If you see the anchovy paste hanging out on the corner, go find an adult

First of all, this morning when I went to put in my contacts I discovered about 10 stray eyelashes under my right eye only. Is it possible to get alopecia on one side of your face? Is this a delayed stress reaction to my facial? Should I have made a bunch of wishes? Help me, Internet. Help me before I become half-bald and am forced to wear a jauntily tipped hat that fools no one.

Last night I went a little fancy and made seared scallops and crispy prosciutto with roasted tomatoes and smashed white beans from The Naked Chef Takes Off, which is the cookbook I usually put in my cookbook holder for display purposes because I want people to think that I cook out of it constantly. Oh, Jamie Oliver. So British. So delightful to me. This recipe calls for things like a pinch of oregano and a wineglass of water and 28 pints of olive oil. Metric! Okay, not quite 28 pints, but in a relatively short and simple recipe there are five different occasions for adding either a "glug" or a "drizzle" of it.

"Glug" is British for a cup, right?

He also called for anchovy fillets, but I had a little moment of cowardice right there on the weird stuff aisle of Whole Foods and grabbed anchovy paste instead. I avoided the oily little fishes that made me nervous, but when I took the tube of paste out of the box, it was completely white and blank, like a tiny unmarked van. So, that was kind of worse. I had to label it lest it look too freaky just hanging out on my refrigerator shelf, making the nicely decorated tube of tomato paste uncomfortable.

Stop being so creepy, anchovies.

Anna was concerned that I was giving her too much of a "party girl" image so she asked that today's picture be of her focusing on her work.

I'm pretty sure she's just checking Twitter.