Hey, my brother's looking for a roommate if anyone is interested.

If you know me at all, you know that my cat is crazy.

You've heard me complain about a lost night's sleep, or you've heard her screaming like her tail's on fire while we're on the phone. Or maybe you've had the pleasure of meeting her for your very own self. No matter -- you know she's crazy. In fact, our downstairs neighbors moved out today, after just a few months, and I can't help but think that it's in no small part due to Savannah. She's the kind of upstairs neighbor that can make you break a lease.

Now let me qualify this all by saying that when she is sweet -- she is so very, very sweet. And cute. She can make you forget that just five hours before, she ran laps around the bedroom at 4 a.m. bellowing at the top of her kitty-cat lungs, clearly being chased by an invisible kitty-cat demon hell-bent on ripping her little kitty-cat self apart, limb-by-spotted-limb.

It's part of her evil genius.

In the ongoing quest to satisfy and subdue the 12-year-old Savannah, this weekend we purchased the third in a venerable line of Krieger-Campbell-owned feline cat trees. Our last 2 apartments held such cat trees, and honestly, I'm not sure why we didn't do this sooner. Laziness, no doubt. You see -- she L-O-V-E loves these trees. She races up and down them with wild abandon, sharpening her nails and strengthening her resolve. These trees are the best she could ask for, being a persecuted indoor captive of two cruel indoor parents. Plus, now, maybe she misses Noah, and needs a little extra love. Just maybe.

Anyway, the mailman knocked bright and early on Saturday and I put the tree together, pronto. The funny thing is -- I think Savannah thinks this is the same tree she used to have, as she immediately raced up it like a long-lost piece of talon-loving furniture.



Next she yelled at it, proclaiming: Where the hell have you been for the last two years?



Then she roughed it up a bit. I mean, it deserved it. Bad cat tree! Being gone for two years!



Then she embraced it, forgiving all sins.



Finally, she asked for some alone time to make-up with the tree.



It's a love story, really!

Jess was chastised for her blog "pretty much becoming an advertisement for her radio show." I can see the risk. I mean, there's so much good stuff to talk about! For instance, I have to thank Sue for calling in last night with the "Britney Bump Report," deemed "priceless" by my very own husband Nick Lachey. Sue was "outside Britney and Kevin's house in LA," picking through their trash, looking for signs of imminent pregnancy. It was inspired.

Thanks also to my brother for calling in to read and discuss his fake Craig's List posts. If you haven't read them, I highly recommend it -- hilarious. It may even make you pee your pants. Or your rug.

Jess ran down the top 5 photos of the week, which you can see on her site. And I introduced a weekly segment called "Songs That Made Teenage Girls Cry in 1987." This week I played "Romeo and Juliet" by Dire Straits. Next week, perhaps REO Speedwagon, perhaps Depeche Mode.

That's about it, actually. Back to our regularly scheduled weekends.

Ok, listen up. Tonight at 6 p.m. Don't say I didn't warn you.

I found sifting through this year's Golden Globes photos (for work, of course) quite problematic.

Bloating problem
Hairline problem
Anger problem
Tanning problem
Eyeliner problem
Eating problem
Bra problem
Missing-bump problem
Stylist problem
Too many problems to list

See what I mean?

I was sneaky and didn't tell you that on Friday night, I was on the radio. Pirate Cat Radio, that is. I wasn't sure how it would go, so I kept that little tidbit to myself. Next time I'll be more forthcoming. It was, after all, terribly entertaining. Well, I was entertained, but I really can't speak for anyone else.

As I mentioned a while back, Jess (AKA "popvulture") started a radio show based on our column -- She Said, She Said -- in October. This She wasn't in the right place for it three months ago, but the other She finally convinced me to come down to the studio for her Very Special Birthday Show on Friday.

As She promised, we talked about Rosemary Kennedy and my husband Nick Lachey, and we pretend-mooned the audience. I too show no remorse. It will come as no surprise to hear that I took the opportunity to share a Bishop Allen song, or that I then retold my tale of photos with the band. I got to use the word "waterbed" at least five times, and we drank champage straight from the bottle. To end on an appropriately 70s note, I played a song by Bread (in honor of the guitarist who died last week). Jen cried, so I feel accomplished, and lucky to have had the hindsight to keep that high school CD.

We also wondered where Catherine Bach, the original Daisy Duke, has been these days. Here she is. Looking a bit pained.

You can listen online on Fridays at 6 p.m.

After the show we had a start-to-finish fabulous dinner at Bissap Baobab and then I overstayed my welcome at the birthday girl's apartment. She should know better than to introduce me to Karaoke Revolution at 12 a.m. on a Friday night.

Other additions to the "why I love San Francisco" list this weekend include a phone call from Sue this morning that told of a crashed 80s party with at least one Billy Idol in attendance; a pilates instructor that says "okay everybody, GRAB YOUR BALLS!" without the slightest trace of irony; and a gorgeous, sunny 70-degree day after two straight weeks of rain. In January.

However, the pickle selection in Safeway really leaves a lot to be desired.