Last weekend I did something that I have never done before. It was a bit traumatizing and left me feeling empty inside.

I stayed in.

That’s right, I made it through a weekend of not going to a party, cookout, pub, bar, nightclub, watering hole, dive, lounge or whatever else you call the social scene. No, I wasn’t in mourning over Paris Hilton’s stint in jail, but boy those Hollywood Hills are going to be quiet with Hiltie in the clinker and Lindsay Lohan in rehab. This is your chance, Shannen Doherty, to make it back on the pages of Us Weekly.

That hollowness I felt could be due to the liquid empty calories I skipped. Who knows, but the void is causing me to have sobriety induced writer’s block. Without my martini muse, I am at a loss for words.

Maybe this is why after three hours, I am still staring at a blank page. I think I may have even gotten a fabulous tan from the glow of the computer screen.

My method to solving this: E-mailing my friends to ask them what I should write my column about. You would think the people that I surround myself with have very exciting interesting lives. That they would be the Lindsay, Paris, Nicole and Britney of Mill City.

Ah, not so much (sorry, guys).

Seems like we all did a little detoxing this weekend. After that Memorial Day bender— it was in order. Other than not being able to fill this column with something interesting this week I have an entirely different dilemma.

After staying in reading magazines, organizing my flip flops by their versatility, watching a Real World marathon and giving my MySpace a long overdue makeover I went to bed at a decent time on Sunday. Right after (stop reading now if you missed The Sopranos or are under 18) fat boy Bobby was killed while fondling a model train and Silvio was gunned down in front of a brigade of braless pole acrobats, I drifted off to dream about my boss. Totally kidding, but do I get that raise now?

The next morning I awoke bright-eyed and practically danced my way into the shower. For once in my career I arrived at work on time, on a Monday with my hair washed (another first). Feeling pretty chipper, I waltzed into work and the first person that I said good morning to responds with, “Jeez, rough weekend?”.

Are you kidding me?

Moral of this column is — maybe Lohan is smarter than we all thought. Staying home on the weekends does not do the body good.

Can you tell I was stabbing at the wind here? E-mail any suggestions to cure writer’s block to lowellita@lowellsun.com.