It's a Gift

I am a shopper. Guilty as charged.

I like a good sale. I enjoy browsing solo, fingering all of the fabrics, trying on clothes, imagining all the places I'd wear them. I love jewelry and shoes and purses and coats. I enjoy the feeling of bringing home bags full of bargains, pulling them all out and laying them on the bed. I immediately hang up new items, taking pleasure in how they'll look when paired with old pieces.

However, this time of year, the shopping turns outward.

Not that I don't give gifts throughout the months, but this season I really do enjoy thinking not of myself, but of what those in my life want, and wouldn't buy for themselves. There's nothing quite like the feeling of knowing you've selected just the right gift, and watching that person open it with glee. I get a certain sparkle in my eye as I witness someone enjoying the present that was selected just for them.

I think it is funny how when someone is opening your gift, you get all nervous. People tend to get a little apologetic, even before you've gotten it out of the tissue paper. Have you noticed that? You know, "well, I just thought you may like it, but if you don't, there's a receipt inside and you can take it back, no hard feelings, I promise." They hardly breathe, and it is one giant run-on sentence.

The truth is, just having someone go to all that trouble is enough. It is flattering to think that they took the time to choose, buy, and gift wrap something with you in mind.

At our unwrapping ceremony, which we've somehow managed to make last about four hours, complete with mimosas and a breakfast casserole break, my Dad undoubtedly sticks a bow to his head, with a totally straight face. Last year, George's first Christmas with our family, when he put a bow on his head, I knew he was the one for my sister.

One of my favorite parts of the holiday shopping season is all of the secrets. The projects, mentally plotted and meticulously crafted, all designed to fit that certain person's character. The gifts, thought-out, budgeted for, and purchased with just one person in mind. The boxes, stuffed full and gift wrapped carefully (though it's not my greatest skill) with names attached for Christmas morning.

I keep a list each year, in this flimsy little notebook, of each person on my Christmas list, and what I have bought for them. It's a tally, of sorts, to make sure everything is kept fairly even (and to make sure that my Dad doesn't get pajama pants every year). I tend to spoil my family, as I just go overboard in finding lovely things that I just know they'll adore.

This year, which will come as no surprise, we've all committed to "take it easy" and "pare down" and "go light" on the gift giving. My family has hosted a wedding, and several trips, quite a few parties and showers and 30th birthday parties and other festivities, so we're all tightening our wallets.

Or so we say.

It can't be helped, really. It's not about the money for me. I just love giving gifts.

My family has never been one to draw names, or just give one present per person. Our tree, quite frankly, on Christmas morning, looks like something that belongs in a mall. With a fake Santa seated on a plush club chair nearby. See?

That doesn't really even do it justice. What you can't see, off to the left, is the 50 other gifts hiding under the base of the tree. The poor nutcrackers and reindeer that decorate the base of the steps in the foyer are just about drowning in there.

I can't wait.

Let the projects, secrets, sales and list-making begin.

I'm in the spirit.

Stuck in the Middle with You

I have officially published 280+ blog posts, and I can't believe it hasn't occurred to me yet to write about this yet.

Let's chalk that up to to timing, shall we?

This time of year, it is all about Christmas (or Hanukkah) and New Year's. Nothing more, nothing less.

And I get it, alright?

But, some of our parents got freaky in the months of March or April (spring fever, anyone?) and therefore, a few of us unlucky ones have a birthday that is square in the middle of the holidays.

And, don't go telling me that would be so great because:

a) you were never in school on your birthday

b) you are not working on your birthday, likely

c) all those presents at once? egad!

Because the truth is, it is hard.

As I get older (eek, it keeps happening to me!), the pain lessens, but seriously, it is tough to have a birthday that is wedged perfectly, symmetrically, evenly between Christmas and New Years.

For you geniuses, and those of you that went to Math Camp (Laura!), this means my birthday falls every year on December 28th. Three days after Christmas, and three days before New Years.

What does that mean for me?

It means that when my birthday hits, people are:

a) out of town

b) tired of eating too much fattening delicious food

c) over the whole "presents thing"

d) saving up for New Year's Eve

e) not interested in buying you a drink, they're hungover and broke

f) who are you - you're not Baby Jesus - why do I care?

So, the bottom line is this. It sucks.

And, even as I age past 30, a few birthdays past 30 that is, I still feel like it is a lousy time to be saddled with a birthday. I have never had cupcakes for the whole class on my birthday, I have never had a pool party birthday, I have never gotten to spread the gift haul out over the course of a year, I have never known what it was like not to be wedged between two more important holidays.

I will say this. As an adult, it is nice to be at home (or on vacation with my family) celebrating the "holidays" while we tack on my birthday at the end. I appreciate that. I realize it is far better than being stuck at work in an office with fake "happy birthdays" and bad store-bought cake.

I get it.

But, I urge you all (you June birthdays especially!) to recognize the hardships we late December birthdays have endured. It has been rough. Tough. Painful. Touch and go, even.

The one saving grace is this: (ok, it is a few things)

a) my Mom and Dad have always made it a big deal no matter what month it was

b) they even chose "birthday paper" instead of the leftover Christmas wrapping paper

c) they hid the birthday gifts until the morning of, to build suspense

d) I got to eat off the red "You are special today" plate every year

e) it is still in that time of year when we eat whatever we want and that includes two pieces of cake

So, I'll be ok. I'll survive. I'll even manage to make it a whole "fun day for us all" if you insist.

But, just remember. Don't ever, under any circumstances, combine gifts. Don't try to pass that off on us, we're smarter than that. It doesn't matter that you spent more this way. That whole "I thought you'd get more this way" shenanigan is not lost on us.

We know we got screwed, and you know you got off easy. Does this look like a kid who wants to be messed with?


Yes, today is my birthday, and now you feel so guilty that you're obligated to say something. Anything. Just put it in the comments and I will feel so loved.

Just don't use green or red wrapping paper when you do.

You'll Shoot Your Eye Out

It's Christmas. The season for thinking kind thoughts about those we know, love and read daily.

In case you for one split second thought, "my, that Colleen seems so normal and well adjusted. I bet her family is sweet, calm and lovably vanilla." I offer you the below as evidence to the contrary.


This was a self-timer family photo (plus my sister's beau, George) that we took before Christmas Eve mass last night. Are we normal, slightly strange or really, really off-center?

And, how does the poor reindeer feel to be used like this?

Would little Ralphie be mortified or proud of us?

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good 'jazz hands' photo!!

Early Riser

While waiting at O'Hare airport at an ungodly early hour on Tuesday morning, I had a few basic observations that I'd like to share with you. It only seems fitting. Consider them my gift to you.

• Everything is easier to navigate at the airport if you arrive at 5 am. It is quiet, empty and peaceful.


• The TSA people are not crabby yet at 5 am, and that alone is worth getting up really early. The man practically helped me put my boots back on. Seriously.


• When they de-ice the plane three times before you board, and once before you get to the tarmac, it is a tad bit disconcerting. And, it smells pretty strange when the fumes get pumped into the air vents before takeoff.


• The airports HAVE to be the only place left you can find that printer paper that is all connected with the tear-off holes on each side. Those people are ready for just about anything—if they need a "Welcome Home, John!" or a "Happy Birthday, Mom!" sign, they're ready at a moment's notice.


• Coffee is the only thing I'm ready to put in my body before boarding a 6 am flight. And even that doesn't help when the alarm went off at 3:20 am.


• ALWAYS check which Chicago airport you're flying out of—a trip to O'Hare, only to find out that you need to be at Midway, and then getting rebooked back onto a flight at O'Hare will ruin your day. And your husband may find clever ways to rename Midway (MDW). This wasn't me, but I am so sorry for my friends!


• They must put something else in the air when they pressurize the cabin for takeoff. Seriously, I can't even stay awake long enough to make it to the end of the tarmac. Are we being collectively drugged?


• No matter how old I get, there is something so nice about being picked up at the airport by my Mom. I even forgive her for taking a photo of me as soon as she got out of the car to hug me (evidence below). I would rather have had her grab my suitcases, but I'll let her slide.

I got lucky enough to get out of Chicago before the delays hit O'Hare and people had to wait hours and hours to get out of town. And, I arrived without incident in Atlanta, where the "low" temperatures are about 50.

NOT complaining.

Merry Christmas to me! And to you, of course. Especially if you work at TSA or United Airlines.

Hoping Santa Arrives Early

Today was a good day, as unemployed days off in the middle of December with a huge storm forecast for tonight go.

I heard back from a company that I'm dying to work for, and while I wasn't quite right for the one position, they liked me so much that they want me to come and talk to some other people for another position on what sounds like an even more interesting account, and I'm going in tomorrow at 1 pm.

This is the part where I must admit that I jumped up and down in my bedroom (the only place in my apartment that doesn't currently drop every single call I make) and actually let out a "whoop" that would have scared small children if I were the type to keep small children hanging around in my apartment.

I realized I haven't shared with you the photos from my friends' Ugly Christmas Sweater Party last weekend, so here's the best. Brett and I were in the front of the "portrait" and clearly were going for "serious faces" while the back row went with "jazz hands." We're grown-ups, I swear.


Ok, now that that's done, back to today.

Much to my surprise (since when do eBay and UPS ever do you any favors?), the two long-awaited packages came that are the final two parts to a very complicated, but extremely thoughtful, gift for Brett's birthday this weekend. With not a minute wasted, I tore open the packing boxes, put the entire gift together, and wrapped it all up with shiny non-Christmas paper and matching ribbons. We Christmas-week birthdays get sortof ticked off when people do the "it's wrapped in Christmas paper but it is really a birthday gift, I promise" kind of thing. Trust me.

More to come on the sad state of affairs when your birthday is wedged in between Christmas and New Years next week.

Then I placed the gift under the tree (the Christmas/Birthday rule doesn't apply when it comes to placement of the gifts until the giving happens, especially when you want your tree not to get lonely), and I figured now would be as good as time as any to share the photo I took last week before my gifts were all shipped off. Here you go. My little tree, with the bright star on top that I cut off inadvertently. Not in real life, just in the photo, silly.


Finally, I ran to the store for the final ingredients (culinary and otherwise) to complete Brett's birthday surprise tomorrow night. We're having the party at one of my favorite bars, Matilda, and the owner is so cool that he's offered us 50 free drink tickets and I can bring my own food (hint, hint) so I will be stopping by there tomorrow if the snow will allow that.

So, I'm bought, wrapped, lists made and ready for tomorrow's culinary expedition, which will now come after my interview. Woohoo! Yep, there it goes again. That outward burst of excitement.

After the fun weekend we have planned, if I have any brain cells left, we're celebrating Christmas early here together, and then I will leave him to his holiday with his family in Michigan, and I will head south like a snowbird to my family in Atlanta. I'm looking so forward to time with them, and my mom's mini-cheesecakes, not necessarily in that order.

Can you tell my mood is significantly better today? I can barely type as fast as my little brain is going today, and it is all good news. Thank you, Interweb, for the kind words, support and good vibrations. It's working!

Even the 10" of snow we're expecting tonight can't dim my bulb. This was the view of the lake from my apartment on Tuesday, and it will be even whiter out there tomorrow, if what Tom Skilling says is true. And, isn't it always? (Chris, you are nodding, aren't you?)



And, as the final sign of my mental improvement, I haven't given dirty looks to any unlit holiday decorations* today, so I'm clearly on the up and up.

*See Tuesday's post if you have no idea what I'm talking about.

Hippy Dippy

With 3 flights, 3 airlines and 4 airports in 7 days, and NO TRAVEL DELAYS, I know I have absolutely no right to complain.

But I must.

Flying from Chicago Midway to Atlanta on the 23rd, I was on an Airtran flight, and had booked the aisle when I checked in 24 hours in advance like the good little traveler that I am. I boarded the plane, with my group, and make my way back to my seat, only to see that a woman is occupying it. Fully.

I say, in that nice casual but borderline annoyed voice, "I think you're in my seat." And she says, while nodding at the middle seat, "would you mind sitting in the middle?"

I paused. The polite southerner in me wanted to say that of course I would, that it would be no problem, that I wouldn't mind at all.

I didn't.

With a controlled politeness, I said, "Well, actually, I'm very tall and would prefer the aisle." (THAT I BOOKED, LADY.) She harumphs, and says, "Okay then, you're going to have to deal with these hips."

I look down.

She has the BIGGEST HIPS I'VE EVER SEEN.

They blossomed out from under her rather large chest. Buffooned out from each side, stretching out at least 12 inches to and fro. I know, I'm a terrible person, but she brought it up.

I said, "Okay." and sat down. In the aisle seat, as planned.

Here's the breaking point. My big mistake. Huge.

I didn't put down the arm rest.

For everyone that has ever boarded a plane, and all those that will travel in the future, this is your warning. Your note to self.

Put down the arm rest.

If I had done it after the fact, it would have bruised her, I'm convinced. So, I spared her that pain and left it up. All this meant for me was that she was more than 1/3 of the way into my seat with those hips. Her body heat and mine combined to create a friction that warmed the entire back half of the plane. For more than 2 hours.

With my 6' self contorted to avoid the sheer suction effect of sharing that much body with another woman, I was practically curved into an "S" the whole trip. I am not sure I am still back to normal.

You'd think that I'd have learned my lesson, and would have boarded earlier, more aggressively, and more attuned to the passengers around me from then on.

I guess not.

I boarded a plane on the 27th for St. Louis, a little American Airlines express flight, and found myself in the window seat on a 2-person row on a tiny little jet.

In the process of sitting, rearranging, and stowing my carry-on fully beneath the seat in front of me, I make the same grave mistake.

No arm rest down-putting. Big mistake. Huge.

Then I see her.

She is young, pausing, looking at me, and I immediately know she's going to be in my aisle. She, too, has the biggest hips I've seen (okay, since the first flight, but still).

I pity her immediately because she's red-faced, sweating, and young. Like 17. She sits down, and then I realize my tragic error.

Again, it is too late.

We, too, shared body heat and personal space the entire way from Atlanta to St. Louis. By the time we got there, I was quite familiar with her body odor. Her scent, if you will.

Merry Christmas to me.

Two Birthdays, Tiny Bottles

Ever the efficient lady, I love when you can knock out several celebrations at once. With my birthday landing just three days after the birth of Jesus, it always gives us days of reasons (excuses) to party. I'm now in St. Louis, celebrating even more.

Last night was my birthday, and seeing as I'm with my mom's ginormous family, there was no shortage of fun.

My aunt offered us "girl beers"—small, 7 oz. holiday dressed Bud Lights—and while they are petite and cute, I must admit that they make me a tad self-conscious.

It didn't take long for me to have several dead soldiers of "girl beers" lined up next to my place at the table. Had to move the evidence so no one counted them and started the "you must be the birthday girl" conversation. Not that anyone can blame me—I'm in a huge Irish family and right after taking your coat, you're handed a drink.

Tonight is O'Brien Christmas, which means yet another party.

There will be approximately 70 people there, I kid you not, ranging from 2'5" to 6'5"—and 15 months to, ahem, the older set. Lots of blondes, lots of freckles, lots of cute fashions, lots of loud voices, lots of hugging, lots of laughter.

There are doctors, pilots, writers, lawyers, designers, realtors, artists, marketers, web gurus, sales executives, retirees and hardworking stay-at-home moms. Oh, and one cousin that is so smart and successful but that no one quite understands what he does for a living. All we know is that is passport is full of stamps from countries that end in "stan." And I am pretty sure he's fluent in 9 languages. The rock climbing hydrogeologist will not be here this year, and that is a shame. His stories rock.

Gotta love family. I need to read up on everyone's kid's names just to be sure. Maybe I'll hold off on the girl beers until we've said our hellos, to ensure that no one is erroneously greeted.

Because tonight is NOT my birthday, and I can't play the birthday girl card anymore.

On a Wing and a Prayer

I'm traveling south for Christmas...and leaving the beauty of Michigan Avenue at the holidays behind.

Given the wind blowing outside, it may be a quick trip. I'm saying quiet prayers now that the plane can handle it.

However, knowing Chicago's airports, it is possible (and maybe more likely) that I'll be stationed at the gate at Midway for most of the day. At least I can take comfort in knowing I won't be alone.

And there's nothing quite like airport-people-watching to pass the time (and boost my self-confidence).

I'm certain that there will be at least one group of travelers, one lone passenger, one badly dressed individual, one family fighting, one kid crying, or one disgruntled service worker to make my day by providing me fodder for a later post.

Stay tuned, and safe travels!

Pass the Ravioli

With the political correctness of most companies these days, and people at work focused exclusively on getting really creative and fantastic work done on time and under budget (of course!), there isn't much time for decorating the office space.

So, you may end up being left to your own devices.

At our office, this was the team-generated, company-approved result of one simple inquiry to help decorate the desk at reception, emailed to the entire directory. It was a plea...come decorate my desk, she said.

At least the can was red to begin with—truly set the stage for some tasty holiday cheer.

Better Than Licking the Pole

With the lovely white snow turning to grey mushy mess, and the holiday cards stacked on my table begging me to stay in and address them all, I did what any smart, seasonally-spirited woman would do.

I poured myself a glass of wine, turned on the Christmas lights, and reintroduced myself to my old friend Tivo.

Tivo has been good to me this season. He's loyal, dedicated, generous and, most of all, thoughtful. He records things he thinks I might like, based on other shows I've watched or recorded, and saves them for me to review.

Sometimes I am a bit embarrassed by what is in the list from Tivo.

For a while there, it was full of nothing but HGTV shows—"Divine Design," "My First Pace," "ReDesign," "Color Splash," and more. I am a huge fan, but, there is a limit to how many DIY decorating shows I can watch—especially given that I live in a 1,000 square feet apartment, that is totally decorated. Meaning, not much more I can do to it.

I digress.

So, the Tivo list lately has included some questionable doses of reality TV—"The Hills" (shameful, Tivo, but I love you for it), "The Girls Next Door" (can't do it), and "A Shot of Love" (wouldn't touch it with a ten foot pole).

But, this weekend, Tivo was extra special kind to me. He recorded, one after another, all of the cheesy, sappy, romantic and all around silly Christmas movies. Makes you wonder what tipped him off?

I had a list of about 12 different ones, featuring titles like, "Under the Mistletoe," "A Christmas Romance," "The Christmas Shoes," "Christmas in Paradise," "Holiday in Handcuffs" (not kidding), and "Snowglobe."

Embarrassed to admit it, but I watched each one.

At some point in the last week and a half, I have practically overdosed on these flicks. I mean, there is a reason that most of them are on ABC Family channel. Because the only people who can stand that much MUSH are those with suburban homes, 12-foot pine trees, loving husbands, adorable children, jovial neighbors and, okay, overbearing in-laws.

Otherwise, you're just a sad single gal who should be out drinking spiced rum cider with her joyous single friends. Right?

I can't be blamed. I think Tivo has had it planned all year—get her nestled snug on the sofa, under a blanket and the glow of the fake Christmas tree, arms distance from the assorted wrapped gifts for loved ones, and spread red and green greeting cards all around the table—and then hit her with the holiday lineup.

All in all, I learned a few things from this cinematic overdose. (I'll share with you so you don't become trapped in the holiday movie marathon like I did, and waste the last precious moments of good shopping mayhem pre-Christmas):

• whatever you wish for while closing your eyes, staring out into the snowy yard, will come true

• if your husband dies or leaves you, by next Christmas you'll be back dating again (but only after you've been visited by his ghost and he's given you his blessing to "find love again")

• the malls in movies are never as unpleasant, crowded, hot or filled with crabby shoppers as they are in real life

• matching mittens, scarf and hat look pretty damn cute on actresses who are a size 2, but I still suspect I'd look like an overgrown doll who was left in the hands of Carson Kressley as a child

• snow doesn't melt on the hair or shoulders of people in the movies—just rests there, glistening—and it definitely never gets grey and mushy

• I'll take a Thanksgiving turkey over a Christmas goose any day

• Santa could use a few months on Weight Watchers, but then what would be the point of the big black belt?

• dimples are still a turn-on (ok, that was because of Mario Lopez, so sue me)

• B-list actors are making holiday movies by the dozen, with no apparent shame

• snow angels are definitely always going to be awesome, no matter how they try to ruin them in Hollywood

All in all, there are really valuable lessons to be learned there. Consider it my gift to you this season.

Totally biased side note: "The Christmas Story" is still the all-time best holiday movie, with markedly less fake cheer, mushy romance and a solid dose of a realistic, grumpy Santa. Apparently I cried when my Mom and Dad took me to see it in the theater as a kid—guess I didn't like the fist-fight scene. What a wimp. Maybe my parents can be blamed for my affinity towards cheesy Christmas movies?

Now get out there and go caroling, stay inside and bake cookies for your friends, or something else very suburban and spirited.

Your jovial neighbors will thank you.