I just flew back from Las Vegas, and boy are my arms tired.

I'd been seeing someone I met a while ago on Livejournal, someone of indeterminate status -- probably a relationship, maybe friends with benifits, something. She lived about 100 miles from my home in Brooklyn until she moved in mid-September.

I've never been there before, and now I had a reason -- her. So I took a long weekend and scampered off.

The bumpiest part was Saturday night, spent with her and her six-year-old daughter. I think I passed.

I also brought her a present -- an autographed copy of a book by Jonathan Ames. The inscription, for no reason I can determine, honest, refers to me as her boyfriend.