Nothing here opens on a Saturday night

And all I can think about is The Boy. And how nice it would be to snuggle up next to him and lie in bed reading our cache of Hellblazer comics and get a serious case of the warm fuzzies and then fall asleep, instead of sitting in the office on a Saturday trying to figure out bend my mind around the issues and allegations of a case two years old because I’ve been thrust suddenly and abruptly into it. (although admittedly this is one hell of an interesting, albeit, complex case. Death threats, allegations of dirty dealings, hoo boy)

Update, half an hour later:

I don't believe it, they won, they fucking won. They are fucking famous. What-If Boy is now officially quasi famous and has people posting on the band website to ask if he has a girlfriend. Rabid screaming fans with flung panties (or maybe tudungs, given that he's in Malaysia) sure to follow.

Update, an hour and a half hours later:

I have just discovered the Cointreau and Jack Daniel's fudge squares which my boss brought back from Australia. I promptly started on my campaign to begin drinking by eating my alcohol. Alcohol kills germs, right? Shut up. My throat should be better shortly. Especially after the ciggies. (heat kills germs too)

Update, two hours later:

Oh bloody fucking hell I just realized I made a minor cock-up on the document which is winging its way to New York. It's a tiny mistake and rectifiable, but I hate it when I miss things.

AND it just occured to me to wonder if What-If Boy's band won any prizes. Fuckin' hell, $10,000, an all-expenses free trip to London and a recording deal. Like, oh sweet jesus.

Priceless quote from The Boy. "I didn't think they were that good."