Today was the last day of classes. I can't believe this semester is over. Seems like only a short while ago, I was just moving into my new place. I had the entire year ahead of me. Now it's almost summer, and the speed in which time passes is terrifying.

When I was younger, the days dragged on forever. It seemed as though school would never end, and I was constantly waiting for my life to begin. It was like being an adult was my ultimate goal. The idea of it embodied freedom, independence, distance from my oppressing parents. I couldn't attain it fast enough.

Now, it's like I'm living my life at the double-speed I so craved when I was a kid, but I'm still waiting for life to start. I have the freedom and independence that I wanted, but there's so much more I need. I can't name it, the feeling of wanting more being so intangible, but I know that I need more than what I have. Perhaps it's common to feel like this, but it doesn't make it any less unpleasant.

Trouble is, while I'm waiting for whatever it is I think is going to satisfy this unreachable itch, I'm growing older. Sure, I'm only 21 right now, but I'm scared to death I'm going to wake up one day and realize that I'm thirty, and not only am I sublimely unhappy, but I've accomplished nothing.

*sigh*

I never did end up meeting Michael for coffee. It's a sign that it wasn't meant to be, I suppose, that I haven't seen him in the school since he asked me out. I'll still see him at the store this summer, but I doubt anything more will come of it. Whatever. I'm so over the whole thing. Well, not really, but let's just play pretend and act like I'm above such melodramatics, okay? Thanks.

Wow. I was really happy when I logged in today, and I somehow managed to kill my own joy. That's talent. What I really wanted to say before I went off on an angsty, meaninglessness-of-life tangent is that I'm going away for the weekend. Yay! I'm off to E-Town (heh) for the David Bowie concert tomorrow night, and to hook up with my old roommate from last year, and a dear, dear friend from high school, whom I adore because he's uber cool (I've mentioned him, he's the one with the band). Fun times shall be had. We're staying in a hotel, and I plan on swimming, and getting tipsy at the bar and hitting on hot businessmen from out of town.

Then, on Saturday, we'll drive up north to my old hometown to visit Anne and her baby boy and stay for Easter. Mmm, turkey. Hopefully, things won't be too weird, in that we're going to Anne's Ultra Christian Mom's house for dinner, and I'm a filthy pagan. It'll probably be fine. Her mom loves me, and hey, I'll believe in whatever God she wants me to, just as long as I get lots of sweet, delicious stuffing.

That's probably really wrong.

Have a great weekend, my kittens, and look forward to an ultra long entry when I get back. I know how you all crave my updates like oxygen, or chocolate, or fantastic sex with some dude named Justin, whose dark hair and eyes drive you wild with passion, and whose broad, toned shoulders beg for you to bite and lick and dig your nails into them in the heat of climax. Or something like that. What was my point?

Miss Black

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Listening to: "Butterflies and Hurricanes" :: Muse

Wearing: White and turquoise hooded sweater, pink 'Mother Trucker' shirt, and a denim skirt.

Thinking: "Julian McMahon is fucking HOT."

I feel that I owe you all some closure, my precious ones. I've talked about my babies before, the Edmonton Oilers, and I'm sad to say that they played quite the crucial game on Saturday. I was all caught up in my bathroom horror story in my last entry, so I forgot to mention this. They played a game against the Vancouver Canucks, and this game was the determining factor in whether my darling boys went on to the playoffs this year.

They lost.

5 to 2, to be exact.

I am utterly heartbroken.

My sister, Cat, phoned me after it happened, literally in tears. Now, I say that I'm a big Oilers fan, but my sister's love is absolutely boundless. We're talking more love than God has for his children, people. Seriously. Poor girl is completely devastated.

Oh, well. There's a reason why the Oilers' fan motto is "There's always next year." We're a diehard bunch *snuggles each and every one of the Oilers, especially Mr. Brewer*.

In news that's of potentially any interest to readers other than me and Cat, I've finally learned an entire song that I can be proud to sing in public on the guitar. "Mad World", originally by Tears for Fears, but I'm playing the cover by Gary Jules from the Donnie Darko soundtrack. I'm practically a rock fucking goddess already. I'd say to listen for me on the radio, but I plan on being a really obscure indie chick, who only elitist music snobs listen to, like Cat Power. Minus the on-stage histrionics, of course.

And lastly, how fucking PISSED am I that FOX has cancelled Wonderfalls? Man, after my heartbreak from losing Keen Eddie last summer, you'd think I would know better than to get attached to a mid-season replacement show. The thing that kills me is if that network of assclowns had diverted an ounce of money from the monster that is American Idol to help out my beloved, charming little show, it actually would have had a chance. But no, they cram it in a Friday time slot, give it little publicity, change it to a Thursday night slot where it has to contend with The Apprentice, and then cancel it after only three episodes. Cuntbags.

Miss Black

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Listening to: "Dirty Dancing" :: Black Eyed Peas

Wearing: black Emily Strange shirt and red PJ pants

Thinking: "You know, I am hardcore."

Wow. Looking back at my entries for the week, I've been really into myself lately. That's unhealthy. I guess I accumulated some bad karma for myself, and I deserved to get stuck in that bathroom stall for a half hour last night.

This bar that I go to sometimes, Bellinis, is quite awful, but the Firm was packed and there were no tables for my friends and I to sit at, so we went there instead. I should have known from the creep that threw his arm around me the minute we walked in the door that it was going to be a bad night.

We bought our drinks and found a spot just off the side of the dance floor, a good vantage point for us to watch and make fun of all the silly, poorly-dressed common folk and their terrible sense of rhythm. The music ranged from "Jesse's Girl" (which will now and forever remind me of Michael Rosenbaum, P, so thank you for that) to "Billy Jean" to "Eye of the Tiger", so we got bored pretty quickly and decided to just go home and play some rummy. I popped off to the washroom before we left.

This is where it goes sour for me, kittens.

There was a line for the stalls, so I stood and bitched inwardly about the lack of class in the joint, and how the woman in front of me really needed to step away from the hairspray. Finally, I got a stall, and I dashed inside.

I finished up my business, and I made to exit the stall, but the latch wouldn't turn. At all. So I tried again. And again. I turned it back the other way, then tried to open it again. Still nothing.

Ooo...kay.

I pushed and pulled and jiggled that goddamn latch for a good ten minutes before I started freaking out. The thought that I might die in a lonely bar washroom stall crossed my mind, and the thought that this was my own bad karma rearing its ugly head for making fun of all those people did as well.

Finally, I stood on the toilet lid and peered over the top of the door, startling the girls waiting in line. "Um, this door is completely stuck. Could someone go and get a bouncer, or someone?" I asked. Some kind soul tried to help me open it from the other side, but we were unsuccessful. She told me she would come back with someone to help me.

I waited. And waited, and waited. Finally, I heard a knock at the door, followed by P's inquisitive voice. "Um, Sarah? Are you alright?"

"Oh, I'm fine, besides the fact that I'm STUCK IN THE FUCKING WASHROOM."

"What?"

"The door's jammed. I can't get it open!"

After P and Laney had a great old laugh about it (thanks, you guys), they tried to get the door open, but still, nothing. Laney went to find help, as fifteen minutes had passed since Anonymous Girl had left, and she hadn't come back.

One girl called out her suggestion that I crawl under the door. Now, the doors on these stalls are pretty low, so to do that, I would have had to lay on my stomach, with my legs spread on either side of the toilet, and pulled myself forward and underneath the door with my hands, pulling my body over the alcohol/urine/cigarette covered floor.

Um, no.

Laney still hadn't come back, and P was out of suggestions. I had been stuck in that fucking stall for thirty minutes at that point, and suffice it to say, I was motherfucking pissed. I was panicky from my claustrophobic tendencies, I was annoyed, and worst of all, I was sweaty from my battles with that cunt-licking latch, and my pleasantly waved hair was ruined.

I was getting the fuck out.

I yelled for everyone to stand back from the door. I braced my hands against the walls on either side of me, aimed my boot, and just started kicking the shit out of that asshole door. One! Two! Three! Four! The door popped open, and I was free! Oh, happy day!

I stormed past the line of girls, rage in my eyes, and washed my hands. On my way out, I heard one girl say to another "Holy shit, that girl was tiny. She's fucking hardcore!"

Hell yeah, motherfuckers. Tricksy bathroom doors of the world, be warned: I will fuck your shit UP.

Miss Black

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...I'd totally make out with myself.

I think I might be in love with my hair today. I took the time to blow-dry it properly with Laney's roundbrush dryer, and sprayed it with half a can of hairspray. It's all tumbly, and wavy... and yum.

Hurray for obscure SNL references!

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I'm watching "Cribs" with Laney, and they have this hip hop act called the Young Bloods on. Who? In the what? And they don't even live in a nice house. They're living in a fucking shanty town. Dude, if I'm going to waste my time watching this shit, I want to see a goddamn Mercedes Benz and fountains that flow with champaign, and a self-portrait hung above the solid gold bidet in the bathroom. Because that's just class, yo.

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Every once in a while, I get sent one of those little questionnaires via e-mail that everyone's so fond of. You know, "First name? What are you wearing right now? What CD's in your stereo? Who was your first kiss?" (Sarah; an irish green t-shirt and pink pyjama pants; Elephunk by the Black Eyed Peas; my best friend Alex in the third grade on the bus on the way home from school... in case you're wondering).

A little while ago, I passed one on to my sister, Cat, and she told me that I was conceited. At first, I responded by telling her to stick a wawa brush up her ziggy (Anyone else seen Strike!? You should. It's surprisingly funny). After some deep thought, or rather, some medium-depth thought because I don't have time to delve into my own psyche and dredge up every little thing wrong with me, I think I have to agree with Cat.

I like to talk about myself. I mean, obviously, right? Anyone who has a blog or journal or whatever you want to call it; anyone who has some sort of public media in which they express how great/fucked up their lives are likes to talk about themselves. Even when we have nothing of importance to say, we feel we must post a message to our 'fans' and let them know how boring our lives are, or at the least, recommend a book we've been reading. Which is not to say that I disagree with this; I frequently enjoy the posts of my reads in which they ramble on about nothing specific. Sometimes, they're the funniest thing I'll read in a given day.

Anyway, my point is: if I wasn't a little self-centered, I wouldn't be here. And what a tragic loss that would be to you all, right? You wouldn't get to read about my roommate troubles, or what CD I'm currently in love with, or the drama that is my (non)love life. The light on your lives would be little dimmer, were it not for me. Admit it.

See? That was conceited. I'm not that bad, actually. I don't think I'm better than everyone. But I do think I'm better than some. I've been told this is wrong, but frankly, how can I not think this? Take Tab, for instance. Really? I'm really not supposed to think that I'm better than her? She who steals, lies, causes me anger and frustration, and listens to really awful, horrid music?

Maybe that's too specific. You'd have to know the horror that it Tab in order to judge that. Okay, am I supposed to think that I'm not better than a baby eater? A puppy kicker? Saddam Hussein? Am I really not better than Saddam Hussein? Or Ted Bundy? He ATE people, dudes. I'm just sayin'.

People live in this la-di-da fantasy world where they like to think that everyone is equal, that no one person is better than anyone else. Bullshit. If we lived in a perfect world, certainly this would be true. We don't. We live in a world where nations go to war over oil. Where children are molested by people they thought loved them. Where people are horrifically beaten and killed because they're the 'wrong' skin colour, or have commited the 'sinful' crime of loving someone profoundly and deeply, but that someone happened to be of the same gender. We live in a fucked up world, kittens.

So, can I really be blamed for thinking about myself, and my friends and loved ones first, when thinking about the world around me makes me want to vomit my grilled cheese sandwich?

I must stop with these serious entries. They're making me use my brain, and I'm not used to that.

Miss Black

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I saw Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind last night, and being the absolutely excellent movie it was, it sent me into a sort of spiral of thought.

What if I had the chance to erase someone from my life? Would I do it? I've known some pretty psychologically damaged people, who, just by knowing them, have caused me misery and frustration. So, my automatic response to that question would be an "Absolutely."

But, upon further contemplation, I realize that every single person I've ever met that was important enough to remember in the first place, whether it be an old friend, or a classmate, or someone I've exchanged a few words with over a drink, has effected the course of my life. Positively or negatively, they've changed my life forever. They've forced me to consider things, options, forced me to come to conclusions about matters that I might otherwise have never considered. These conclusions are a large part of what make me who I am today.

Take, for example, an old friend of mine. We'd been friends all throughout high school, and despite our many problems, part of me really believed that I would be friends with her forever. I'm quite loyal to my friends, and I never suspected the amount of anger and betrayal that was about to permeate our friendship when we left home for the same college.

College changed us. It has that effect on people, you know. I didn't recognize any changes in myself at the time. In my mind, the problems all lay with her. She got into partying, and sleeping around with any boy that would have her, while I stayed home most nights, wishing that I had never left the comforts of my parents' arms.

Months of this passed, and we grew further and further apart. I have to be honest, I let it happen. I could see the chasm growing between us, but I chose to ignore it. I thought if I just ignored it, maybe it would go away.

The friendship ended violently. A lie was told, a nasty one at that, and I discovered it, like a snake hidden in the grass. I confronted her, but she refused to face me. Literally. I went to her apartment, but she wouldn't come out of her bedroom. All I wanted was an explanation, but she had nothing to give, it would seem, because when I finally issued my ultimatum, that she either speak to me then or never speak to me again, her silence through the closed door was all I received.

I held true to my promise. I never spoke to her again after that night. My point in rambling on about this little episode of my past is this: Despite the anger and aggravation she caused, I wouldn't erase her. There were things I learned about myself in looking back on that night: that even though I'm as loyal as I am, I have limits, and I'm not afraid to stick up for myself; that sometimes it's just better for both parties involved to part ways, if all you're getting from a relationship is misery; and lastly, that I'll never let a friendship go to shit the way I did back then simply because I'm too lazy or proud to admit that something is wrong and to try to fix it.

I keep this knowledge in mind with my present relationships. I don't let anyone take advantage of my loyalty, nor do I sit idly by while a friendship turns sour. I confront people with problems; I refuse to let resentment build to the point that I did back then. In a way, I have her to thank for that. I might even do that if I had any idea where she was.

Of course, I've had people influence my life positively as well. The friends I have now do it every day. Laney has taught me to be more responsible, I think, and that going out drinking every night perhaps is not the smartest thing to do. P has made me think about money matters more than I used to, which I desperately needed, and that appearances can be deceiving. (P, by this I mean that when I first met you, I couldn't foresee us being friends because you were so quiet and reclusive. Little did I know *grins*.)

Everyone I've ever known has shaped me, changed me, helped me to become what I am now. Being the confident, happy person that I am, I'm grateful for that. Change my memories, and you change who I am. Why would anyone want that?

I don't know if I've gotten across what I've wanted to say. If I did, I certainly didn't do it as eloquently as I'd hoped to. Oh, well.

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.