This Christmas.

No, this post unfortunately does not pertain to the song... or the new holiday movie starring Chris Brown that's currently sweeping the nation.

Among other things that my brother did at Thanksgiving, including biting my arm to hoard the mashed potatoes, he also invited our family (me, Super Mom, Dad) down to Philadelphia to spend Christmas with him and his girlfriend. This was met with mixed results but we decided, hey, we'll go. After all, tis the season and all that crap.

WELL. As if going to a strange city (I've been to Philadelphia maybe 3 times in my life) and spending the holiday in a hotel 200 miles away from Kingston and my best friends wasn't enough, I've just found out that I will be spending this time with a family of strangers.

His girlfriend's family of strangers to be exact. These are people that I have NEVER so much as spoken to in my entire life. Now, if you know me, you know that I'm pretty outgoing and can be pretty go with the flow... but seriously guys? Leaving my hometown and my friends that I never see was already bad enough. A holiday with a strange family in a strange house in a strange city isn't a holiday.

It's hell.

Work

Yesterday afternoon I almost started to cry because I didn't want to come back to work today. Seriously, my eyes welled up a little bit.

I have determined that this is not normal and that it's high time something was done about it. After all, if I spend another year of my life this unhappy in my career I might just up and shoot myself.

Serious face.

So, dear reader, tell me: what should my new profession/industry be?

In the News: Health

"Former Justice Sandra Day O’Connor’s husband, suffering from Alzheimer’s disease, has a romance with another woman, and the former justice is thrilled — even visits with the new couple while they hold hands on the porch swing — because it is a relief to see her husband of 55 years so content."

The Final Birthday Post... until next year

I've been 25 for a week now. This statement alone SHOULD scare the living daylights out of me but for some reason, right now, I'm content. Good lord, I might even be happy where I am right now.

...that or I'm still full from my belated birthday dinner. Actually, get rid of the or, I'm definitely just still full and content from last night's dinner.

Back story: Boyfriend decided that he would make me dinner along with the traditional pretty, glittery thing:

This is not the actual necklace but it's close enough

Now, when he told me a week ago that a home cooked meal was part of this birthday deal I was sort of confused - see, boyfriend cooks all the time - and it's not mac-n-cheese cooking (well, sometimes it is but thats because mac-n-cheese is one of my favorite foods ever). It's usually something all healthy like salmon with mashed potatoes and asparagus.

Anyways, my confusion was thrown out the window last night when we met in Union Square. Belated birthday dinner was going to be something that I've never had and have always wanted to try but not for the amount of money it costs.

Oh, cheesy, gooey, goodness!

FONDUE! Sooooo good. I mean, I think I always knew that bits of bread, apple, and pear dipped melted cheese would be delicious but I never knew it would be THAT good. Whoa on the food coma later on in the night.

And whoa on the effort that the cheesy pot of heaven took. Seriously - the preparation alone included a special shopping trip to the fancy cheese store... where, apparently, the staff knows nothing about making fondue. One staff member did have a tip however: "don't make it for a date. Fondue doesn't really lead to your desired... after dinner activities because you're all gassy." Uhh, thanks man at the fancy cheese store.

After belated birthday dinner I got belated birthday massage while watching the Mythbusters Supersized Special (we're such nerds).

And then we had fondue sex.
(The man at the cheese store would have been so proud of Boyfriend.)

My upcoming birthday has led me to wax nostalgic on all the birthdays that have passed. There are so many of them (25!) and most have gone by historically as nothing days.

Most, not all.

On my seventh birthday, the Berlin Wall fell:

You Can Run...

Yesterday I went to this really awesome salon, Alice Hair, on 2nd and 70th. My stylist color corrected my hair perfectly, they use Bumble and Bumble products (my favorite), and they gave me wine. A trifecta of happiness, truly. While there a couple amusing things happened:

First, a very large woman walked in, blackberry in one hand, suitcase in the other and immediately started chatting about her weekend (her weekend that she spent working 20 hours!) and how she needed to get lipo. This lead to discussions about Care Bears and their tummys. Hilar.

Second, all the stylists are from Ireland and trash talk one another vs. oohing and aahing over the fabulousness of their customers. This delighted me to no end - I hate fake fawning. I love fake trash talk.

The funniest part of my story however is not that the large queen of plastic surgery or the Care Bear Stare. The funniest part of my night was when Hazel, my stylist, brought me my second glass of white and said, "Here you go, Kirsten."

...and I thought that my days of being mistaken for Kirsten Rat-Teeth Dunst were over. Woe is me. Ah well, at least my hair looks kick ass. Seriously.

Kick. Ass.

Turning Japanese? (I wish.)

This Friday I will officially be a quarter of a century old (25 years of age for all of you slow coaches out there). This monumentally frightening birthday has prompted me to scrutinize my appearance in a way I never knew possible every time I pass a reflective surface. Yesterday afternoon, after a particularly exhausting day of work, I happened to catch a glimpse of myself in the elevator doors and gasped at what I saw.

Good lord, I looked positively haggard! ...and was that the start of a wrinkle near my eye?

This freak out prompted me to take a trip to the drugstore last night and practically buy its entire stock of anti-aging creams. I shit you not.

I have eye creams (plural).
I have day time cream.
I have night time cream.

You'd think this would be enough but nope. Later on this evening I will be heading to Sephora to pick up an A-List anti-aging arsenal.... because really, it's got to be better if it costs an arm and a leg right?

It's been confirmed - I officially suck at maintaining a blog. I'm working on getting better, I swear.

...another girl in my office just heard the Dropkick Murphy's version of "Tessie" coming from my office. She popped her head in and asked me, "What are you listening to? Is that Meatloaf?"

SERIOUSLY? Does this:



Sound anything like this:




...I miss Boston..