No, I have not been overcome by necrotizing fasciitis, nor have I perished from writers cramp. I'm just lazy.

I had dinner on Monday with a friend who'd been bugging me to apply to Amazing Race with him, despite my distaste for worldwide humiliation. I was working on three or four hours of sleep and trying to function, and it wasn't pretty -- I was weaving and walking into things and I had no filter. The upside: He no longer thinks I'd be a good reality-TV partner. So at least that's taken care of.

Met Dawn, Angie and others for dinner at Cafe BaBaReba on Wednesday, and oh my god the short ribs are phenomenal. Seriously. Everything else was great, too (except the croquettas, which, eh) but those short ribs were nirvana. Also, whoever decided to wrap dates in bacon and put them on a stick (ok, toothpick) is my new personal hero. We decided that just about everything can be made more perfect with an application of bacon. Think about it: Fruit? Try melon and prosciutto. Vegetables? Bring on the crumbled bacon. Cheese? Oh, hell yeah. Hell, I'm starting to think my perfect man would be wrapped in bacon and served on a stick. Yummy.

(Upon reflection, that sounds even more disgusting than I intended it to. However, the sentiment stands.)

Last night, Vigils at the Goodman, which I liked but didn't knock my socks off. The final image was gorgeous, but it took a while to get there. Tonight: Crashing Dawn's corporate outing at Dave and Busters, so we'll be shooting zombies and playing skee-ball. Life is good.