I don’t care what kind of workout regimen I’m on, I never say no to cake. But a cookie cake? If cookie cake were a man, I’d marry it.

Celebrating (a generous term) my 25th birthday has left me feeling pretty despondent. Yesterday after scarfing down a plateful of crab legs and shrimp at a seafood restaurant, a light bulb went off - I know what would make me feel better and it doesn’t come in a bottle of a pill, it comes in the shape of a shopping mall.

There’s nothing like a little shopping spree to soothe the soul.

Ever since I can remember, my parents have had this cassette tape of a children’s birthday song that had my name in it. Every morning at 6:00am, my mother would creep into my bedroom with a cassette player blasting Captain Zoom’s Birthday song. I would always feign annoyance but inside I was beaming, my heart exploding with excitement.

I woke up this morning, now 25 years old, and I didn’t feel the glow of waking up another day older. Nothing was different about this day. There wasn’t a cassette tape, no cake, balloons or party hats. No one jumped out from a hiding place to yell “Surprise!” It was just me, another person with another birthday, like billions of others on the planet. I wasn’t a child anymore and couldn’t give in to childish memories. I brushed my teeth, I drove to work, listening to a little Lykke Li.

At a stop light, I noticed I had received a voice message. It was from my mother. I could hear her press the play button and the familiar sound of Captain Zoom’s rocket ship.

Hey, Cristina!
It’s your birthday!
I’m in charge of the stars
And I’m here to say,
’cause Cristina,
You’re the BIG STAR today!

Of course, this is the part where I started to cry. Despite my tears, I wondered why in the world my mother still owned a cassette player.

Alright, so maybe I’m being just a little dramatic. Tomorrow I turn 25 years old and I’m facing it with a mixture of trepidation and apathy. I actually forgot it was my birthday until a few days ago when my love asked me where I wanted to go for dinner. I perked up thinking, what’s the occasion? Oh, that’s right, I’m turning a miserable 25 years old. La di da.

Half of me feels like I’m suddenly too old and too different for certain things that I’ve experienced. I get bored at nightclubs but I can’t stand pseudo-posh bars with enormous metal menus and pricey (yet unsatisfying) entrees. Working on a college campus makes me feel old, out of place and tired. I am often broke. I have a degree but feel as though I’ve accomplished nothing - as if my B.A. in English just isn’t enough for the world. Occasionally, I feel a certain kind of anxiety when it comes to relationships. I’m convinced I’m un-marriagable and will remain the eternal girlfriend (which I totally predicted 10 years ago).

Yesterday I tried making bread, again, in my bread machine. It was a disaster and it turned out kind of like me. The ingredients were added in the wrong order so it was flavorless and the wrong consistency.

The other half of me is truly delighted with how my life is going: I have a fabulous boyfriend, a lovable dog, a solid job and my overall health is improving with every run. I’m only 25, for God’s sake, and at least I have a degree tucked under my belt. My life is filled with love and lovely things - so this whole quarter life blues, well, it’s got to go.

I can rely on the holidays for a happy distraction and yes - I am a complete sucker for Thanksgiving (my favorite), Christmas and New Year’s. There’s something special about these days that just inspire a sense of renewal, energy and togetherness. I can’t help it, I’m a total sap for the proverbial holiday cheer. I love to host dinner parties and this year, I’m hosting Thanksgiving dinner at the home that I share with my boyfriend. Naturally, I’m all atwitter over decorations, table settings and menu planning.

After a few trips to the local dollar stores - and a huge shout out to Dollar Tree which has to be my all time favorite dollar store - I’m totally ready to Merry the shit out of Christmas.