I’m A Warrior Queen, Live Passionately Tonight …

Happy 2012! Welp, I survived New Year’s Eve. Even though I desperately wanted to pull a Carrie Bradshaw and stay in watching Meet Me in St. Louis eating a Cup O’ Noodles in my grandma-chic PJ’s whilst wearing pearls, I put on my best party clothes and hit the town. No, a drunk girl in a pink sparkly dress did not accost me … and I did not get cranberry and vodka spilled all over my satin shoes, in fact, it was a ridiculously splendid night. But if anyone asks I was just in it for the sparkly New Year’s Eve hats.

2012. Like I said I name my years instead of making silly resolutions and this year I was inspired by “Marry The Night” by Lady Gaga. Listen, love it, learn it. I don’t know what “Marry the Night” means … it kind of immediately makes me think of street walkers, but that is neither here nor there. But every time I listen to it, it makes me feel so empowered and like all I want to do is rock out “flash dance-style.”

To all of my fabulous readers, I hope every single one of you had a lovely New Year’s. 2012 will be full of fantastic things for Life Sucks In A Strapless Bra and I can’t wait to share them all with you!

Now, if you will excuse me … I have a slight headache to tend to.

New Year’s Eve Precautions: Convert To The Clutch

Does everyone know what they are wearing on New Year’s Eve yet? Because I sure as hell don’t. I did see one thing I am lusting after, and that is this Judith Leiber-esque clutch. I’m obsessed with it. This just proves that I have a severe accessory addiction. I have the shoes, I have a clutch that I am lusting over, yet no outfit. In the words of Carrie Bradshaw, I literally will be the woman who lives in her shoes … and handbags for that matter.

But the right purse on New Year’s Eve is an absolutely must-have. I have to over emphasize that as a matter of fact. I love my hobo bags, my bowling bags, and my ridiculously oversized bags that I’m pretty sure I can fit a human body in, or a bunch of cats at least. But all of them … do not have the New Year’s Eve stamp of approval.

Let’s think about the circumstances. No matter where you are, you are going to be an insanely crowded space, and no one likes being continuously smacked by a purse as you try to make your way through the crowds. That is how you make enemies real quick in a bar, let me tell you. If you smack that drunk girl in the pink sparkly dress with your oversized purse, no matter how fabulous it is, she will send her overly drunk army of skanks after you. Beware, I warned you.

I realize how tempting it is to bring a big bag out. Once you get to the bar, you can then throw everyone’s shit in one bag … it’s genius. All your boyfriends stuff, your itty bitty jacket you wore out to pretend like it was a full-blown winter coat, but clearly isn’t because you just wanted to wear something you could stuff in your oversized bag so it doesn’t get lost, pre-gaming supplies, all you friends shit. I totally get it. But honestly, having to lug something like that around is not only cumbersome and awkward to carry, but annoying. Leave it at home, ladies.

I mean think of all the nonsense you have in your handbag right now. Nail files, three tampons for no reason, seven chewy jolly ranchers, two mirrors, a huge ass wallet (that I covet), two pairs of sunglasses, a notebook to write all of my random thoughts down, cell phone charger, SIX lip glosses (I need an intervention) and the list goes on and on and on.

So here it is ladies. Exactly what you need in your purse to survive New Year’s Eve.

1. A wallet. Not just your normal wallet, but like a wallet that literally is the size of a credit card. No need to take the whole thing out, space is limited. Take cash, your license, back up ID, a credit card for emergencies, health insurance cards and anything else that is vital in case you fall into a ditch or something (knock on wood).

2. Lip gloss. Don’t be like the lip gloss addict I am and carry six out. Choose a signature color for that night and call it a day. And maybe a Chapstick in case you will be mackin’ it when the ball drops, or is this just the lip gloss hoarder in me talking?

3. Cell phone. ‘Nough said. Most of us twenty, thirty, forty-somethings have iPhones, Droids … but regardless, no one has a Zach Morris phone anymore, so every one of them should fit in any clutch. Also, keep them charged and don’t be that guy who brings a charger to the bar. Bartenders won’t have time for your shenanigans, trust.

AND THAT IS IT. If it doesn’t fit in the clutch, it doesn’t go to the bar.

Think of all the time you will save by not drunkenly rummaging around in your bag all night. Will you need a pad of paper to write deep thoughts on during New Year’s Eve? No. “Dear Diary, I’m so drunk right now I can’t even stand. I could really go for some french fries, oh that guy is hot, I bet he would be a good kisser, do I look fat, Forever Yours … Kate.” What? No. Don’t be that guy who brings her whole makeup bag out either. If it wasn’t good when you walked out of your house, it won’t be any better when you are piling even more makeup on drunkenly in the bathroom. Trust.

Get the smallest clutch you can hold in one hand and enjoy your night. The less baggage the better ladies, the less baggage the better.

I’m Turning Into The Michelin Man

I don’t know about any of you, but I’m starting to feel like the Michelin man. I usually don’t give in to the “holiday munchies” but I swear to Jesus, everyone thought it would be a fantastic idea to give chocolates, and carmel popcorn, and sugar cookies and every other kind of delicious junk food there is as presents instead of donating $25 in my name to a charity or something. And it would be rude to not enjoy said delicious junk, right? So therefore I’ve been in a legit food coma since Thanksgiving, I mean … gross.

But let me tell you a little secret about myself … I don’t believe in scales. I look at them as little boxes made by Satan that have the potential to not only ruin your self-esteem and self-image, but ruin your day as well just by sputtering off some random number. I just want to punt them all across the room … well, except my best friends scale that literally told me my weight was a number I haven’t seen since I was like in seventh grade … glorious. Listen, at the end of the day, if my pants don’t make me feel like a stuffed sausage, I’m a happy camper.

But all of this makes me think about New Year’s resolutions. They are such, excuse my French, bullshit. I instead name my years so I have something to reflect upon all 365 days. For example, last year was “Kate 2011, if you never try you never know.” I stopped resolutting because all they do is fade to black two weeks into the new year. Right before the ball drops, you drunkenly exclaim, “God dammit, I’m done drinking, I’m done eating my face off, I’m done with that asshole.” Blah, blah, blah … empty promises, empty promises, empty promises.

But one of the most infamous resolutions I hear from friends and family is this one: “I’m never eating ever again, I’m going on a diet, I’m going to get healthy.” But after the month and a half of eating terribly and not having time to go to the gym because of the parties and the present buying and the work and the cookie making and the present wrapping and all of the other nonsense, I hate to say it, but I feel like I need to be one of those people. In fact, I’ve already named 2012, “the year of not eating.” (Just kidding, I do not condone starvation … I literally would turn into a witch).

I’m not making empty promises to myself though. It isn’t because I want to lose 10 pounds or because I want to fit in a certain piece of clothing or because I want to look like a Victoria’s Secret model. Quite frankly it is because my body feels like it is dying inside from lack of healthy eating. I’m sluggish, I’m weak, I’m tired and I just feel bloated and rundown. It truly is a terrible feeling.

So I would like to welcome you to a little thing I call “Tour Weight.” Tour Weight is something my family says when we want to get back to being healthy. This was inspired by Mick Jagger, who when he is about to go on a world tour, immediately starts working out, eating right and getting his body in shape. So like him, I’m getting my body ready to … you know … not feel like death anymore.

I don’t believe in gyms, in fact I only joined one because of the fantastic yoga studio that is located within mine, so therefore I’m a yogi. Machines and weights at the gym freak me out and for some reason whenever I get on one, even with iPod on, people insist upon striking up a conversation with me or telling me my shoe lace is untied or claiming went to high school together or something, even though I don’t remember. Hi, can’t you see I’m on a freaking steep incline, could you please desist, kay thanks, bye. So therefore I hide in the yoga studio where I can center and obtain a fierce and fulfilling workout for mind, body and soul … and talking isn’t allowed … so namaste, friends.

I’m literally taking the next two days to eat like a monster and then starts Tour Weight. Why am I doing this? Well, I want to feel better and motivated and not like the Michelin Man … it isn’t a good look. When I’m fully immersed in yoga and eating right and drinking lots of water, everything I put on feels and looks fantastic … even makeup. Weird, but true.

So don’t be one of those drunken fools on New Year’s Eve sputtering off these nonsensical sentence fragments about losing weight … and then stop going to the gym January 15th. Make a resolution to not make resolutions. It will do the body good.

New Year’s Eve: The Ultimate Amateur Hour

I know I’m not the only one when I say that New Year’s Eve might be the most overrated night of the year. It’s amateur hour for those people who really only like to let loose and get crunk P.Diddy style on Thanksgiving Eve and New Year’s Eve. I’ll speak for those of us who like to “let loose” at LEAST once a week when I say please stay at least 10 paces back at all times. It’s nothing personal, we just don’t need you spilling your cranberry and vodka drink all over our shoes, while you slur to your girlfriends about what an asshole your ex is and what effing great friends they are, for real, for real … kay thanks.

New Year’s has turned into prom all over again except it is legal for you to drink and happens every freaking year. Ridiculous amounts of money are spent on a dress you probably will only wear once, shoes and accessories for the dress, and with the outfit comes the desire to get your hair and makeup did. All to pay a cabbie ridiculous amounts of money to cart your drunk ass to and from a stupid bar you are paying 10 times the price to get in to just to say you were “somewhere cool,” when it is usually FREE any other night. Nights like these I wish I owned a dive bar so I could charge dumb people $100 to drink watered down cocktails until 12 a.m.

For a while I thought finding the right dress would get me in the New Year’s spirit, but I was sorely mistaken. I think I reviewed every dress under $100 on ShopStyle.com and then I remembered how infuriating it is to shop for a dress online. It doesn’t help that every store looks like they got hit with a glitter bomb right now, so I don’t even bother with malls. Don’t get me wrong, I live and die for sequins, but too much of one thing is never good. If there could be a decent amount of sequined clothing throughout the year, I would be content … but to walk into a wall of multi-colored glitter frocks … all in itty-bitty sizes mind you … is a bit overwhelming. I did the whole glittery dress thing last New Year’s because it was something I always wanted to do … and quite frankly I felt like a busted backup dancer for Beyonce. In fact, I was drunkenly doing the “Single Ladies” dance all night making fun of myself.

Don’t get me wrong, I won’t be sitting on my couch watching Carson Daily pretend he is Dick Clark as I snuggle with my “I Heart Cats” blanket knitting. I plan on going out with my dear friends to a small irish pub that you don’t need to sell your soul and empty your bank account to get into and I know I have a closet full of skirts and dresses that I can style up to “New Year’s” standards. In a perfect world I would rock a sexed up tuxedo with a low-cut shirt underneath the jacket, slicked back pony tail, red lip and a fierce pair of stilettos … you know, very Chanel. Ahh, one can dream.

All I know so far is that I will just be sipping on normal, city-priced cocktails and welcoming 2012 with the people I care about. Will it be crowded? Sure, but at least I won’t have to get water with a splash of vodka then immediately get back in line to get another one only to see a girl wearing the same pink sequin dress as me, ugh which will CLEARLY ruin my night. Just kidding, that would never happen … I would never be caught dead in pink.

So everyone, STOP FREAKING OUT. No New Year’s is perfect, no outfit is perfect and no venue is perfect, in fact … it actually is just like another other Saturday night if you ask me. So relax, just look fabulous in something you own and enjoy the company that surrounds you. Word.