2002-09-03 - 7:52 p.m.

So Vegas was insane, and we had a big awesome party at a private club, which was ridiculously fun, and I did some things with some old clients of mine that I thought were stuffy and horrible, and by the end of the night we were all arm in arm, shrieking and laughing and singing. Much, much fun. Flew home on the 3:45 on Thursday, bearing the boyfriends one and only request from Vegas, an InNOut Burger tshirt. Landed at midnight, waiting an hour and a half for my luggage, got home about 2am, and sat up until 3:30, too wired to sleep. Went into the office around noon on Friday, just for a few hours, to check my million and one emails so I wouldn't be swamped today. Very unlike me - also very much worth it, as I could breathe today.

Saturday we went upstate, which I really didn't want to do, but did anyway. Purely of my own choosing, because I knew the boyfriend really wanted to go, but I had a bad afternoon. It was cold and rainy, and there was nothing to do, so I was bored, and thinking of all the things I could be doing in the city, like unpacking and going to yoga and calling my friends, and so I was pissy.

I got over it by Sunday, though, and we went to the antique stores in search of a bookcase for me, and out to lunch and to the bike shop. I slept a ton, and we came home at noon on Monday.

It was cool and rainy here yesterday, too, and so we got home and I went grocery shopping and made eggplant parmigiana and my grandmothers beef soup, and fruit salad and yogurt for breakfast, and I cooked all day long. We had a great dinner last night, and opened our last bottle of wine from Tuscany *sniff* and just hung out, finally, at home. The boyfriend was beside himself with joy at me being in the kitchen for four hours. "Honey, let's do this every week. This is so great - we can make sure we're home early every Sunday and I'll do all the shopping and I'll get wine and..." That is so not happening.

The boy is slacking. Two months of living together, and he's already acting like an old husband. When I cook, he cleans up, right? If you call cleaning up loading the dishwasher, asking me where the soap is, and gathering up all the leftover glasses and putting the crusted pots in the sink cleaning up. "I can't fit any more in the dishwasher, I'll have to wait till it's done." I bit my tongue, ok, whatever. Let me state for the record that I had already cleaned the stove and the splashback, put the eggplant pan in soapy water to soak, and loaded all the prep stuff in the dishwasher. Know who had physical therapy at 7:30 this morning? Him. Know who unloaded the dishwasher, reloaded it, and washed the pots? That's right. Me. Every Sunday night my ass. Heh. And I must admit, he was extremely appreciative.

And today I feel like a normal person again, and the boyfriend is at the game and I'm home, putting away the clean laundry and heating the soup for dinner.

I talked to two old friends today, and made plans to see my girls this weekend, and will see my parents as well. I have a great new book, Tell Them Who I Am, about the lives of homeless women. And I think some journal reading, and a bath. I'm SO happy to be home.

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