I am on the mend. It is late, but I do like a good Friday night bout of Conan.

I cannot tell you how lovely my apartment looks right now. I put up some Christmas lights and they look stellar. I've been cleaning all week and finally its starting to look a bit better. I've thrown a lot of junk out. There is still more to go. Such a wee place demands simpler living. I don't know if I will ever be able to live sparsely. I like a bit of a comfortable mess about. And I do have a thing for knick-knacks, but I must watch myself. I come dangerously close to being one of those creepy clutter-bugs. With a little neglect I could find myself with 30 cats and an impressive Bradford Exchange plate collection.

So, yeah, tomorrow morning I get my hair cut. At nine o'clock in the bloody morning. My sister is coming along and finally getting a professional cut. She's cut her own hair for the past 10 years. Like a fucking Hutterite. After the snip-snip we're off for our annual Christmas luncheon and shopping trip with out mother. Fun, fun, fun. If we can avoid any and all hot button topics - like eating, sleeping, dressing, working etc - it should go well.

Colin Farrell is on Conan and this writing of the words is distracting me from the lovely eyecandy sprawling across my television screen. And so I say good night.