So I’ve made a deal with myself. I’m not allowed to shop until I weed out these “filler” pieces. Hence why I immediately have a pile of clothes that no longer serve me on the floor of my room. Why do they no longer serve me? Well … they are pieces of clothing that have stains or rips on them. That are faded and no longer fit. Poorly made pieces of crap that are missing buttons, and other items that I just associate with bad memories. Oh … and let’s not forget all of those “sleepy shirts” I have. These are shirts that have my college logo on them that ended up in my dorm room at some point that I kept out of pure nostalgia. Or shirts from bar crawls that say stuff like “I’m Drunk Betches!”, or shirts I picked up AT bars that have “Bacardi whore” written across them. Bu … bu … BYEEEEEEEEEE.

When you get to a point in your life when it seems like everything and everyone is against you, where people are only interested in breaking your heart and walking away for you to clean up the mess and make sense of it all, or break down your confidence so severely that you no longer know yourself … you know it’s time for a change. Some start with finding Jesus … I start with my closet.

So the rules of this closet cleanse?

1. If I haven’t worn you in a year … you are gone.

2. If you remind me of some emotional bitch slap … you are too, also gone.

3. If you no longer fit right, yet I just love your color and style … gone.

4. If you are a poorly made piece of crap … see ya.

5. If you are stained … but I so desperately wish you weren’t stained … sweet Jesus, bye.

So there you have it. This is just the beginner pile. I may end up with like five pieces of clothing left, but at least it will be the beginning of a fresh start I so desperately need. Or maybe I’ll end up like those obnoxiously annoying chic ladies who literally have 10 pieces of classic staples in their wardrobe that they somehow magically transform into numerous different looks. Ha I could never live like this, my only hope is that I will be reasonably able to shut my drawers.

So there it is. If any of these garments interest anyone … I will be happy to send them your way as a token of my appreciation for you being a loyal reader of my nonsense. But be warned though … some of these pieces are poorly made pieces of crap. I won’t call out specific garments … but if you can guess which ones they are … bonus points for you, my dear reader!

So happy Mother’s Day to all you fab ladies out there. I honestly don’t know how you do it. First of all, as a 26-year-old lady, the idea of having children right now freaks me out to the point where if someone asks me if one day I might want to have kids, my immediate jerk reaction is a “deer in headlights” blank stare followed by slowly but surely backing away from the conversation. But who knows, that may change one day. What do you want from me, I’m 26 and selfish right now. But honestly, the walking around for nine months carrying the kid, the not drinking whilst preggo, then the awful child-birth (I unfortunately have an older sister with two kids who felt it necessary to give me all the nitty-gritty details … YOWZA), and then having the responsibility of making sure that one day said child can become a respectable and prominent member of society … I mean, my God. You don’t just deserve a glass of wine today … take the bottle to the face, ladies!

Yes, today is about showering the ones who raised us, nurtured us, and still allows us to crawl into bed with them while in the midst of emotional breakdowns (not that I do that or anything :::shifty eyes:::). But I think today is a pretty damn good excuse to admire all women out there who do great things in life. Whether you are an aunt, a God Mother, a sister, momma to a dog/cat, a best friend, a co-worker, a humanitarian, you do things to make other people/animals better, whether you know it or not. So I’m tippin’ my cap to all the ladies out there today.

BUT … back to my original point … my mom is the best. You may disagree politely, which I respect, and I won’t bore you with the details of why that statement is 100% accurate, but it’s true because none of this would have been possible without her love and support. I would have never taken a such a strong interest in fashion if it wasn’t for her subscribing to every fashion magazine known to man for most of my life, and to this day still having a better wardrobe than me. I would have never known how to express my personal style if it wasn’t for her pushing me to explore different things whilst shopping. And I would have never known what a strapless bra is … and therefore I would have never known how badly life sucks in it.

So mom, thanks for giving birth to me, at age 40, in Camden, N.J. (calm down … it was in a hospital you freaks), … aaaaand I’m sorry I was like two weeks late, I clearly didn’t want to leave your womb. Hell, I still don’t really enjoy being all out in the open. But thanks for being you … because otherwise I wouldn’t be me.

And don’t worry, I won’t tell Kelly & Mark (my sibs) that I’m your favorite. It’s totally cool … your secret is safe with me!

LAH YA MA!

So, of course, on my Christmas list to Santa, clothing from Abercrombie was on there. Flash forward to Christmas morning when I’m holding boxes from A&F grinning from ear-to-ear like an idiot and my mom staring at me, shaking her head in disbelief and annoyance.

She then enlightened me to her very first … and last … Abercrombie experience, which I will share with you now, from her perspective, told by me (from what I can recall).

The smell was overwhelming when I first walked in to the point where it was making me nauseous. I kept going though because “Santa” needed to finish her Christmas duties. But it wasn’t just that. It was the music. The awful, horrifyingly loud music. I couldn’t think!

And then I got greeted by some model-looking half wit who is a size negative zero strutting around in A&F. I smiled and started to look around by myself. The funny thing was, there was no light! Just these tiny tea lights around the clothing. Was I looking at a t-shirt or was it a dress, I didn’t have the slightest idea!

So I was forced to ask a sales associate for help. I told the girl that I was looking for an outfit for my daughter, who was tall and skinny with long legs. She said some things but I couldn’t hear her. Her: “What kind of ::muffled noise::: Me: WHAT?! Her: “Does your daughter li … :::muffled noise::: Me: WHAT?! I CAN’T HEAR YOU? I mean I was screaming at this poor girl to get my point across! Once I started reading her lips, we got on the same page.

So she brought me over to the jean skirts, the ones that all the girls wear, apparently. I lifted it up to one of the tea lights and realized this piece of jean they were calling a jean skirt that looked like someone took a lawn mower to it was over $100, and would not even cover her behind. We moved on to t-shirts. She isn’t a large … at all. But when I lifted the medium up, it didn’t even look like it would fit a toddler. Forgive her for having breasts. So I was forced to get a large, which I wasn’t even sure would fit her. Not to mention I couldn’t find a t-shirt that didn’t say ABERCROMBIE all over it to save my life. And because I needed to get the hell out of that store, I was forced to buy an overpriced t-shirt … and the run towards fresh air and silence.

True life: That large t-shirt … didn’t fit me. And you know what, I was 5’9 and in no way, shape or form overweight. But even in their overpriced jeans, I was like a size 15, when normally I was a size 6. Really?

Clothing is supposed to make you feel good, help you express who you truly are, no matter what size you happen to be. You say you hate “fat chicks”, Mike Jeffries? Well I hate discriminatory, macho, close-minded, assholes who make people feel bad about themselves.

So to my mother, I apologize for making you go through this hell when I was a teenager. To normal human beings out there … if a brand makes you feel bad about yourself when they really should be in the business of making everyone feel the best they can  … know that no one has the right to do that … NO ONE. And Mike Jeffries, you make overpriced, unoriginal crap that pushes your brand name. That’s. About. It. Take a look in the mirror and try to find Jesus or something. Men who are CEO’s of a popular clothing company, who put limitations on what kind of human being can wear their brand based on superficial reasons, clearly have something deeper inside they need to work out.

So SUCK ON THAT …. aye aye aye aye aye aye!

AND ONE MORE THING: Just because you have a model stick figure standing to greet me at your store doesn’t make me want to slap “Abercrombie” across my ass. People buy clothing because it makes them feel good and fits well, not because some gorgeous model sold it to them. And if you only buy your clothes based on how the sales associates look … well, God speed in life.

I’m not sure who thought it would be a good idea to let Hollywood experiment with punk fashion … but umm … yeah.

I desperately wanted Debbie Harry and Patti Smith to show up and like break shit and give everyone the finger and scream a lot and then leave … but alas it didn’t happen. Instead we had to watch starlets awkwardly play around with punk .. which, quite frankly, was painful.

I’m in no way, shape or form “punk” … and I think it is an incredibly hard style to pull off … because punk wasn’t about the style. It just happened … the music made it all come to life. It wasn’t because a stylist said … “ooh studs! SOOOOO punk.” It was because they literally didn’t give a shit. These people … live to give a shit. They get PAID to give a shit. Hence why it doesn’t work. And yes, the Met Gala is about experimenting with fashion, paying homage to it and living out a real life costume ball … but perhaps let’s pick a theme more obtainable.

For the following things do NOT count as paying homage to punk.

1. An overly dramatic smoky eye … yawn.

2. Baroque print dresses … wrong movement there, lady

3. Feathered ball gowns … unless you murdered the bird before the Gala and stuck its feathers to your dress, then that counts.

4. Platinum blonde hair … perfectly styled … just for funsies … tee hee I like, always wanted to do it

5. Faux hawks … amateur

6. Dramatic trains … unless an actual psycho path ripped up the material in the back … doesn’t count

7. Sheer black ball gowns … nice try, slackers

8. Floral print … … … I will have nightmares about Kimye’s look though

9. High slits … not the Grammy’s … go home

10. Cut out dresses … too trendy, holmes

So I will leave you with this thought: Why wasn’t there more Alexander McQueen where there wasn’t Alexander McQueen. That guy is probably in the after life kicking and screaming like, “WHY AREN’T MY DRESSES REPRESENTED!!!!! PUNK! HELLO?!”

And now …

Punk

Not punk.

Punk.

Not punk.

Punk.

And did you know … Gwyneth Paltrow was recently named People Magazine’s “World’s Most Beautiful Woman” GASP! And honestly, the haterade that has been pouring out of everyone because of this is absolutely classic. So yeah … looks like she has set the beauty standard in the whole entire world. :::Sigh::: Great. I mean for f*&ks sake … come on People Magazine. Like we don’t have any other shit to stress about, now we have to set our beauty standards to Paltrow? Really!?

But this got me thinking about the chick you wanted to banana peel in high school. Here are the qualities of that girl that made you secretly hate her, but at the same time crave her life compared to Gwyneth:

1. That girl: Excelled academically

Gwyneth: Academically … I know she graduated from the Spence School in New York City … sounds fancy … I’m sure has a degree in being beautiful and awesome too

2. That girl: Had the hottest boyfriend in high school

Gwyneth: Umm let’s go through her laundry list of ex-boyfriends, shall we? Brad Pitt, Ben Affleck … and now married to one of the sexiest rockers of our time, Chris Martin … ummm hello?! The Coldplay song “Green Eyes” is about her … I mean …

3. That girl: Was beloved by everyone (even the teacher’s spawned from Satan himself)

Gwyneth: She seems sweet as pie … I mean if Oprah lives and dies for you, shouldn’t we all? I can’t really see Paltrow smacking a bitch, but I could be wrong. Overall I would say she is pretty likable.

4. That girl: Sick body … like made Gisele look like a manatee

Gwyneth: The woman lives a yogi lifestyle. And that is why she is 40 and looks younger than me … I’m 26 by the way … cool. Also … doesn’t eat carbs … nor does she allow her family too. Sweet, Paltrow, how is that working out for you? Oh that’s right, your the most beautiful person ever … my bad.

5. That girl: Gorg … like stunning … made inanimate objects weep over her beauty

Gwyneth: Flawlessly gorgeous. Doesn’t fiddle with Botox or plastic surgery, just straight up naturally stunning. Excuse me while I go put on pounds of makeup so I don’t resemble death anymore.

6. That girl: Talented in every single thing she tried … like I’m talking could randomly hop on a pogo stick for the first time and become the world’s best pogo stick jumper

Gwyneth: Oh you know gave acting a whirl, won an Oscar. Gave modeling a whirl, ended up on the cover on Vogue. Dabbled in singing and did a freaking duet with Cee Lo and the Muppets on the Grammy’s. Then got into blogging because … why not take the spotlight away from actual bloggers who are trying to make a name for themselves :::shaking fist:::. Then decided to write a cookbook … I mean the list goes on and on.

7. That girl: Helped cure AIDS/feed the hungry/raised money for orphans … AKA made us all look really bad

Gwyneth: I mean she raises money for breast cancer research, is apart of UNICEF, donates to food banks, sells her own clothing on her blog to raise money … but when you are rolling in it like she is, she better damn straight help out charities.

8. That girl: Trend setter … I heard she wore army pants and flip flops … so I wore army pants and flip flops. (If you recognize this quote … I love you.)

Gwyneth: She could wear a paper bag and make it look chic. ‘Nough said.

9. That girl: Had more friends than she knew what to do with … people would just flock to her

Gwyneth: She knows Oprah and does yoga with Madonna … ‘Nough said. And quite frankly if she was in my general area … like I could touch her, I would totally kiss her ass and try to be her friend … “Oh your hair is SO pretty,” “OMG RIGHT?!” … that is how I imagine that conversation would go.

10. That girl: Lived a luxurious life with a plush home and cars that were more expensive than my parents combined salary.

Gwyneth: Do I even need to go there? She has homes on two continents … let’s talk.

So listen, let’s be real here ladies, the reason everyone is up in arms about Gwyneth Paltrow winning “Most Beautiful Woman That Ever Walked This Earth,” is because we are straight up J-E-A-L-O-U-S. I’ll admit it, I hate the bitch for no reason besides the fact that I wish she would stop blogging and divorce Chris Martin so I could have him … but God dammit do I respect her.

And now … I will leave you with this:

I had only been spray tanned once prior to this experience, and quite frankly it was pretty stressful. The exfoliating, the turning too dark after waiting too long to shower, the exfoliating again, and again, and again, and dealing with parts of your body that were darker than others. Luckily Adrienne gave me “spray tanning 101″ which I will share with you now so you can enjoy a painless, stress-free, almost relaxing tanning experience.

1. Exfoliate, Shave and Say Your Prayers: Don’t go insane, but get that dead skin off before the tan. You’ve been hiding your epidermis under bulky sweaters and tights for the past five months … start with a fresh layer of skin, ladies and gents. And yes … ev-er-y-where, all the good nooks and crannies. And the same goes for any unwanted hair. You may or may not be in the shower for a solid 45 minutes … I gave your fair warning.

2. Go All Natural: That means no makeup, moisturizer, or deodorant. Oh yeah … bet you didn’t know spray tanning turns deodorant green … cause it does. The Incredible Hulk look is so not hawt right now. So yeah, you may look like a hot mess going to and from the spray tan, but do what I did and pretend you are going to the gym … except … not. When people looked at me, I gave them a look back like, “oh yeah … don’t mind me … just going to pump some iron … in flip flops … yeaaaaahhh DON’T LOOK AT ME!”

3. Trust the Person Spraying You: If you don’t … walk the hell out. But usually … USUALLY … the person spraying you knows what shade of tan will look best on you. I trust Adrienne 110% because she gave me her background, told me how she trains her employees, etc. It’s okay to ask them those questions. And asking them their opinion is encouraged … they are the experts, for crying out loud. For example, if I told Adrienne that I wanted to look like I sat out in the sun below the equator for the past three months with no SPF, she would have told me I was absolutely cray and I would have respected that. Instead a natural, healthy glow was suggested.

4. Kim Kardashian Is An Idiot: If you’ve watched the entire season of Kourtney and Kim Take Miami with drool coming out of your mouth like me … then you’ve seen Kim and her blurred out nipples getting spray tanned every other day. Not just getting spray tanned … but getting layers and layers and layers of spray tanning. Turns out, there is no need to get layers of spray tan to make you darker. One layer of tan, with the right color suggested, will give you the perfect color … like I did. So Kim, maybe you should fire your fancy in-home spray tan specialist and hire Adrienne … just sayin’. I can’t image huffing spray tanning fumes is good for you either… organic smorganic.

5. Tans Don’t Just Fall Off: People think spray tans can melt off, slide off, run away without leaving a goodbye note. Nope. Let me bring it back to freshman year science class for a sec. Your skin is made up of cells. So in essence, you’re getting your cells spray tanned (ew … mental image). So when those cells die, they, along with their fierce spray tan, will fall off … making you pale once again. So you have to put effort into making those cells stay alive by moisturizing, for the love of God, with baby products. Powders, oils … yes … baby products. In my mind they may be cheaper, but I am in no way shape or form a momma, so who the hell knows.

6. No Fist Pumps or Hair Poofs: I didn’t leave Baked Jersey Shore-style … but God forbid you do … nail polish remover may be your best friend. Sometimes your ankles, knuckles, knee caps may get a little darker, and if that happens rub a little nail polisher remover over those areas and you’ll be good as gold. OR a lemon and sugar rinse will do the trick, if you’re an “all-natural” type of person.

I gotta say … this is by far the best spray tanning experience I’ve EVER had. I’m going on week two and I still have a nice, natural glow still (but I also made sure to keep my cells hydrated). And unfortunately, Kim Kardashian is a dirty liar … I did NOT feel 10 pounds lighter, but I did get a massive boost of confidence from it. I didn’t feel the need to wear as much makeup and I just felt healthier. A great self-esteem boost if you need a little pick-me-up.

And if you don’t live by Philly … I feel terrible for you, because I’m giving Adrienne and Baked Tanning my massive, shiny, unicorn sparkle stamp of approval for all fabulous ladies out there that need a pick-me-up. Not only is she a ridiculously talented spray tanner, but most importantly is no bullshit and will give you a service that will make you glow from inside and out.

So to Adrienne, I thank you so much for hooking me up so I don’t look like I’m an extra on the set of True Blood as well as taking the time to explain the fine art of how to get a beautiful and long lasting spray tan. Aaaaaaand I may be back in the next week … I’m starting to look like Casper again … ah!

What happened to our relationship? Did I keep you in my “comfy pant” drawer for too long? Was it that I spent too much time with my ratty, hole-ridden sweats? I know rebellion when I see it, and I’m on to you, my friend. Fed up with just being the “go-to-guy” for special occasions like Christmas morning, you busted out of the shadows and into the control of designers like Marc Jacobs.

Your silky touch used to soothe me whilst under the covers, and now you are too busy turning your nose up at us “normal folk” while strutting your stuff on some of the biggest Fashion Week runways. I realize I treated you badly. I realize I never made the effort to match your tops with your bottoms. I realize I may or may not have gotten bleach stains all over you. And oh those nights when we would fight … you would annoy me to the point where I found myself ripping you off and throwing you to the ground. :::sigh:::

But know that I adore you, my comforting friend, I just don’t want to wear you out on the town or to work. I don’t want to wear you with heels. I don’t want to have to put on red lipstick and style you senseless. It’s not you … it’s me. I want you curled up on my couch with me, snuggled under the covers and styled with a messy bun sans makeup with a glass of wine in my hand. But alas … you are too busy throwing away what we had to rub shoulders with glamorous models and actresses on the red carpet.

I realize if Marc Jacobs told me to jump … I would be more than tempted to say how high, but try and be you. For I cringe every time I see a group of normal women in a store, women who don’t have or can’t afford a stylist, surrounding themselves around you exclaiming things like, “what the HELL am I supposed to do with these?!“

You’re about to put lots of fantastic women on the Worst Dressed List. In fact, Joan Rivers is licking her lips in anticipation to have her way with you. Stop being silly … and come back to where you belong.

The “Comfy Pant” Drawer Ain’t The Same Without You,

Life Sucks In A Strapless Bra

So if you didn’t think you knew me well enough … behold my five random facts:

1. Crazed Curls: It is true, I’ve been living a big ol’ lie. The minute I hit puberty, my hair turned into this thick, kinky curly disaster area that I loathed. I luckily stumbled upon a genius stylist who, in his words, taught me how to make my hair “Asian straight.” What once took me 2 1/2 hours to straighten my hair now only takes me 30 minutes, so thank Jesus for really expensive straighteners and conditioning creams.

2. Jeans Didn’t Exist In My Wardrobe Until I was 11: Until I was in 5th grade, stretchy pants and overalls were the only two things I would put on my body. Yea … I was hawt. Before I started 5th grade, my sister drug me to Old Navy and insisted I purchased a pair of jeans … normal, old school … jeans. But seriously … jeans freaked me out when I was little. I was scared I was going to get trapped in them and like pee my pants or something (yeah … I was a slightly odd child). But let’s be real here, my fears held me back from adopting really heinous jeans from the 90′s … in a way I did myself a favor.

3. No Piercings For This Guy: It’s true, I do not have one piercing on my body, including my ears. I have a tattoo, but no piercings. Never did and probably never will. When I was younger it was the fear of pain that held me back from getting pierced. But the older I got, the more I decided it was an economical move, meaning one less accessory I had to invest in. When I turned 25 I was going to give myself the quarter century gift of getting my ears pierced, but instead ended up getting my first and only migraine I’ve ever had. I saw that as an omen to stay piercing-free.

4. R-O-W-D-I-E: Yep kids … I was a cheerleader. Ugh. Listen, I wanted to be Britney Spears. I loathed competition and the idea of “trying out” for anything mortified me. So when they made cheerleading in 8th grade “no cuts” I said, “why not … that has to be just like dancing, right?” So on top of having to wear pleather pants and bandana tops whilst rocking out to techno music for my dance recitals, I had to stand in front of packed bleachers in an ugly cheer uniform making up cheers for wrestling matches because, “Dribble it. Pass it. We. Want. A basket,” didn’t seem appropriate. Hmmm … Ps. I don’t got spirit, no I don’t.

5. First Published in Third Grade: Excuse me while I remove the excess dirt from my shoulder. Listen, I just told you all about how I wanted to be Britney Spears and how I thought I was going to get trapped in my blue jeans and pee my pants. I deserve to gloat a little. So yeah, I wrote a poem about my mommy and it got published in some kids journal and won a prize. It absolutely terrified me at the time, but looking back was the start of my writing career. I always knew I wanted to be a writer, and this was a huge defining moment for me. Well … except for those few years during puberty when I was certain I was going to move to New York City and become the next Britney Spears. Psh … idiot.

I now challenge all of my fellow Philly fashion bloggers to reveal five random things about themselves! If I can reveal to the world my fears of peeing my pants, you can, too. Get um, ladies.

In anticipation for the warmer weather, I was just brainstorming outfits to wear tomorrow … all of which are either dresses or skirts sans tights … and I feel like every time I imagine wearing said dress or skirt sans tights I find myself in this awareness commercial for pale skin.

“Are you pale? ::: pans to me sitting around a table with my friends who are all laughing and having a good time, but I’m too busy trying to cover up my legs underneath the table::: Do you feel like pants are your only option? :::me laying in bed depressed as I pull the covers of my pale legs::: Know you aren’t alone. Paleness happens to everyone. :::”The More You Know” star swipe:::

I’ve been pale my entire life, in fact getting tan is something I have to dedicate my life to in the summers … and ain’t nobody got time for that. And I’m not like a porcelain skin, Florence Welch pale either. I’m like pasty pale. I want to punt people who have flawless porcelain skin as a matter of fact. I’m half Irish with pasty, gross pale skin, and half damn Sicilian … SICILIAN … and don’t have a drop of gorgeous olive skin on me. HMPH. Damn you, genes. But this year I’m like EXTRA pale. Why? Well … a few years ago I decided I was done “tanning.” Maybe it was the stupid Jersey Shore show and all of those kids looking like they were a rough 40 years old because of sun exposure, maybe it’s the fact that wrinkles scare the shit out of me and I know I’m not going to be in my 20′s forev … I really don’t know. But I’m done with it.

I was the Irish girl in high school who would go out in the sun wearing no SPF or like SPF 4 because I so desperately wanted to be dark and end up getting so badly sunburned I almost had to go to the hospital. I went to tanning salons all throughout college to bring all the boys to the yard or something. And now … nothing. For the past two summers I’ve invested in SPF 30 and above, and I think last summer I went to the beach once.

So yes … I’m insanely pale, by choice. No … like uncomfortably pale. See through pale. If you ever were curious as to what my tibia looks like … you could probably get a sneak peek right now. But that doesn’t mean I can’t spray tan or use tanning creams, which I’m open to. Spray tans are expensive … so that really isn’t an option except for special occasions, and I still need to do my research on which tanning cream won’t make me look like a carrot. So this whole me having to expose my paleness to the world tomorrow has caught me ALL sorts of off guard.

My options are I either sweat it out, wear pants or tights as everyone frolics about town in cute spring dresses with exposed skin as I have a Little Mermaid moment singing “Apart of Your World” staring out my office window as I eat my feelings. Or I just embrace my paleness, be an asshole and every time someone makes a comment or makes fun of me for being so pale, throw a skin cancer statistic back in their face. Boom. Yeah … no I’m not that guy.

But I do have a little secret weapon called the maxi skirt, my friends. Hello lover. It is totally cheating the system and I loves it. I’ll be covered so no one can tell I resemble Casper the Friendly Ghost, yet still get to feel the beautiful spring breeze. Problem solved. In the meantime, I’ll be on the hunt to try and find some cream that will make me look like I’m not actually vitamin D deficient.

We all have them, we all love them … so why not chat about the things that make us feel secretly fantastic, right?

Behold ladies and the five gents that are reading this, my guilty pleasures in life, ahem …

1. Wearing Red Lipstick for No Reason: Whether I’m writing or just doing a whole lot of nothing, sometimes putting on some red lipstick turns a “blah” day into a special day. Sure, if anyone saw me randomly walking around my house by myself talking to my cat wearing red lipstick would say I’m one step away from becoming the crazed cat lady from the Simpsons … but it makes me feel good, alright?

2. Drinking Wine Whilst Eating Chocolate: If you are looking for a slice of heaven … come home from work one day, pour yourself a healthy glass of vino, get some M&Ms, or your chocolate or choice, and indulge. There truly is nothing more satisfying … well, I’m sure there is … but if you need a quick, relaxing fix … go to town on this one.

3. Laying on my Couch Watching Bravo and Drooling: This keeps me sane. When I need to tune out the world, relax, and not think, I get in my favorite sweats, plant myself on my couch and get lost in botoxed rich bitches screaming at each other. When I end up drooling, I know my mission of decompression has been completed. (Seriously how hawt am I?)

4. Instagramming Like a Bawwwwssss: Have you ever seen something really cool and said to yourself quietly, “I’m gonna Instagram the shit out that”? Oh yeah … no? Cool … me either :::Shifty eyes, backs away slowly::: Fine … my name is Kate and I’m addicted to Instagram (@LifeSucksInAStraplessBra follow along with me, please!)

5. Singing “What’s Up” By the 4 Non Blondes Really Loudly In My Car: And I said … HEEEEEEEEEY YEAAAAAA YEAAAAA YEAAAA EH EHHHH, HEEEEEEEEEEEY YEA YEAAAAAAAAA, I said HEY! AAAAA WHAT’S GOIN’ ON?! You should drive past me, I really put on a really fantastic show because I think I can sing … in my car … only.

6. Picking My Nail Polish Off: Okay, not an attractive quality, I get it … especially since doing this leaves me with crack head nails, but it is beyond satisfying, especially if you just need to zone out from stress. Of course afterwards I always say to myself, “dammit, why did I just do that!” but at the time it was worth it, that is what matters.

7. Changing Something About My Appearance: Hey remember the time I dyed my hair ombre … myself? Yeah … sometimes when I’m trying to get over something or get ridiculously bored … I get this violent urge to change something about myself. And it always makes me feel fantastic. Even if my hair doesn’t turn blonde but a weird shade of brownish-red, I consider it a win.

8. Pretending I’m A Bad Ass: Apart of me wants to hate people who wear sunglasses indoors, especially whilst shopping. Another part of me wants to slow clap them. Listen, sometimes when I go out in public I don’t want to see an-y-one. Oversized shades give me an opportunity to have a “Big Daddy” moment where I can act invisible. It is kind of genius, right? So if you see me wearing sunglasses out in public, in a store, chances are I don’t want to chat with you.

9. Pinning Before Bed: Some people say their prayers before they go to bed, I pin. Not only is it soothing … it is inspiration. I rarely know what I’m going to wear the next morning … so looking at some fab outfits gives me more time to hit snooze and less time to ponder what the hell I’m going to put on my bod.

10. Impulsively Buying Makeup At The Drugstore: Who hasn’t walked into a drugstore for tissues or tampons and found themselves in the makeup department randomly buying lip gloss or foundation. How could you not when beauty commercials leave taglines in your head like, “Get the London Look.” I’ll walk past the Rimmel London section and all of a sudden find myself saying, ummm hell YES, Georgia May Jagger, I want the London look! $50 later I have a bag full of random makeup that I don’t need and a box of tampons.

So since I spilled the beans … now I need to know … what are your guilty pleasures?