She is me.

Of all the people in all the world, I am most like my sister. She is my closest friend and the one person I think of as my companion through this life. There is no Kathleen without Monica, no Monica without Kathleen.

When we were little, we had the option of having our own rooms, but we decided to share. Why? Because we've always liked being together that much.

What else? In elementary school, she pushed a boy named Bubba down on the bus when he was mean to me. She made forts for my friends and me (just ask Carina). She taught me to scrunch my hair while blowing it dry with a diffuser and hanging upside down. (It was the eighties, folks.) She let me borrow even her best clothes. Sure, she convinced me that I once ate a slug when I was younger (even though I didn't), but I'll let that one slide. When we dropped her off at college, I cried the whole drive home. (It was an eight hour drive.) I was with her in the delivery room for the birth of both her babies and I've never been more proud of anyone.

Out of all the gifts our parents ever gave us, the biggest blessing was each other. They gave us a sister, a best friend and a biggest fan. We may not be twins in the traditional sense, but we may as well be. When she hurts, I hurt. When I hurt, she hurts. If there is such a thing as an other half, as a soul mate, she is mine.

So, Monica, this one... this one is for you. I don't tell you often enough because I assume you must already know, but the world is better (especially my world) simply because you are in it. I miss you terribly and I love you always. Oh, and I'd still opt to share that room with you, staying up all night swapping stories and secrets until we're little old ladies.

here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows

higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

- e.e. cummings

The Girl Effect.

My good friend (and one of the two amazing nannies to my beloved nephews) Laura introduced The Girl Effect to me via facebook. The Girl Effect is an organization and a movement devoted to helping adolescent girls in developing countries and, in turn, changing the world.

As much as I would love to blog more about my love of pop stars and puppies, the dresses I'm eyeing for New Year's Eve and the fact that both the best and worst part of my day today was taking myself out to eat at Applebees (yeah, I'm embarrassed), not today.

Let's not forget we have a world to save.

I urge you to check out their website and learn more.

Thank you, Britney.

Thank you for putting down the cheetos, the booze and the clippers. (I would add the prescription meds, but I think the fact that you are now taking them - under a doc's orders, thank you very much - is a very, very good thing. Mental health, like hair, looks really good on you. It turns out, so does motherhood.)

If you can find your way back to happiness, I can't help but think there's hope for us all.

Thanksgiving Weekend.

Oh, Thanksgiving. You come and go so quickly.

This was my first Thanksgiving away from my family, unless you count the year I went to Amsterdam with my sister. Let's rephrase that. This was the first Thanksgiving I clearly remember that I spent away from my family. (Amsterdam is still a little hazy.)

I was lucky enough to spend this holiday with my Las Vegas family (my surrogates), Jenner's family. It was lovely and made me feel so thankful to be cared about by this great group of people.

(Before we left the house, I said, "Wow, we look like grownups.")

Other highlights of the weekend included:

- an Alias marathon (I swoon for Michael Vartan)

- eating the remainder of the cupcakes I made for a friend's birthday for breakfast, lunch and dinner

- talking to my two year old nephew on the phone and hearing him say "Auntie" and then sing Beyonce's "All the Single Ladies" to me

- DJ Hero

- dancing out at Lavo after having my boyfriend convince me that 12:30am is an acceptable time to leave the house for the evening

- grape vodka

- did I mention grape vodka?

- swinging my arms in the air to my song, Journey's "Don't Stop Believin"

- love, love and more love

Ahh, there is so much to be thankful for.

My name is Kathleen... and I have a problem.

It's more than a problem. It's an addiction.

Magazines. They're my crack. I can't get enough.

I'd like to sit here and tell you I only read Vogue, Vanity Fair and Time. Truthfully, I do read them. I don't discriminate. I'll read any glossy mag. Ranger Rick? I'm in.

The magazines that really get my hands shaking and my heart beating, however, are the celebrity gossip weeklies. I know, I know. It's embarrassing. I try to buy only the top tier of tabloids: People and Us Weekly. However, like any addict, sometimes I just need my fix. If I'm waiting in line at the grocery store and I see In Touch or, even worse, Star staring back at me, I start to sweat a little.

BRAD AND JEN'S SECRET RENDEZVOUS! I know it's not true and I don't even care. Grab it. JESSICA'S LONELY NIGHTS! Poor thing. Let me see. KENDRA'S BABY NURSERY! I don't give a sh*t, but... well, maybe for just a second.

So, yes, I have a problem and you know what they say. The first step is identifying it. I don't even want to admit that Thursday is my favorite day of the week because it's the day the new Us Weekly hits the shelves. (Except this week, this week it comes out today. Thank you, Thanksgiving! The cover this week? Jessica and Jennifer missing John! Score. Right after I finish this, I'm driving to Target and getting my greedy little hands on my own copy. And no, I am not joking.)

When I was little, my mother said that I couldn't read these magazines because only trashy people read them. (Sorry, Mama, but you know you said it.) That's like saying, "Whatever you do, do not go on top of the roof and break dance. It's the most fun you'll ever have, but you'll get a reputation." The next thing you know, you're reading Break Dancing for Dummies and plotting a way to get on that damned roof. Right? Right. My mother said the same thing about soap operas and let's just be honest here, I faked an illness to stay home and watch Tad and Dixie get married on All My Children in the sixth grade.

It's like she programmed me to like this crap.

Years ago, my good friend Emily came to my house for a slumber party and as she was getting into bed, she tripped on something and dramatically fell on her heinie. What did she fall on? My ginormous stack of trashy magazines. We still laugh about that one.

Every December, I tell myself that as a resolution I will decrease my celebrity gossip intake. By January 15th, I'll buy anything. Tiger Beat? Why not? Anything to stop the cravings... Maybe this year I really will cut back. It's highly unlikely, but anything is possible. And, hey, there are worse vices a gal could have. Until then, bring it. I gotta run to Target now. Something's calling my name.

*My bff would like me to add that even when I have a subscription to one of my favorite mags, if it doesn't arrive in a timely fashion in my mailbox, I'll go and buy one anyway. Yeah, it's that bad and, yeah, I'm a little ashamed.

Dear Santa.

Dear Santa,

Hey. How's it going? You're probably really busy, but I just thought I'd send you a little note. I know, I know. It's been a while and we haven't always been on the best of terms. I just don't like the idea of scaring children into thinking if they're not good, you won't come. Hey, it's not your fault though, big guy. We both know you always come. We also both know you happen to love all children, even the naughty ones.

So, um, since I've got your attention... Well, you see, I've been really good this year. Really. Good. I finished graduate school. I got my first post-MA job helping children. I took a chance and moved to Las Vegas for love. I'm always nice to old ladies and passing dogs. I play with the loud, bossy neighbor kids when they come to the pool and I even share my super cool floatie, even when I don't want to. I say please and thank you. I wave to babies (hey, just because they can't talk doesn't mean they don't want to be acknowledged) and I'm always nice to my mom (except when she asks how to work the DVD player... again).

Let's cut to the chase, shall we? This is what I want for Christmas.

Or this.





Jenner isn't sold on the idea just yet, but here's the thing... If you leave one of these under the tree for me, what exactly is he going to do? You see what I'm saying, Santa?

Just think about it. No pressure.

Give my love to the Mrs.

Xoxo, Kathleen

PS) I already have an uncle all lined up for my new Christmas present. Uncle Russy!

A girl and her waxer. {A love story.}

So, I've been thinking about how to write this post for a few days now. There are many things I will never talk about on my blog just because it's not my style, but after much thought, I've decided the art of bikini maintenance isn't one of them. You see, last week, I had a friend date... with my waxer. Awkward? A little.

{Warning: If the words vagina or vajayjay make you uncomfortable, you may not want to read on. I'll understand, I promise. I have to put this warning out there, however, since my mother and my very favorite junior high teacher sometimes read this.}

From reading your blogs, it seems like a lot of us are struggling to make new friendships. Once we're out of high school/college/grad school, it can be harder and harder to find like-minded, loyal, sassy, fun, will-come-over-and-feed-you-ice-cream-when-you're-hurting kinda gals. Now, don't get me wrong, I have fantastic friends that I would jump in front of traffic for (you know who you are), but they don't live here in Las Vegas. And since I have a pretty unsocial job (just me and the kids I work with), it can be hard to meet people.

So, the other day, my bff Carina asked me to name my favorite people in Las Vegas. I rattled off a few friends of friends. Included Autumn Vegas, of course. Then I heard myself say out loud, "Oh, you know... Jenner. Jenner's parents. Jenner's dog. My waxer." Oh, man. That's when I knew I was in trouble. Carina had to tell me, "Um, Jenner and his dog don't count." Touche, Carina. However, I did excitedly shout out, "But I really do like my waxer! And we're going out next week." Long silence. "You're going out with your waxer?" Longer silence. "Yes."

I think it's safe to assume that we all feel a certain level of closeness and familiarity with our waxers. How could we not? I've had several waxers and for the most part, I've really liked them all.

• Except for that one mean woman. I was actually afraid of her.
• Oh, and then there was the time I accidentally told a bikini waxer that I was married because I couldn't understand what she was saying and before you knew it, I was embellishing on the story and explaining how my faux husband and I had just celebrated four years of marital bliss. That was weird, but seemed less awkward than explaining I had misheard her.
• Oh, and then there was that other time I had four margaritas and saw my waxer out at a club and excitedly yelled out, "Hey, you're my vajayjay waxer!" Turns out, she wasn't. She was a classmate of mine in grad school. Whoops.

Okay, okay. So, I've mostly just really embarrassed myself with waxers. However, my new one is the best. I immediately liked her. We told each other far too much about our personal lives, laughed and I think we both even cried a little. (No, not because of the pain.) I knew right then and there, she just might have to be my new friend.

The question is: How do you ask someone if she wants to be your friend while she's tending to the maintenance of your nether regions? If you've been reading JASTG for long, you can probably guess that I did it in the most awkward manner possible. You know what? I probably did, but who cares. My new friend/waxer is also new to Las Vegas and we were both very excited about the possibility of a new girlfriend.

As I was getting ready to meet up with my new friend last week, Jenner asked me what we were going to do. I thought about it for a while and responded, "Well, we're going to have some tapas and some sangria and then I'll probably ask her to show me her vagina. You know, just to level the playing field."

No worries, dear readers. It was a great first friend date and nobody had to show the other their lady business.