Aside from the free Dunkin Donuts we get every other Friday, one of the major perks of working at Rolling Stone is eating lunch with celebs. Every couple of weeks, someone famous — be it Snoop Dogg, Conan O’Brien or William Shatner — drops by our cozy boardroom to chow down and chat about whatever new project they’re working on. Depending on the guest of honor, these noontime affairs are either attended by lots of ad people and RS editors, or lots ad people and a few RS editors in search of a free sandwich. Either way, they're pretty predictable: there's always a Q&A session, polite laughter at the guests' jokes, and enough chicken-caeser wraps to go around. Yesterday's lunch was different: cameras were flashing, bodyguards were flexing, estrogen was pumping — and all the wraps got eaten. The New Kids on the Block were in the house.

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Greetings from the Frehsee abode in West Bloomfield, Michigan, where I came to celebrate Passover (i.e. argue about politics around the Sedar plate) with my beloved family.

One of my favorite things to do at home is rummage through my closet and uncover long-hidden, often groan-worthy relics from my past: a diary entry detailing my first kiss ("ewww!"); three Marlboro Reds I stashed back in '94; and my seventh-grade notebook, which holds the transcribed lyrics to LL Cool J's "Doin' It." (I wanted to impress my eighth-grade crush, who, despite his suburban whiteness, recited the line, "I represent Queens, she was raised out in Brooklyn" quite convincingly.)

As this is my first trip home since Thanksgiving, a scavenging mission was way overdue. But this time, I didn't cringe upon uncovering the goodies: a box of mixtapes that my high school boyfriend and I had exchanged.

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When it comes to women, one of the things that has confounded men through the ages is the ladies' room. As one of few females in my immediate cubicle vicinity, I often field questions about what goes on (aside from the obvious, of course) in Wenner Media's female facilities: Are there couches? Plushly carpeted floors? Dance parties? Cheese plates? Consider this the inside track.

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