how old is too old? ... and other random thoughts.

I spent much of my evening tonight workshopping my family relationships, or in other words, being a total babypants.

I'll spare you the too-personal details, which involve an expected reaction to my holiday plans that was replaced with something of a feeling-bruising reality of logistics-this and calendar-checking-that. Now, deep down I know I am always welcome home for the holidays. They want me there, and I can stay as long as I want.

But when it's been more than eight years since I have lived at home, the dynamic surely changes. I left for college, and literally the next day, the stuff I didn't take with me was packed up in the attic and my room was repainted and rented out (I lived above the garage my last year of high school). Which is fine. I moved. I didn't need a room.

But from that day on, my house became less and less my house and more my dad's (et al's) house. I don't live there. I visit. I didn't move back after college, and until a couple years ago, my visits were ultra-short. Plus, my situation is made a little more complicated by the fact that we are a blended family (I think that's today's euphemism, right?) and I continue to struggleto feel a part of the family in it's current form.

Regardless, it's my guess that everyone faces this as they get older, where you don't live at home but you don't have a home of your own yet. I am not married, no children, no home to buy a Christmas tree for or throw a New Year's party at. But, I don't live with my dad, et al.

So how old is too old to expect to go home - to the home where you grew up, that is - for two weeks? When are we supposed to be grown up enough that our friends travel to spend New Year's with you, rather than just meet at home where everyone is shacking up with their folks? How old is too old to dredge up family drama, demanding certain concessions, rather than simply getting over the fact that family is family and there is just nothing you can do to change them?

Similarly, how old is too old to put presents under a tree labeled "From: Santa" to be opened on Christmas morning, after digging though a stocking stuffed with little nic-nacs and the requisite orange?

And on a related note, is there such thing as a quarter-life (mid-20s) crisis? If so, I think I'm there... you know, where you don't know what you want to (continue to) do with your life, you don't have an established home, you feel all kinds of lost and a little lonely and a lot confused?

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On an unrelated note, here's a little mindless, shallow, drivel, as promised:

-- I am crushed about Nick and Jessica's separation. For weeks, I have been ignoring the news of it, waiting for their respective spokespeople to come out and say, "Oh get off it! The couple has not and never will separate!" Well, that day never came. And now it's official. I feel more sad about that than I do about Brad and Jennifer breaking up. I mean, who could love Jessica and put up with her shit like Nick did; and what does he have if he doesn't have her - not a career, that's for sure.

-- Much like what happened with my feelings toward Jessica Simpson, my hatred for Lindsay Lohan was so intense that it circled around and has morphed into like. Would one call that "liketred" like hatred? Just wondering.

-- As much as I like Maureen Dowd and think she is a clever writer and a very beautiful and sexy woman to boot, she is terrible at interviews. Painful. She is awkward and tense and kind of cold. But I still like her.

-- The debate about whether blondes or brunettes have more fun is ridiculous. I know you are asking, do people give a shit? and Who is still debating this? Good questions, yes. But somewhat in jest, my friend CK and I struck up this debate this weekend after she dyed her hair back to brown. I argue she wasn't a full blonde (mainly highlights) to start with, but for the sake of the social experiment, we overlooked that. The verdict (according to just my observation): she had equal fun. Why? Because she is fun and enjoys life. Just as I do. As a brunette. Case closed. And when it comes to men's preferences, my guess is it's like breast size: They may say they have a preference, but when it comes down to brass tacks, they couldn't care less.

-- I was assigned a story today loosely based on a one of those corporate self help books about habits of effective people. Does anyone actually read those books (besides me, which will have to happen for the sake of reporting)? Is it passed around Corporate America with a Post-It note reading "Check this out. Riveting stuff - I wouldn't be a CEO without it!"?