Alrighty Reader, buckle up because I’m coming in guns blazing this week and the only person we have to blame is the the mini Regina George who scoffed at me while I cried behind my sunglasses at the roller rink in Salt Lake City, Utah.

This week Yours Truly is coming to you from Napa Valley, and Reader, I know it’s become a cliché, but I have never wanted to be a trophy wife so bad.

I’m just kidding, I’m not in Elizabeth Holmes’ mansion. But wouldn’t you like me a little more if I were?

Okay Reader, let’s get one thing straight. I am an optimist. Truly. I believe in Santa Claus. I love Twizzlers. I think all teenagers can be saved. But I also possess an incredible amount of anxiety and I am, at all times, thinking about the worst thing that could happen.

I’ll set the scene. I’m sitting on the floor next to a pile of rusty dumbbells. I’ve had two (2) glasses of bottom-shelf Pinot Grigio. I’m wearing my grandfather’s old flannel and my legs are covered in bug bites. My Hot IT Boyfriend™ is drilling holes in every nook and cranny of my parents’ house in order to install a sound system.

I don’t like introductions because they’re usually tedious or bad or both, so instead I will share with you some things that I, The Village Idiot, like and dislike.