This evening we got home from work around 7:30pm and checked the mail as we always do. In amongst the magazines and bills and, rather excitingly, an engagement party invitation, was a plain white envelope with the back unsealed. On the front, in a careful hand, someone had printed GARDENER. Inside, there was a business card for a gardener---the exact words were "landscaping and maintenance"---and nothing else.

Sean and I had two very different reactions to this envelope. Wait, let me see if you can guess which reaction each of us had.

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On Sunday night, I packed for a three-day business trip in ten minutes flat. Those are some good stats, my friends, and I didn't even forget anything crucial, like underwear or lipgloss. I've been traveling a lot this summer---mostly for work, but sometimes for fun---and I've managed to get the packing process down to a fine art. I could do it with my eyes closed. In fact, maybe next time I will. Oh, is that a challenge? Do I hear a challenge? Fine, next time I'll do it with my eyes closed and my hands tied behind my back. In seven minutes, how about that.

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One of the nice things about marrying a person you've known for six hundred bajillion years is that there's a pretty good chance his parents still live in the town where you met. My parents used to live there too, of course, which makes any visit back an exercise in fitful nostalgia. There's your old house, says Sean as we drive past it, and I crane my neck to peer into the kitchen. That's where my brother and sister used to wait for the school bus. There's the store where we bought our bread and our milk.

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Internet, welcome to the fourth and final week of my month-long makeover, wherein I’m painting the walls of our bland and boring bedroom in our very first home and transforming it—if all goes according to plan---into a room that’s sophisticated, comfortable, and just a little bit rock n’roll.

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I know it sounds like I can't shut up about my new commute---I've only been doing it for a few weeks and I've already written about it here and here---but there's a part of it I enjoy more than any other part, and it's this: the seven seconds it takes me to walk up the stairs from the underground platform to the slightly-less-underground station. (I have vowed to always take the stairs, see, instead of the escalator.

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Your eyes do not deceive you, I do indeed have a new website. Well, not a new website; more like a gently and professionally buffed-up one. A redesign, I believe the kids are calling it, though I prefer to call it a small cosmetic surgery: the equivalent of calf implants, perhaps. Just a little boost!

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Man, it’s non-stop excitement up in this joint. Two weeks ago, you suggested a wealth of paint color options for the boring white-walled bedroom in our very first home, then we narrowed them down together to six possible shades. This week, I’m going to show you which color Sean and I have chosen, announce the winner of last week’s Lowe’s gift card, give away another Lowe’s gift card, and show you a sneak peek of the room in progress. We’re getting there, Internet, I promise.

To see which color we ended up choosing, read on...

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Am I the only person who chooses paint colors based on their names? I mean, I can’t be, right? Judging by all the suggestions you guys gave me for my bedroom walls last week, I’m not the only one won over by the wonderful-sounding Birdsong Blue, the evocative Wet Pavement, or the whimsical Roaming Pony. Must be the word nerd in me, because I do this with nail polish too: ah, Sweet Aubergine sounds so delightful, who cares if my new manicure makes me look like I’ve slammed my hand in the car door?

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Please say you still get zits from time to time. You do, right? I'm not the only 28-year-old who occasionally gets a pimple that obliterates the sun, moon, and stars, and all but guarantees that Todd won't talk to me in the school cafeteria between fifth and sixth periods, am I?

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Dental Assistant (talking over my head to dentist, as I'm lying in the chair): So, did you and Thomas go out last night?
Dentist: Yeah, we went to Moe's.
Dental Assistant: Ha! Did you get him all messed up again, like last time?

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Sean and I went to see Wilco at the Greek with a couple of friends on Saturday night, and if you don't know what the Greek is, it's this wonderful outdoor amphitheater on the Berkeley campus; probably the best place you can ever see a show. From the grassy bit at the top you can see the Golden Gate Bridge if you squint, which is something, at least, because you can hardly see the band.

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Happy Christmas, Internet! I hope you all have a wonderful day, filled with much merriment, many mince pies, lots and lots of presents, a whole bunch of hilarious family jokes, as much champagne as you can comfortably drink, and---most important of all---NO LEGWARMERS WHATSOEVER.

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My mother has been here in San Francisco all week, house-sitting my friend's house and also dog-sitting my friend's very lovable chihuahua. I'm not really much of a dog person normally, although I have found myself making a definite exception for this chihuahua, mostly because he acts more like a cat than a dog---small, cuddly, quiet, doesn't smell dog-ish---and also because he has a very impressive collection of sweaters. It's like Paris Fashion Week, visiting my mother after work; every time, the chihuahua is wearing a different outfit.

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First things first, did you watch the Inauguration? (Wow, inauguration is one of those words that's hard to spell on the first try. Too many unexpected "u"s or something.) My boss was kind enough to let us work from home in the morning so that we could have it on in the background, and let me tell you, I am so glad I watched it in the privacy of my own home rather than in a conference room at work because I am NOT a pretty Public Crier and....yeah, there was maybe a little crying going on.

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The trouble with giving someone an antique opium pipe for his birthday is that you've rather shot yourself in the foot after that. Once someone has received an antique opium pipe for his birthday, a nice shirt or a good book is always going to pale in comparison, isn't it? Sean turned 30 today and, for a while, I was at a loss as to what to get him.

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I'm incredibly unsporty. Think of the sportiest person you can picture, Tiger Woods, maybe, or Michael Jordan, and then multiply that by a hundred and then reverse it, and that's me. The only way I can get myself to the gym is if I join one that has Aveda products in the showers, and I'll only do that because there aren't any other people around whom I have to throw to or pass to or catch things from.

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