!? WHAT KIND OF WORLD, I ASK YOU!?!

If the Flames take the Cup this year... Oh my god, I can't believe I even have to type those words... I think I just threw up in my mouth a little... If they... If they take the Cup, we can all brace ourselves and start preparing for Armageddon, because SERIOUSLY, that's got to be one of the signs leading to the end of humanity. No, really. NO. REALLY.

God. GOD.

I need to lie down.

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I feel so grown up today. Not having realized that the deadline for filing for my tax returns was today, I was in a mad scramble to figure out what to do. It hit me that I'd have to do them myself, which was a bit of an obstacle, as I'd never filed on my own before. I've either paid to have them done by a professional, or gotten one of the volunteers down at the revenue building to do it for free. Anyway, long story short, I sat down at the computer with all my documentation, and thirty minutes later, I'd successfully filed on my own, no help from anyone at all.

I realize that none of you care, but let me have my moment of joy.

I watched Friends last night, and despite my irritation at NBC's promos for the finale (the world won't cease to turn after the show's over, you know), I'm really going to miss it. More specifically, I'm going to miss Chandler, my favourite of the six. I have a soft spot for him, he's so snarky and fucked up. I always felt like he was the misfit of the group, like no one liked him quite as much as they liked each other, and that made me sad for the poor guy.

Alright, I need to stop watching Alias. It's making me over-analyze every other show I watch.

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I'm moved now. Actually, I've been finished with moving since Saturday, but I haven't been in the mood to update here. Don't know why. Do you ever have moods where you have plenty to write about, but you just don't feel like doing it here? I have phases where I want to devote all my time to Livejournal, and then I'll snap out of it and remember just how much I love this place. Diaryland is like my husband, and Livejournal is the sexy boy that I see around town all the time, with whom I have secret rendezvous with, and am making love to on the side. It doesn't mean that I love Dland any less, it's just that I'm entranced by the charms of another, and I'm too weak to resist. But Dland was my first, and I'll always come back to him in the end *pets Dland*.

Speaking of philandering spouses, I thought you all should know that things between Michael and I are over. I've bored you enough with the details of this maddening affair, so suffice it to say that he is a Bad Man, and I am a Silly Silly Girl for thinking otherwise. End of story.

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I'm in the transition phase of moving right now. Half of my stuff is packed, the other half can be found somewhere on the floor. The computer's gone-I'm at the library right now-and my dependency on the Internet has never been quite so clear to me. Every hour or so, I find myself thinking that I should check my e-mail or that I should Google a band or a song off a TV show, only to remember that I can't do that. It's a little scary. Stupid Alias fandom, sucking me into the depths of Internet obsession.

In other news, I was watching TV with Laney last night, and I must have appeared to be deep in thought, because she asked me what was wrong. "Do I part my hair on a weird side?" I asked.

"What?"

"My hair. Do I part it on a weird side?"

"Um, yeah. You part it on the opposite side from most people."

My entire self-image has been skewed. I've been thinking that my hair looks a certain way for all these years, and I've been wrong. Dead wrong.

I wonder if people ever look at me and wonder what deep philisophical questions I'm pondering while I'm listening to my headphones; if they look at me and think I'm some mysterious intellectual type who meditates on the wonders of the universe. If they do, they'd be surprised to find out that I'm usually just thinking about my hair, or what I'm going to have for dinner.

Miss Black

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Somebody kill me, please. No, really. NO. REALLY. I'm in the midst of packing my stuff to move out of this shithole, and I swear to GOD, I must be nine kinds of retarded. I mean, who the fuck saves bags full of EVERY SINGLE note ever written to them in high school? Who keeps the black-and-white, pixel-y printout pictures of David Boreanaz from, like, grade ten, when they don't even LIKE the guy anymore? Why the fuck do I need that pair of ugly, brown, chunky heeled loafers that I got on sale for $10, when I only wore them once a million years ago, and now consider them to be a crime against fashion, nay, humanity?! WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?

If you don't hear from me again, assume that I've died; that I've suffocated to death under a mountain of old scripts from drama class and Biology 30 notes, and exactly 59 sweaters that should be burned, nevermind donated to charity. God. GOD.

On the plus side, I got my hair cut today, Alias completely rocked my socks last night (they used the Deftones, people. THE DEFTONES. *loves*), and there's not only a new Smallville on tonight, but also the season premiere of Queer as Folk! Eeeee! My boyporn is back! Huzzah!

Alright. Back to the trenches. As always, vote for Cellar Door. You can vote once a day, you know. Go forth, and be prosperous, my darlings.

Miss Black

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Insult comedy gold? Anything with 'bag' slapped on the end of it. Seriously, you call someone a cuntbag or a fuckbag, and I will crack the fuck up like clockwork. I'm just sayin'.

I watched Kill Bill this week, and can I just say that I love O-Ren Ishii? Because I'm going to. Watch me go. I LOVE her. Obviously, me being the sick weirdo that I am, I'm going to love the villains in any flick, but O-Ren is just mad cool. When she sliced that guy's head off, I was astouned by her awesomeness. Now, I'm going around quoting her all the time. "The price you pay for eating one of my yogurt cups is this: I collect your fucking heads."

Speaking of stealing food and head (heh, cuz she's a whore, get it? Do ya?), the Roommate moved out. She's gone. GONE. I... she... I could just weep gentle tears of joy. We're going to have to scrub down the walls with hot saltwater to get rid of the bad vibes in this house--not to mention the smell of cigarettes and skank. Oooooh...

Did you vote for Cellar Door? Why the hell not? Go forth, my shiny ones, and click the tiny 'C', click the tiny 'Cellar Door', then click the tiny 'Stripdown' banner to vote for them. The power of Miss Black compells you!

Miss Black

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In the same vein as my dear friend Sarah, I ask that anyone with a spare moment go vote for my friend Kenny's band Cellar Door-taken from the movie Donnie Darko-here. I'd be much obliged. If you click on "Songs", you can listen to some of their stuff. "Pressures of Hating" is my fave. It's hard for me to be objective, because he's a friend and all, but I'd like to think that I'd like him even if we didn't know each other. Anyway, despite the fact that the douche bag stood me up last weekend (I hope you heard that, Mr. Jones), he's a cool guy, and I really want him to get this 'gig'. Rock on.

Do it. DO IT.

Miss Black

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Listening to:"Breathe In" :: Frou Frou

You know what fucking scares me? pEoPlE tHaT tYpE LiKe ThIs. Why? Why the fuck would you put that much effort into looking like a complete ass clown? I don't get it. These kids, today. Jeebus.

So, my weekend. As I said before, I went to visit Anne and her baby for a couple of days. The baby is so cute. And I don't even like babies. Last time I saw him, he was only a month or so old, so he was really bitchy and slept all the time. Bo-ring. But now, he's all screechy and smiley, and wants to play all the time. My icy little heart melted for him.

Dinner went well at her mom's house. The only thing that was a bit weird was the saying of grace before we ate, and that was only because I could barely suppress my sudden urge to giggle. Not because I was all, "Ha. You silly Christians and your stupid God" or anything, but I'm just one of those people who laugh when they feel a bit awkward in situations. Luckily, I kept it together.

Other than that, my stay was pretty uneventful. Though, I did run into an old love at the 7/11 while I was buying chocolate milk. That was kind of awesome, because he was one of those guys, you know? The type of guy who was just so fantastic and great, and you think that some small part of you will be in love with them for the rest of your miserable life, and if only you could see them one last time... you don't know what you'd do, but you just need that one last time. Well, I got my one last time, and I did nothing but marvel at the fact that I felt absolutely nothing for him. Nothing, my kittens. It was fantastic. Kind of freeing, actually.

Miss Black

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I have returned, mes petites jolie chatons.

First things first-- Bowie? Oh my god. Oh my fucking god. Words cannot describe how enormously mindblowing he was on Friday night. Where do I even begin? The opening act was this 25 person freak show called the Polyphonic Spree, fronted by ex-Tripping Daisy singer Tim DeLaughter. Under other circumstances, I might not have been quite so annoyed as I was with their happy sunshine, beautiful tomorrow songs, but every minute they were on stage was another minute longer I had to wait to see Bowie. Finally, they finished their 47 years long set, and left the stage. P and I went in search for the washrooms, and it was about another half hour after we returned until the lights went down again, and the giant screens on stage lit up with computer animations of the band. It played for a while, and then the band emerged onto the stage, Bowie being the last to walk out.

I was on the verge of losing my shit, right then and there.

He started the show off with "Rebel, Rebel", and it was a-fucking-MAZING. To see someone so legendary, so influential on the history of rock music, singing and shaking his hips not thirty feet away from me was making me feel like my blood had been drained from my body, and liquid sugar was pumping through my veins. It was exhilirating.

He played a lot of stuff off his newest album, but he also played a ton of older material. The highlights of the evening for me were "Man Who Sold The World" and "I'm Afraid of Americans" (which I think was the best performance of the night), and when he sang the first few lines of "Little China Girl" in Chinese, just for the Edmonton crowd. "Under Pressure" was phenomenal, and his guitarist did a really excellent job of covering Freddie Mercury's parts. I was really happy to hear him sing that.

The best thing about the whole experience was how utterly charming and funny Bowie was throughout the entire night. He's such a fantastic showman. He talked to the audience throughout the night, goofed around on stage, and looked like he was having a great time just performing for us. And our seats were so good that there were moments where he'd strut to the side of the stage closest to us, and it was as though he was looking right at us.

I suppose that you can truly love David Bowie without ever seeing him live, but... let me put it this way: listening to his CDs and watching his videos was really excellent foreplay, and the concert was like the orgasm I've been waiting for for too long. That's the best way I can describe my elation. Well, the best way without my description consisting almost entirely of the words'fuck' or 'fucking' or 'holy fucking crap'.

Bah. I'll tell you how the rest of my weekend went tonight or tomorrow. I've got shit to do.

Miss Black

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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.