Okay, it's getting a little too All Evan Dando All The Time around here, so I think maybe it's time for me to stop. Incidentally, "I think maybe it's time for me to stop" was the very same thing I said out loud a few days ago, when I found myself deep in an Internet wormhole, looking at pictures of Evan Dando's mother's Christmas tree on her Facebook page. I don't know how this happened, honestly. One minute I was watching YouTube videos of acoustic Lemonheads performances, the next I was admiring Mrs Dando's ornaments.

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You guys, I am worried about Evan Dando. We all know Evan Dando, right? He is the lead singer of 90s indie band the Lemonheads, and also my pretend boyfriend. He has, for a great many years, held the number one spot on my list. What list, you say? You know, the list: the one you make in your head of the celebrities who, if they one day showed up at your front door and were all "you and me, baby, how about it?", would cause your partner just to look at you, shrug, and say "Eh, go ahead, I guess. He's on the list."  

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Have you heard of this accent meme that everyone's been doing lately? (Incidentally, did you know that "meme" is pronounced "meem," because I won't laugh if you didn't. I didn't until.....ooh, about six months ago. Up until then, I was calling it—only in my head, thankfully—a "meh-may," sort of like "memo," I guess, which seemed to make sense. Not to worry, though; Sean used to think it was called a "mee-mee." Because, as he so succinctly said, "when you do one of those, it's all about me, me, me, me, me.") 

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My photo shoot was this weekend and my kitchen is still currently the cleanest it's ever been. Like, literally: ever. I think it's cleaner than it was right after we finished remodeling, and that's saying something because it was brand new then. It's so clean, I would have no qualms about asking my mother-in-law over for dinner and then inviting her to eat off the floor. Or the stove. Or the side of the fridge.

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Hold tight, because it's about to get really 1950s up in here. I have some questions about house cleaning, see. And before you wonder if, by chance, this has anything to do with my exciting news that a magazine crew is going to be visiting my home this weekend—a magazine crew, by the way, that I have since learned is going to include not just a photographer, but also a prop stylist and a "groomer" (A groomer! We're going to be groomed!

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Recently, we've started going back to the gym again. I'm always surprised at how much better I feel—about myself, about life in general, about everything—when I get into the groove of doing regular exercise, and I'm always even more surprised at how this mind-boggling revelation strikes me anew every single time. Should there not come a point when my body figures out that it needs to send a continuous message to my brain that says "just keep doing this, don't stop, you like it when your jeans fit, remember?" Because mine doesn't do that.

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This afternoon, while painting my spare bedroom, I stepped backwards right into the can of navy blue paint. And because I had absolutely no idea what to do next, I immediately took a picture and texted it to Sean. So let's reiterate: my first priority, having accidentally smurfed myself, was to take a photograph. Before I'd even cleaned it up. And you don't even know how close I was to tweeting it.

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There is, as far as I can tell so far, only one downside to working from home, and that is this: if, on a Monday morning, you are sporting an envy-inducing tan you got on vacation in Maui the previous week, there is no-one, sadly, to whom you can show it off.

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I've had the most wonderful week off so far. I left my office for the last time on Friday, and my friend Alison took me to a bar where she bought me two glasses of champagne in twenty minutes, and I wish I could say that was an exaggeration, but she was late for a hair appointment and we had some catching up to do, so two glasses of champagne in twenty minutes it was. Boy, that'll knock you back, I tell you.

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I have a decent number of irrational fears---falling asleep and never waking up again; being pushed onto the train tracks by an uhinged stranger at the last second before the train comes; wooden spoons---but at the top of my list of Things That Scare Me, No Matter How Illogical is that I will one day get mixed up with a drug kingpin who wrongly thinks I owe him money.

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