Whoosh.

Remember how I said that I didn't really mind working only part time for the six months before I came out here to Los Angeles because once I got here I was going to be "busy for the next 40 or 50 years"?

Yeah, it'd be cool if that had been a joke.

Well, OK, I don't know what the next couple dozen years hold, I admit, but I do know that as long as I'm working on Buffy (which I started yesterday), I do know that for the next nine months or so I will have no life.

Excluding two weeks at Christmas.

And I was going to go home and visit Chicago on Thursday.

I suppose it's a decent trade off.

Getting the career of my life started vs. nuzzling my ex-girlfriends delightfully ample bosom?

Damn. Damn damn damn damn DAMN!

Yes, you read that correctly. We've been talking. I was going to book the flight Saturday, then they offered me this job.

Listen: I still love you all. You are fantastic and your hair looks pretty today. Unfortunately, 12 hour days and an hour commute each way does not make for lots of updating time.

That hour commute is why I'm moving in with Jonny.

Go ahead. Make your jokes. I can take it.

I thought Hollywood was my bitch. Now, apparently, I am Buffy's bitch.

A good, detailed account of what's happening on the set will come, I assure you.