Be afraid.

Every once in a great while, like bloggers everywhere, I check my stats. They're not that impressive, frankly; my readership is small (but loyal, it seems--thank you!) and has grown a bit lately, thanks to NaBloPoMo and my program of self-outing. (Apparently I'm becoming more of an exhibitionist in my advancing years. You'd think the H would like that, but not so much. That's not one of his fetishes--when it comes to being watched, he's a bit of a prude. But I digress.)

Anyway, procrastinating today (I need to get to work on my paying job, not to mention my current career in home remodeling--remember, we list in less than three weeks!) I went to my little site meter. It turns out that more than one person in the last two days found me by googling "Lindsay Lohan." Now, that's sad on a couple of counts. First, who actually needs to Google L.Lo. to find her? She's as ubiquitous as dust in my kitchen. (It's being painted, which means first, it's being sanded, which means first, everything had to come out of the cabinets and be piled hither and thither on kitchen table, dining room table, dining room floor--you get the idea. It's so sad you have to laugh, and I have pictures to prove it.) Second, if you google her, and get to me--well, that's just wrong. I am the least celeb-focused internet presence I can think of, except maybe Mieke and Alyssa. So for those of you who've come looking for Lindsay's manifesto, or Brit-Brits hootchie, I am sorry to disappoint. Well, the hootchie-hunters, anyway.