Sometimes, I feel like I'm trapped in really bad episode of Felicity (which would be fine, if not for the fact that I don't have a gorgeous Ben to console me in my angst). This weekend would be one of those times.

Michael has a baby. He told me so. Right before he asked me to meet him for coffee sometime. Now, we all know from that one episode of Buffy that coffee is the universal (non)date of choice for asking someone out without making too big a deal of it. Once again, I am at a loss for what to think about this.

Actually, maybe that's a good thing. If I start thinking about this too much, my goddamn brain is going to implode. So, I'll just make like a Queen (of the Stone Age) and 'go with the flow'. I'll go on this (non)date and see where things take me, and if it starts to get weird, like angsty, coming-of-age novel, "I am the other woman" kind of weird, then I'll get myself out of it. I know I joke about wanting more excitement and drama in my life, but this is ri-goddamn-diculous.

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My old roommate came to town this weekend. Much fun was had. Her, P, Laney, and I went out and did a little shopping and dined at the Mongolie Grill (yum), and then we went back to our place and played some pre-bar cards. I had too much vodka, as usual, and talked a lot of trash about Tab. Loudly. While she was upstairs. Hearing every word I said.

And I still don't care.

We went out to this bar that none of us had been to before, and had cocktails. I ordered a "Pearl Necklace", which was chocolatey and whipped creamy goodness. Laney informed me that the name was a porno thing, and I'm still really reluctant to ask her how she knew that.

We went dancing, and I had my leg dry-humped by some arhythmic, drunken jackass. If I'd had anymore to drink, I probably would have had the good sense to boot him in the balls. Alas, I missed my opportunity.

We went out to Denny's for brunch the next morning, and I had a terrible cheesey, sausagey, gravy loaded egg concoction and cold hash browns. I felt like I'd swallowed a chunk of congealed grease for the rest of the day, and I spent most of it napping on Laney's bed while she tried to teach herself to play "One Thing" by Finger Eleven.

Good times, my friends.

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Satan killed one of my fish. At least, I think he did. I looked into the tank this morning and saw that he was sucking on the Dread Pirate Roberts' head, and I tapped on the tank really hard to startle him. He swam off and hid in the Eiffel Tower like he usually does. Poor Roberts lay on the bottom of the tank for a while, gradually moving less and less, and now he's dead.

With a name like Satan, you'd think I wouldn't be surprised that my suckerfish is evil.

Miss Black

Listening to: "Darts of Pleasure" by Franz Ferdinand.

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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.