Buh! It is one o'clock in the morning, but I am bound and determined to finish a chapter in this consumer-of-time-and-rational-thought Alias fic I've been writing before I jet home for the holidays. But first, I update my beloved diary, which I keep neglecting, and I apologize to you all. I'm sure you've all been on eggshells; waiting for another breathless installment of my maddening whirlwind of a life.

Well, sorry to disappoint, but my life has been rather dull, as of late. No hijinks, no shenanigans, no nights spent in the local slammer. My last week of school was hell's bells. Simply studying, followed by more studying, followed by a refreshing burst of panicked screaming, and then? You guessed it. More studying. And then, tra la la, like the clearing of a tempestuous storm, exams were over, and I was free! Huzzah!

To celebrate, my friends and I had a little Faux Christmas of our own on Friday. It was lovely. Laney and I made a turkey, and mashed potatoes, and stuffing. It was scrumptious. Friends brought salads, buns and pies. We all ate ourselves silly, and then exchanged gifts. I got a book, some pink and black balls of yarn (don't even ask), chocolate, a poster of one of my fave bands, X-Men 2, and a sarong. That last one was a bit strange, but it's definitely my fave. Is it weird that I want to wear it now, in the middle of a Canadian December? I guess I could wrap it around pants, but would that be too artsybohohippy? Pweh. I don't care. I'm wearing it anyway. I'm a mad woman that way, you know.

Laney and I gave our friend P the first season of Smallville on DVD (my guiltiest of all guilty pleasures), and we watched them all. weekend. I kid you not. We started yesterday at around noon, watched almost non-stop for ten hours, then picked up today, and finished them off at around eight or nine. I haven't gone on a DVD bender like that since I bought the season one Alias DVDs. My brain is a liquified, mushy stew. Just the way I like it. Out! Out, damn knowledge! You are no longer needed round these parts. Be gone! Away! I blame my hazy stupor on the sexy that is Lex Luthor. Holy angsty, charming, scorchingly hot, yet sadly doomed bald boy, Batman! Wait, I'm mixing up my superheros there, I think... *shrugs* Meh. Alls I knows is: Clark and Lex are one hot couple, and if they don't make out soon, I'm gonna die of frustration. Mmm, I love me some boy/boy kissage. [...] What? Shut. Up.

Speaking of frustration, I've noticed I've been talking a lot lately about hot boys, boys kissing, boys I'd like to do, sex sex sex. Perhaps it's the lack of selection/opportunity or a vicious tagteam of the two, or perhaps the Lord himself is saving me for a second Miraculous Con-fucking-ception, which I doubt, curse my Pagan soul. Either way? I am suffering through the dry spell to end all dry spells. I shan't disclose the amount of time that's past since my last... ahem, rendez-vous, as it is an insult to my cute butt and expert tongue. Suffice it to say, it's been too damn long. Now, I'm a modern woman. I'm perfectly capable and willing to take matters into my own hands, if you know what I mean (and I think you do), but come the fuck ON already! What does a girl have to do to get laid (without lowering her standards)?

Miss Black

Listening to: "Fell in Love with a Boy" by Joss Stone. Now, I'm not a big White Stripes fan, so who knew this song could kick nine kinds of ass if put in the right hands?

Reading: "How To Be Good" by Nick Hornby

Watching: Dude, we covered this. Go back and re-read the entry *cracks whip*. Oh yeah, Lex and a whip...

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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.