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.

Happy Birthday, Baby!

Today is going to be so much fun! I've been planning little surprises for days...

I love our slumber party lifestyle and I love you.

(And only because I love you so much, I am not going to gush on and on here because it would embarrass you.) Xoxo

Topless Vampires and Classic Rock.

How about that for a post title?

I've taken a few day inadvertent break from blogging only because I didn't really feel like I had much to share. Blogger's block, I guess. However, there's nothing like a bunch of topless vampires shimmying to Def Leppard's "Pour Some Sugar on Me" to inspire a gal. Right? Right.

My sister Debby came into town this week for an early birthday celebratory trip. This is the third time my big sis has visited since I moved here six months ago. Yep, that pretty much secures her title as best sister ever. You see, Debby loves Las Vegas and I love Debby. What else do I love? Shacking up in her hotel room and taking three bubble baths a day in her suite's jetted jacuzzi tub while watching the Kardashian wedding special on the bathroom's television. (I cried.)

Yes, there have been a few mishaps on this trip. Oh, like the time I got lost in Caesar's Palace for an hour (I'm sorry, but that place is almost too big) and forgot which room I was staying in. Floor after floor, that little key card wouldn't work. Oh, and my sister basically lost a tooth on this trip. Long story, but I did assure her it was just like in the movie The Hangover (which we plan on watching in the room later tonight).

The highlight of the trip? BITE. A topless vampire revue set to rock music. Only in Vegas. Let me explain, my sister is obsessed (sorry Debby, but you know it's true) with vampires. Twilight? Obviously. True Blood? Of course. She has also read countless other vampire series. So, when I learned about BITE, I knew I had to take her to see it for her birthday. Debby was such a good sport. She had no idea where I was taking her, but she was along for the ride. First, we had a lovely Italian dinner and a couple of prerequisite glasses of red wine. Then we were ready. Vampires? Bring it.

This was too much fun. Cheesy? Heck, yeah. Awesome? Definitely. The best part was rocking out to AC/DC with Deb. Those vampires shook us all night long (or at least for 70 minutes) and we loved it.

Reunited (and it feels so good).

A couple of weeks back, my friend Tera came into town to visit. I was really, really excited to see her, but I was also just a wee bit nervous. Why? Well, because we hadn't seen one another in... eight years. EIGHT. How does that even happen? You see, Tera was a part of the group I went to Africa with and the bond we forged on that amazing trip was lifelong. Period. But... she had moved to Laguna Beach and gotten married, I had done whatever it is I've been doing and we drifted apart. It happens. We wish it didn't, but it does. So, we reconnected through (what else?) Facebook and before you knew it, that pretty little lady (not so little actually, she's 6 feel tall) hopped on a plane to Vegas to reunite.

This was us back in the day.

Um, what exactly was going on with our eyebrows?

In the weeks that have passed since Tera's visit, I've thought a lot about just what it is that makes her so special to me. First of all, there's zero pretense whatsoever. None. She is who she is and I looovve it. Second, this girl's excitement is just contagious. She was this way all those years ago and she's this way today. "Hey, Tera. Do you want to go downtown? Or maybe to Rain or to Ghostbar?" Her response is always the same, "YES!" This is the same girl who trekked miles and miles through a Botswana game park without a guide (not something I would suggest, fyi). Last, but not least, Tera may just be the best and easiest visitor I've ever had and I've had some fantastic guests. However, I was sick as a dog the day Tera arrived and didn't have the energy to do anything. Tera's response? "That's okay. I just want to see you!" Yeah right. She's a great liar and a great friend. When I dragged myself to her hotel, she ordered champagne and chocolate covered strawberries up to the room and we just lounged, laughed and caught up.

It's such a beautiful thing to be reunited with someone after years and years and just pick up exactly where you left off.

The next night I made a miraculous recovery and somehow stayed out until 5am. This is a feat even when I'm not getting over the flu, but that's Tera for you. She just makes things fun and before you know it, the sun's coming up and you're walking through an African game park with a herd of zebra following you.

The moral of this story? I love Tera. Wait, that isn't exactly a moral. Give me a second, give me just one second... I got it. True friendship isn't lessened by absence. It just waits - and sometimes waits and waits and waits - for you to meet again.

Oh, and one last thing. Don't eff with me when I have a fake tattoo on my face and Tera by my side. I hope this story doesn't make me sound like a whole lotta trouble, I promise I'm not, but downtown in the early hours of the morning, a girl refused to move as we were walking by. She actually said (loudly and rudely) as I tried to pass, "Nope, I'm not moving for you." Um, excuse me? So, I did what any self-respecting woman with a face tat would do. I smiled sweetly, picked her up, moved her out of the way and said thank you. In the most polite manner ever, I assure you (Mom). Weirdest. Thing. I'm not even remotely physically strong, but something came over me. Don't mess with a girl with a face tattoo and a friend who's 6 feet tall.

Post Halloween (photos & fun)

Halloween has come and gone, but the photos - and the fun - remain. Below are just a few memories from this year.

I'm a little low on words today, but I will say this... Haunted houses are terrifying. Even, it turns out, for a gal who loves to be frightened. This was my first bonafide visit to a haunted house (unless you count haunted houses in my high school gym which be both know you don't) and it definitely lived up to the hype. Jenner actually had to physically move me through the house. At one point, around an especially scary ghoul, I firmly planted my feet on the ground, refused to move and screamed, "I DON'T LIKE HIM! I DON'T LIKE HIM!" Also heard, at a very high volume, out of my mouth? "If you don't hold my damned hand, we're breaking up!" Scared. Check. It was really, really fun though and I can't wait for next year. We're already planning our costumes. I hope your Halloween was fantastic (and I can't wait to see your photos!).