My mom is a terrorist and I never knew it.
A visiting friend has left our place today, so we can finally resume our normal routines of eating only cereal and walking around naked in front of open windows. We still need to unpack from our trip home so at the moment the usually clean apartment looks like a bomb hit it. A bomb that contained the entire contents of The Garden State Plaza. This normally wouldn't bother me but I don't even remember what I bought at this point. Martha Stewart could be hidden in those bags, carefully pressing and folding all of our new clothes into shapes of Christmas iconography and I wouldn't have a clue.
I am back at work and the transition from PERSON WHO SITS AROUND AND EATS MUFFINS to PERSON WHO GETS UP AT 7AM AND IS CRANKY went smoothly. I had a lot of work to come back to but happy enough that I'm here and the season of a million holiday parties can commence. Maybe it's just the people I know back home, but I went to one, maybe two holiday parties a season TOPS. Within the next week and a half I have been invited to three. I think I'm going to go to the one where I can relieve the stress of Christmas earliest in the day by drinking heavily for free. I feel like I get more accomplished that way.
Back in Dublin, back at work, and I still have to put up the Christmas tree. Until I do that, here is a photo evidence that my mother never cleans out her cabinets.
These spices expired in 1981. She has moved five times since. This means she packed them, transported them, unpacked them FIVE TIMES and never noticed that they were expired until she tried to convince me to use them in a pie. A pie that could probably have been used as a weapon of mass destruction.
Love the tins, though.