Once again I'm posting from an internet cafe, drinking weak coffee and listening to bad rap while I type (There is good rap. They just don't play it here).
Friday night was fun - James Beach was packed! It's a nice room, although I wasn't really impressed with the food. It was the birthday party of one of the actresses in the short film - as soon as her friends found out that I'd directed, they started buying me drinks - not a bad thing, but I had to do some driving. Nice bunch of folks, and I had a great time!
Went from there up to Mr. Movie Star's house, where I....
Fell asleep on the couch in front of the big, romantic fire - hey, I'd been up since 4:30 am, and even I can only chug so much coffee in a 24 hour period. I'm okay as long as I'm moving, but when I sit down... zzzzzz. I'm sure the alcohol didn't help either.
I feel really bad, as he'd clearly gone to some lengths to create some sort of mood.
I woke up Saturday morning, to a note saying that Mr. Movie Star had to go to a 'photo thing', and would be gone all day, but would call me later that night.
I poked around, jumped in the pool, ran on the beach (damn, I forgot how running on sand works your legs. I can barely walk today, and I have to keep telling people that no, that's not the reason), showered and came back home.
What's really surprising is that Mr. Movie Star actually did call me later that night. He was busy last night, I'm busy tonight (party at The Blonde's - we're looking at the rough cut of the short, so everyone's coming over), so we're going to try to hook up Monday night.
I'm not working Monday, and I'm going to try to get into the doctors so he can look at the foot.
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