It's 10:40 PM on a Sunday and I'm working. Waa. Cry for me, people. I mention this for a few reasons:

• The pity. I loves me some pity.
• So I have a post to assign to the "Work" category.
• Because despite this, the weekend really hasn't been so bad.

In fact, it's been pretty good. Shopping for cheap clothes at H&M, watching shitty movies about demonic children and the Apocalypse at the Arclight while drinking big plastic cups of wine, eating yet more cheese at the best brunch spot in LA County, and a bevy of other recreational activities that left me completely drained and not-at-all ready to work (why do you think I'm writing this instead?), but pretty darned content.

Other good news: With a little luck, Doc and I will be going to The Playboy Jazz Festival to see Etta James. Oh yeah--there's a San Fran trip in there, too. Possibly the old fave, The Hotel Boheme.

Now if someone will just write this piece on Sarbanes-Oxley for me, I can get back to planning my developing social life and everything will be right with the world.