birthdays

Is it just me, or as we get older, do we start to care less and less about those special days that come but once a year?

In exactly one week I will turn 25, which my family has kindly noted is officially quarter-life. Gee, swell. Thanks to the peanut gallery on the calendar of my life.

I also noted how little I truly care.

That’s me, not caring.

Isn’t it so sad the days of counting down to the old birthday are now behind us? And you can forget about balloons, as fun as you still think they are.

Luckily, for me, my mom does still care. They planned a week at their beach house around my blessed day of birth, and I will joining them for a relaxing week at the shore.

After Sunday, I will need it.

Being a Philly girl in the New York land is hard – people will stop you when you’re wearing Philly memorabilia on a Tuesday in off-season. So, with two rivalry games this Sunday (Eagles play the NY Giants, but more importantly, the Phillies play the Yankees in the World Series) a little R and R will practically be mandated.

Although when it comes to New York, you can omit the “Please don’t take it personally.”

If tears are shed, they acknowledge it as a win.

So consider this my “see you when I’m 25 and tan” post. I won’t be giving you my weekly KBisms, to which 90 percent of you can be grateful. Enjoy my vacation, gang.

Do you enjoy your birthday still?

moments.

Last night brought me back.

I have a few moments that are forever etched in my mind, coupled with a feeling I could never forget. Despite an influx of wonderful memories over my 24 years here, most of which somehow seem to fade over time, there are those sparkling gems that, no matter the lapse in time, you can remember exactly how it felt in that moment.

Last night the Phillies advanced to the World Series, for the second year in a row.

I was immediately brought back.

Last year, I entered the drawing for Phillies postseason tickets, much like I do every year, except this time, with a response – I would be receiving tickets to the World Series Game 5.

I’m not sure that any feeling can replace not only seeing one of your beloved teams win the World Series, but actually being there for it – in the stadium, waving the towel, losing your voice with the rest of the city.

I had witnessed my first World Series win firsthand. How many people can say the same?

I can remember exactly how amazing it felt to be there. How everyone in the stadium held up three fingers – only three more outs! – and suddenly it was two, and then one. And then we did.

No one’s phones worked, because everyone in the stadium was calling family and friends, but somehow, I managed to get through to my dad – the one person I knew was happier than me, just to say “Dad! We did it! We finally did it!”

It gives me goosebumps even writing about it now.

I am instantly back in that stadium – teary-eyed and elated – thinking that I, somehow, was lucky enough to be in the stadium to witness this amazing moment.

Nothing compares.

What are your unforgettable life moments?

chivalry.

As far as relationships go, I have seen both ends of the totem pole. There are the guys who would go to the ends of the earth for you – and they actually do, whether you want them to or not – and then there are the men who go to the end of the earth (whether for you or not) and decide to stay there indefinitely.

I think men are under the impression that all women want the absolute, end-of-the-world-for-you man, and perhaps some actually do.

I do not.

I was recently discussing chivarly with Marie Claire contributor Abraham Lloyd, and whether the word carried any meaning today – or if it was, in fact, a concept that was DOA.

Whether it is or not, I realized that there are some male signs of affections – those adorable, little ways he shows you he cares – that I cannot support being a woman of the 21^st century.

Ordering my Meal For Me

You’d think this is a no-brainer, but I can’t even count on my fingers (that’s more than ten for the mathematically challenged) the number of times I’ve seen a couple next to me where the male is deciding the outcome of the evening for all. I have never fallen subject to such a situation, and if I had, said male would be eating two meals for one. There is nothing more unappetizing than having no say in your own dinner experience.

Letting Me Win in Sports

How precious. You think you will hurt my feelings if I don’t get the win. I don’t think the following thought has ever occurred to men (and maybe it’s just me), but I feel much less accomplished getting a win I didn’t deserve than losing fair and square. There is also the fact that I can beat you on my own, and don’t really need the “additional help.”  Thanks, anyhow.

There is something worse, though. It’s when we do win fair and square, and said male tries to play it off as though he let us win. It’s not only ridiculous, but we always know when you’re doing it – so knock it off.

Holding my Umbrella

This one doesn’t bother me so much as its simply awkward. My reasons for this are: my purse alone deserves its own umbrella, I can rarely keep up with your long man-strides and speedy legs, and I’d rather just do it on my own. Thanks.

Pulling out my chair

(A special thanks to Jupiter images for capturing the awkwardness that is the chair pull-out)

I am sure this one will not go over well with my fellow ladies, but its simply an act I cannot support. No rhyme or reason, other than I find it both incredibly awkward and outdated. The same can be said of the car door, especially being that the times no longer require most of us to manually open a door – unless, of course, you are me.

Tucking me in

I do not want to date my mother.

I mean, really - is it just me here?

all the small things.

I realized something this weekend.

A couple of weeks ago, I was just about to start the dishes –  music on, suds ready – when I saw one of my favorite wine glasses break before my eyes.

Having no children and being quite young, there are few materialistic possessions in my life I truly love. I had roommates from college until last summer, and when I finally moved to downtown Philadelphia to live on my own for the first time, my initial girl-on-her-own purchase was a beautiful set of 4 wine glasses.

They were not simply any wine glasses. Of course from Anthropologie, these wine glasses were 1) absolutely gorgeous – hand crafted and like nothing I had seen before; 2) expensive!; and 3) irreplaceable. My mom always taught me that even when you’re young, if you live on your own, you find ways to buy the treasures you’ll have your entire life. She was, as always, right.

You can imagine how I felt seeing one crash to the floor. I mean, who has 3 wine glasses and gets away with it? No one. I was beyond devastated.

Then this weekend happened.

I had been dying to get to Anthropologie for a few weeks now, but other things always came up. Finally getting to one, albeit not the one I’d have preferred (despite it being closer, it’s also a lot smaller, not as many home goods, things of that nature) I was not expecting to enjoy my trip there much.

Yet, the sale section proved me completely wrong. Right before my eyes were 2 of my wine glasses. The odds of me being at that Anthro on that day were little to none. The fact that any were left at a store well over a year since I had purchased them was no small feat.

“Are you kidding me? Look!” I exclaimed, pulling on Chris, because it was really all that was needed to be said.

I ended up buying two – because now I truly realize the importance of a backup.

——

A few hours before the phenomenal wine find, I was at Starbucks. It was a miserable day, both raining and cold, and I wanted something to comfort me, as well as warm me up.

While I waited, I saw a woman about fifty feet to my right who was alone. I smiled at her, and she returned the favor.

The barista handed me my hot chocolate (what else can you order that brings you right back to your childhood?) and it didn’t have the cardboard sleeve they typically give you. Immediately, and without me even saying so, the woman who I had smiled at went well out of her way to hand me one.

“Thank you, that was so sweet,” I told her, and she just smiled. How she even noticed I did not have one is beyond me.

It took her, what? 5 seconds to simply hand me the cardboard sleeve – and it honestly made my day.

So, I began to realize – it really is the little things in life.

I think all of this happened because I was actually starting to doubt that it could ever be about the “insignificant”. Everyone is always so focused on jobs, spouses, cities, and money, that we forget to think of the power of smiling at strangers, that luck sometimes is on our side – that we actually can be happy by finding the small joys in life as well.

And because it is hard for me to keep any post completely on the serious, I have included my latest small source of happiness.

Not purchased together, in case that was your question. That’s the beauty of it. This was a really exciting find on my end yesterday.

What little sources of happiness have you found recently?

ridiculousness.

I’m no genius here, but lately I’ve had to scratch my head at the wonder of people, bless their hearts.

It was not too long ago I blogged about the sad existence of a fellow Eagles fan flooding craigslist with his ridiculous search for a companion - to which all of you seemed to enjoy. Recently, I have been bombarded with similar instances of head scratching, what-are-they-thinking internet finds. I have saved them all, and decided to share with all of you for a good core workout – or, at the least, a decent chuckle. Enjoy.

More embarrasing than admitting I was on Jessica Simpson’s homepage (hold your applause) is the fact that this man has asked the Lord to go right ahead and screw us all. It’s called spell check, GarrettRobert – and I wouldn’t hold my breath on Jessica Simpson “searching you out” as her new “amn”.

Are you kidding me? Obviously they are, but come on. That is 5 seconds of my life that I am never getting back.

No caption required on this gem, don’t you think?

And publishing your memory pays what, exactly? Oh, you forgot. Too bad.

Look, I have plenty of friends that dig the vampire thing – while I do not necessarily understand it, I can support that they do. But titling this ad ‘Death is for Lovers’? Am I missing something here? (Bonus points for the ominous painting picture, sans blood. They have left it up to my memory and curiosity, which I can appreciate.)

I love So You Think You Can Dance, being a dancer who used to spend hours in the studio growing up. So what’s wrong with this one? This popped on my facebook sidebar the other day. SYTYCD was not on that night, and the date is now 9/29. You do the math.

When I came across this one a few months back, I truly had to laugh. First, are you paying me for my time put forth in watching “Little Big Man”, as well as reading ‘No One Here Gets Out Alive: The Biography of Jim Morrison’? Also, good luck with the book and movie you’re gauranting to come out of this craigslist ad, ghostwritten book. Because that’s usually how those things play out for us, after all.

How in the world a NYC agency, education nonetheless, does not know how to spell curriculum – not once, but twice! – is simply beyond me. I’d say they need that writer pretty badly, after all.

It cannot be just me who finds these finds ridiculous. Thoughts? And have you found your own little gems a la internet?

the wonderfulness that is the season of fall

It’s here, folks – that time of the year when the beach is a thing of the past, and snow on the ground has yet to make its debut.

How to pass the time in such conditions, you ask? Well, kids – it’s simple. Here are ten tips of how you can effectively pass the time in Fall, and maximize your fun-having for the remaining days of September, as well as October and November.

KB’s Top 10 Ten Ways to Fall into Fall. (I know, I know..)

FIRST and foremost, celebrate the fact that football is back! This provides your Sunday much more purpose than it did in the summer, and it gives 95 percent of men a thousand more reasons to surf the internets. (Good luck, ladies.)

ROADTRIP. I think this is actually a much better time of the year to do it because there is far less traffic, much more to see in the foliage and tree department, and you don’t have to waste money using the AC. Roll the windows down and take it in. FALL. Yes!

OUTSIDE. Go there! It’s a cool place in the fall.

Use chapstick. It’s fun, and it gets those shiners ready for a typically brutal winter. Luckily, Toyota doesn’t just handle cars, and yes – I did actually give this marketing disaster a go-at.

Stretch those sea legs and grab those sneaks! Running outside in the fall is phenomenally amazing and amazingly phenomenal. (This is a pair I recently received through Chris Illuminati via the sneaker war a few weeks back. Thanks to all 56494393 of you who voted.)

Bundle up – it’s the best part! (Don’t act like the slippers you wear in the fall aren’t just as lame).

Go to the last minute baseball game. You know you didn’t go all year.

Get nerdy with the fam. Brennans LOVE Twister! (Sad or not, we actually do this. Obviously).

Go shopping – retail therapy is the real deal, and will help prepare you for winter’s cometh.

And lastly – enjoy fall with an outdoor tailgate. All you need for fall is all you need in life. Good food, good beer, a sunny afternoon, and even better friends to enjoy all of it with.

What makes your top ten Fall activities, you embracers of nature and change?

things you don’t tell your boyfriend

Whoever said you should be able to share anything in a relationship was so clearly single.

Thoughts are constantly flooding my mind – this is a fact. Yet, in typical KB fashion, rather than take the necessary minute to think “is this something worth sharing?”, I am already distributing my small gift of reckless verbal communication to the world.

Case in point -

Last week, my boyfriend was sitting at his laptop, per usual – totally unsuspecting of the fact that I was about to ruin it all with my lack of thought process.

“Sooo, I really am seriously considering taking prenatal vitamins regularly,” I utter, with no care in the world. I truly was excited about this recent development in my life.

His response? “What?” - as if I should have expected anything less.

First, I should precept that I have never taken a prenatal vitamin in my life. So, with that being said, why regularly left my mouth is beyond me. That would imply that I have before, and I haven’t. Ever. It’s like false advertising for something I certainly shouldn’t have been trying to sell in the first place – much like ads for penile implants.

I think a lot of committed men’s biggest fear is that their special lady friend is secretly concocting ways to get pregnant. Society has convinced men all women want babies and marriage since we were old enough to state so, and what a misguided piece of information that is.

The only reason I am considering taking these vitamins is because they do wonders for your hair, skin and nails – which I recently learned from my best friend Bryn. You would figure years of tormenting myself with the troubles of Meredith Grey would have taught me this helpful fact sooner, but Greys Anatomy has left me with nothing to show for my bad TV habits except bad TV habits.

But I have learned one thing from this small slip-up, and it’s this: disclaimers, ladies – they truly are a blessed thing.

kickin it old school in new sneaks

There are times when life hands you opportunities that are simply bigger than you.

At these pivotal junctures, all one can truly do is seize said opportunity and make it his own.

Such a moment happened for me recently, and it was when I caught wind of Chris Illuminati putting forth a search for the most battered sneakers.

The concept was simple: send in a picture of sneaks that had been through the ringer, and the best picture would win a free pair of Saucony X360 what-have-yous. Being a lover of footwear, albeit not typically those in the sporting goods section, I immediately jumped on this golden opportunity.

My shoes, as you can see, weren’t that battered, so I quickly took the matter into my own hands.

Illuminati seemed to appreciate my handy work in the knife department, and made me a semi-finalist – relying on the votes of others to declare either myself, or my competition, the winner.

I could really use new sneaks for, you know – running along the Hudson, gallivanting around the house in-only (what?), and simply to say “I win!”, a phrase rarely uttered on my part.

So – If you could please take a moment to vote for me, Stabbing Sole, I would not only appreciate it, I will send you a picture of me with my winning new kicks – courtesy of myself, my camera, and of course, Gmail and President Obama.

Click here to vote - and thank you so much!

E A G L E S..

So, here it is, gang! – My first time to watch my beloved Birds back on the field this preseason, since living in New York land doesn’t lend itself to being able to see every Eagles game anymore.

Jersey is out, smile is on, head tilt is in full effect – and, all of this despite the recent addition to the team.

Many people have asked when I was going to blog about Vick being made an Eagle. Despite it being a week ago to the day, I have purposefully put it off for a number of reasons. One, because I have blogged in the past about my feelings on Vick, which were explicitly clear – I, in no way, care for him as a human being, or believe that what he did was anything less than obscenely inhumane. Furthermore, the Eagles do not care about my thoughts on the situation, clearly – what is done is done, and the complaints of the people of Philadelphia will not change that.

Do I appreciate Vick being an Eagle? Absolutely not.

Do I think he should be allowed to play in the NFL? Yes.

Despite my earlier position on all of this, I have realized that our legal system is based on (and has to be) being innocent until proven guilty. And once you are proven guilty, you serve your time and pay your debt to society.

Our society also hopes that during your jail sentence, that whatever hate in your heart caused you to commit said crime dissolves entirely – and, sometimes, it actually does. People have served time, and bettered themselves for it.

So I guess it comes down to this, for me:

Do I truly believe in my heart Vick is 100 percent sorry for what he did? No. The things he allowed to happen to animals are so unfathomable, and I do believe that someone who could allow such acts to take place is a person incapable of complete change.

Do I hope that I am wrong about this? Yes. Of course. Why wouldn’t anyone want to be wrong about this, if not only because of their own ego?

Without ever having anyway to ever base an opinion on whether he truly is sorry, I can only see this situation factually: Michael Vick paid his debt to society, and should be allowed to play in the NFL – that includes my beloved Philadelphia Eagles.

WIll I ever really be comfortable with the sight of Vick in an Eagles uniform?

No. Never.

Yet, it is what it is, and despite my personal opinions about him as a person, he should be given that second chance.

But, I am one lone girl – a lover of animals, but also the Philadelphia Eagles – what are your thoughts?

“oh, you didn’t tell me you got drafted into the NFL..”

If you follow myself or Cotter on twitter, you might remember us asking all of you what was a worse football fan faux pas: pink jerseys, personalized jerseys, or others?

Well, my friends – the wait is over, and the results are in.

Are you wondering how all of this came to be? A lot of people have questioned what piqued my interest on the subject at hand.

Here it is, you curious critters:

Last week commenced the Eagles preseason training camp, which, every year, has me fervently checking blogs, stats, and leaves me with the Philadelphia Eagles homepage consistently open. Inevitably, the habitual shopper in me ended up on the Eagles gear page (of course), and to my horror, remembered the time of “put your name on the back of your team’s jersery” – and seriously wondered, do people still do that? (and, more importantly, why did they ever start?)

This created the ever-controversial “what is worse” war – to which, Cotter (who I had initially addressed this question) and myself put it up to the fate of the Gods, taking twitter and facebook polls, asking all of you (to our horror!) which was better.

Here is what you guys decided.

Out of the 80 of you that so kindly responded to my inquriy, I was flabergasted, flabergasted! by the results. When I started this journey, I assumed everyone would so obviously agree with me, because to me, it seemed that personalized jerseys was the obvious choice.

Thanks for proving me wrong. Jerks.

This is the actual breakdown:

Those who agree with yours truly and say that your own name on the back of a jersey is the ultimate sin – 27

Those of you who are avid haters of the color pink, especially when presented in jersey form on gameday – 51

Those of you who like to throw a good curve ball, saying wearing the wrong team’s jersey is the worst - 2

The grand total of you who gave up 2.5 seconds of your life to serve the better cause of my often ignored blog = 80

I’m no mathmetical genius here, but this is what? 24 extra votes that go to the deteste of pink jerseys, which is 63 percent of the total votes. Way to prove me wrong, all.

If you missed out on the fun, I have added a poll – feel free to contribute below.

Something I feel that I should point out, at this juncture, is that the pink jerseys, whether you love or despise them, donate a part of the proceeds to support breast cancer research – and that is something I hope, regardless of how you feel on the subject, we can all get behind.

Football season is almost upon us, gang. Can’t wait.

See you at the bar.

GO EAGLES.