Home is a wonderful thing. Especially when you spend most every weekend away from home.

Yesterday, we went to a friend's 85th birthday party. Much fun was had, she gave a lovely speech, and we ate carrot cake and ham and wore plastic leis.

After that, much errand-running was done - we got home about 4pm, which meant we had just enough time to change out of party clothes, toss food down our throats, and head on out to the Galaxy-Chivas Major League Soccer game down at the Home Depot Center.

First 15 minutes of that was wonderful, exciting - then the Chivas players play SO dirty, SO cheat-y, that it wasn't fun to watch any more. Luckily, the Galaxy crushed them, 3-1. *Chivas sucks!*

Ahem. And today, well - today, hubby and I spent all day out at the Huntington Library and Botanical Gardens, celebrating Shakespeare's birthday. My scene (AS YOU LIKE IT) played on a downward slope. We did it seven times, total, on a rotating schedule with 10 other scenes. Great audiences, tons of people (over 5,000 - the most they've ever had in one day at the Huntington!), and a lot of fun to do. (Hubby, by the way, absolutely rocked as Pyramus in the Pyramus and Thisby play - A Midsummer Night's Dream, the play within the play, for the uninitiated.)

It wasn't until I got out of the corset and bodice and skirt, changed my shoes, and got my "real" clothes on that I realized how much I FUCKING HURT. My back is ruined. My legs are spaghetti - the cooked kind. My knees are muttering curses at me for standing, RUNNING, on a raked "stage" for 4 1/2 hours.

But I'm home, I've had a HOT bath, there's a small glass of wine by my hand. Steak and potatoes and salad to come. A fire at sunset, as well. So, life is good, I'm recovering...but boy, am I thrashed.

Sleep is good. I really look forward to sleep.