What Happens When We Get Bored

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Photo credit: http://thefashiontag.com/2015/11/26/glitter-beards/

We have so many fantastic and interesting ways to express ourselves. We can get tattoos, body piercings, write books, knit, paint. We can reinvent ourselves, Madonna-style. 

So you can imagine why I’m sitting here, scratching my head in confusion over the idea of people putting glitter, yes glitter, in their body hair. Go home, world, I think you’re bored.

Last year I tolerated men putting Christmas ornaments in their beards. It was slightly endearing, in a weird kind of way … when I was intoxicated, of course. But now we’ve moved on to putting glitter in beards. And if you weren’t turned off enough, women have been growing out their armpit hair :::gags::: and adding glitter to it. ARM PIT HAIR. 

Don’t get me wrong, I love me some glitter. I really do. I rocked glitter makeup like every normal teenage girl did. I had Steve Madden sneakers that were encased in glitter back in the day. I even wore gold glittery heels to my best friends wedding. To be clear, these are all appropriate uses of glitter. 

You know what isn’t? Glittery arm pit hair. Ladies who are doing this: why? Are these the lengths we have to go to receive male attention? “:::sips beer::: Hey guy, check out ma glitter pits. Go ahead, stare all you like. Yeaaaaahhh, you like that?” Because personally, if Justin Timberlake came up to me and insisted on showing me his glittery pits, I would probably back away slowly and run in the opposite direction. Justin. Timberlake. 

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And gents, we love your hipster “Brawny-man” beard. We really do. You’re so cool. But it’s already the cave of wonders to us. Food, germs, toothpaste, a little gnome … who the eff knows what you got going on. So why, dear God why, do we have to add glitter to this cesspool of an equation? We already have to pretend your bread hair doesn’t irritate our sensitive skin. Now we have to pretend to be okay with looking like we just macked it with a unicorn?!

So while I appreciate the attempts at being festive, I feel like we’ve taken a turn down the scary road called “out Miley Cyrusing Miley Cyrus,” and I feel strongly that it needs to end before it gets REALLY out of hand. 

To the 1.5 men reading this, keep your beards clean and glitter-free. We will be more inclined to make out with you, I pinky promise. Ladies, shave your under arms, for the love of God, shave your under arms (I realize I sound like I’m 100, deal with it). And if you really feel the need to indulge in this glittery trend, revert back to your teenage years.

God, why can’t we all just be normal again get obnoxious tramp stamps?! (I kid … please don’t do this. Wait … you know what? I take it back. I prefer tramp stamps to glittery pits. So there.)

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Buy Yourself Something Shiny – Rainy Week Edition

Screen Shot 2015-10-02 at 1.41.32 PMIf you live on the East Coast, it is probably raining … and cold. And it has probably been raining for sometime now. And if you are anything like me, you just want to order Chinese food, crawl under your covers, live in pajamas, and watch Netflix until it’s time for you to crawl downstairs and pour yourself a glass of wine. 

For a lot of us (myself included) … that just isn’t in the cards (God damn “adult” things :::shakes fist:::). But what can we do to make up for this. What can we do to heal our chilled bones, our heinous hair days, and our drenched selves? 

BUY SHIT. 

Yep. You guessed it. Prepare yourselves for another edition of “Buy yourselves something shiny.” Why? Because I said so. It’s Friday, the weather blows, we are all exhausted, blah blah blah … DO IT. 

So I’ll shut the hell up now while you whip out your credit cards and get your online shop on. 

Happy Friday, freaks. 

Neckerchief

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OPI Big Apple Red Nail Polish

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Cape

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Beautiful bracelet

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Boyfriend button down

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Skull decor … because

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Statement necklace to end all statement necklaces

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Rebecca Minkoff iPhone 6 Case 

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Be Kind To Pope People

sister-act:::Your regular snarky fashion and lifestyle commentary will be briefly interrupted for the following message:::

Today I experienced my first moment of “Popemaggedon”. My train was not only late, but canceled, and the train that followed it was significantly late and so crowded that I had to sit next to a smelly man who was showing no signs of life, and happened to be taking up 84.7% of the seat. Ahhh Septa. 

By the time I arrived at Market East (it will always and forever be Market East to me … so suck it), I was full of rage … mostly due to my smelly unconscious neighbor who was making me incredibly nauseous. And it didn’t help that I was confronted with a platform full of out-of-towners who didn’t know if the sky was up or down, clogging up every inch of walking space, and not moving … all smiling and carrying on, when I had six minutes to catch my next train to get the eff HOME

My eyes were rolling, my scowl was in place, but my manners did not take a backseat (hello … I’m a lady), as I angrily pushed through the crowd of see-through backpacks whilst saying, “excuse me,” in the most nicely annoyed fashion. No one seemed to care, though. All the see-through backpack owners looked like they were so pleasantly consumed with why they were visiting to even try to care about my miserable ass. 

It wasn’t until I walked up the steps to a sea of priests and nuns that reality REALLY bitch slapped me across the face. It was startling and yet so pleasant. Immediately I slowed my roll and started to feel calm, incredibly silly for being so frustrated, and oddly enough like I was in the presence of true rock stars. 

I know I’m not the only one who has been viewing this event like a “Made in America” nightmare on steroids that is a total inconvenience to every aspect of our lives, but it’s oh so different. Teenagers won’t be in “festival gear” getting drunk off $16 Bud Light cans (I mean, I hope not … come on, people). Those idiots are being replaced with old school nuns (rowdy and rude festival morons < nuns). This is a huge deal, and sometimes you just need to bask in the chaos a little because it (sometimes) is kind of incredible.

So if you are like me and want to punt your commute and hide under your bed than deal with these shenanigans, take a deep breath, prepare for the worst, and be kind. For the love of Godbe kind. No matter what is happening, if you are stuck in a sea of clear backpacks that won’t move, slow down and be cordial. Shoot these people a smile. Direct them to a good bar. Show them where the rad shops are. Give solid directions (except no one ask me, I have a foul sense of direction), and welcome them. Here is a solid opportunity for the world to not see us as a bunch of fat assholes.

I realize almost all of the people attending the World Meeting of Families, especially Pope Frank, reads Life Sucks In A Strapless Bra religiously (I couldn’t resist), so welcome and enjoy our lovely city. And if you want a divine cheesesteak, visit Sonny’s on 2nd and Market.

To my real reader(s) of the Philly area, it will be over soon. I promise. Just smile and nod. Smile and nod.

:::Now back to our regularly scheduled program of snarky fashion and lifestyle commentary:::

Stop Asking Stupid Questions

lemon-nerd-rageThis week there has been a lot of talk about famous women (Tyra Banks) dealing with infertility issues. While I cannot relate, I found it mind boggling that people … strangers in fact … were commenting on her social media channels asking her, “Tyra, when are you going to have kids!” “Tyra, why don’t you have kids?!” Uhh really? Yes, because the first thing I think to do when I wake up is harass my favorite celebrity about why they haven’t procreated (What. Is. Wrong. With. People).

Besides the famous folks, I’ve witnessed so many people I’m close to get asked obnoxious questions. Questions that may have been appropriate to ask in 1955, but are no longer on the table. Myself in fact, have been victim to the heinous questions of …

“Why aren’t you married?”

“Why don’t you own a home?”

“Wait … you don’t have a boyfriend … why?!” 

I usually turn bright red in those situations, uncomfortably giggle, and say something awkward like, “UHHHH …” and shrug my shoulders whilst trying to change the topic as fast as possible. But what I REALLY wanted to say to these people is …

“Well, I don’t own a home because I witnessed the economic collapse of the housing market first hand, and quite frankly want nothing to do with it. Also, I don’t have the money. I’m not married because I don’t settle for stupidity. And I don’t have a boyfriend because well … I don’t. It’s not that I don’t want one. I’m just too busy with my career to give any idiot a chance to waste my time :::Drops mic:::” 

Guys, no longer is it okay to ask people who JUST got married or have been married for more than a second …

“Sooo when are you guys having kids?”

“You’ve been married for 2.5 seconds, why don’t you have kids!?”

“Sooo … you guys TRYING?!” 

You have NO idea what people are going through. Those people could be dealing with infertility issues, or maybe cannot conceive (and ps. think of it this way … you are basically asking your friends if and how often they are boning … it’s weird. “Trying” means boning. Remember that.). Or maybe … GASP … they don’t want any damn children. Instead, perhaps, they are enjoying their time together alone, or I don’t know, saving up money so they don’t end up living in a very crowded van down by the river. 

You just never know. And in these situations, when it comes to forcefully stepping your foot inside the private lives of your loved ones or strangers (for you extra annoying humans) … I say don’t. AND the only caveat to this rule is if you are over 75. You truly cannot control those broads … nor should you. 

I’m sure most of these questions aren’t asked out of malice, and are just asked out of, well, the sake of pure conversation. But there are far more interesting things to fill a conversation with. News. Pop culture. Climate change. Unicorns. Kardashians. Cats. I mean … you get the point … I hope. 

So I’m filing all of those foul questions outlined above under “word vomit”. Because if you are going to ask someone why they haven’t fertilized their eggs yet or basically, why no one loves them, you mine as well go the distance and ask how much they make a year, and if they got a raise, and how much that was. And, why the hell not, ask how many people they have slept with.

In the meantime … leave our personal shit where it belongs. In the privacy of our own chaotic brains.

But don’t worry … I’ll be sure to alert all of you when I settle down, get knocked up, and buy a perfect pink hour with 2.5 baths. But because you didn’t ask this one question, I’m KILLING it in my career.

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The Death Rattle Of Shock Value

1882309I’m having a serious issue with society right now. And I know, I know I probably sound like I’m 1,000 years old, but I have no qualms shaking my cane in the air, Sophia Petrillo-style, over how foul entertainment has become. Exhibit A: the VMAs (and yes, any good blogger knows not to discuss a topic that is three days old, but I was on vacation during this time, so suck it, we are talking about it).

I just feel like we have completely stretched the envelope when it comes to “shock value.” The envelope has stretch marks, it’s dirty, and nothing fits in it anymore. It lives in a trashcan and has a drug problem. Nothing is shocking anymore, which kind of sucks and makes for really bad and irritating TV. All we have now are poptarts desperately trying to get one more stretch out of that destroyed envelope. “LOOK AT ME, I HAVE NIPPLES AND I DO DRUGS AND I’M WEARING NEON AND I’M SO EFFING COOL” …

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The intentional nip slips. Outfits that have the word “fuck” blasted across them. Blatantly smoking weed on camera. Kanye running for president?!? Listen, after Kanye makes an announcement like that and the first thing you think is, “hmmm can a First Lady have a sex tape?” instead of, “HOLY HELL, KANYE IS RUNNING FOR PRESIDENT, this is BONKERS!,” there is something seriously wrong with the world. 

Remember the days when men with long hair who played music on live TV were considered scandalous? Or when a pop star sang about her virginity and rolled around a stage in a wedding dress and everyone lost their damn minds? 

We now have poptarts, dressed in shower curtains with circles strategically placed over their lady bits pushing their weed agenda on all of America. Listen, if that is your thing, awesome. Go for it. Get high as balls all day err day (responsibly, of course). I just don’t need to hear you exclaim every five seconds how high you are or how much you love weed. I really don’t. I don’t tell you every five seconds how much I love cats, now do I? No. 

And because nudity and drugs aren’t good enough, we then have to resort to making fun of pregnant ladies. I literally saw Kim Kardashian get compared to a baked potato. A BAKED. POTATO. Come ON, guys. We really can’t think of ANYTHING else funny? I don’t care how overexposed she is, the woman is nurturing a living thing inside her uterus. If she wants to go to town on a dozen Krispy Kremes … let the woman do her thang. If you can’t come up with anything funnier than saying a pregnant woman looks fat, well then call Tina Fey and Amy Poehler, I’m sure they can help you out, ass clowns.

All of this shit makes me want to cancel my cable and resort to reading novels by candlelight. Honestly. We gotta go back to the drawing board, kids. Because if I have to hear ONE more time that Taylor Swift MAYBE passed gas on live television, I may or may not cut someone.

I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall in that edit room with the genius who was so desperate to add some life to the show that he’s all, “WAIT, PAUSE THE TAPE! Did you hear that?! It totally sounds like a fart. It totally isn’t but … YES! Let’s say Taylor Swift farted! CLASSIC TV, BROSEPH :::high five:::!” Hmm … didn’t realize 5th grade humor made a comeback. Sigh.

What happened to bad ass talent? Amazing fashions that had all of us drooling? Nipples that lived behind fabric. Drugs that were exposed only at after parties? Idiots not running for president … waaaaiiitt(and that right there is for my first and only political pun, a-thank you :::Takes bow:::) What I’m saying is, less trying to shock the universe, and more trying to put on entertaining shows so we have something decent to gab about with our co-workers and friends. I don’t need body parts and sex and drugs and straight up nonsense (I know, again, I sound like I’m 1 million years old … I get it). You know what I DO need more of, though? TINA. FEY.

Let’s let her run all of TV, kay thanks, byeeeeeeeee. 

:::GASP::: … You Want To Show WHAT On Instagram!?

$_32Okay, so I’m sitting here scratching my head, thinking to myself we have so many horrific things in this world to deal with … yet celebrities are currently OBSESSED with “freeing the nipple.” Really? Don’t mind the inequality, or sharknado freaking coming to life, oh yeah, and that little nuisance we like to call ISIS. No no … we need our rights to show our nipples on social media, dammit! Enough is enough!

What?! Seriously. What?!

It’s always been a little bothersome to me (and by a little I mean .1% in the big grand scheme of things) the inequality of genders being able to show their nasty bits on television … and now, on social media. Again, this shit doesn’t keep me up at night. I just never got why girls were allowed to let their ladies roam free, yet dudes had to keep their man parts bundled up. It’s weird. Parts are parts. Why is the penis so scandalous yet taas aren’t? 

And now … nipples. Guys … really? First of all, and I don’t mean to sound like an old bag banging her cane on the ground in her mumu, but why the balls do you need to show your nipple on Instagram? I get it, Chrissy Teigan, you’re a model and what you do is “art” … but let that art live on the pages of W Magazine, not Instagram. Because when you, a public figure, post your nips and other lady parts on Instagram … it shows innocent kids/teens that, “hey! That must mean it’s totally cool for me to do it, too!” And then their life is ruined. I mean probably not really, but I imagine some evil backlash would take place because kids these days are evil a-holes :::shakes cane again:::

It’s like Instagram took away our rights to show our entire bodies and everyone went insane. What is the big deal with nipples anyways? They do nothing for me. I mean we all have them and some are larger then others. Cool? The word itself kind of skeeves me out, though (don’t ask me why). But do I feel stifled because I can’t show them anywhere and everywhere? That’s a big ol’ fashioned NO. I don’t need to see what my nipples look like with the Lo-Fi filter over them, kay?

Listen, I’m not a prude, but I just don’t think social media is a place for nipples to live. In fact, I cannot even believe I just wrote that previous sentence. :::Sigh::: Can you imagine what will happen if you can start showing your nips on Instagram? “I love that skirt :::scroll scroll::: OMG that cat is so cute :::scroll scroll::: aaaaaand there is some random broads nipple :::shuts off App and hits delete:::” Yeah … no. 

I’m completely okay with Instagram banning us from showing our nipples, as long as it is ALL nipples … chicks, dudes, animals … all of it. A nipple is a nipple is a nipple. One gender’s is just more productive than anothers. Because honestly, what’s next? Va-jays? Wangs?! (I really need to start using the correct terminology for body parts, don’t I?) 

Let’s keep Instagram for what it is meant to be: a place to post your cat pics. Yeah Miley Cyrus, you heard me … stop trying to make “nipples” happen, they aren’t going to happen!

The 5 Most Annoying People In Stores

eye-rollSunday I had a lovely day planned with my mom. We were going to get our nails did, hit up Home Goods, get lunch, and if there was time (ONLY if there was time), go to DSW. Sounds great, right? WRONG. You are WRONG, sir.

It seemed like every single person in America decided to go to the same stores we wanted to explore. And not only every single person in America, but the most high quality annoying kind. The ones who clearly have never functioned like a normal human being in a store before.

I don’t know about you, but from age 5 I was taught how to act like a normal human being in a store. Use “inside voices,” be conscious of other people, don’t be rude. I mean screw “store etiquette” it is just basic human being etiquette that you should have learned, and if your parents didn’t teach you, there was always Sesame Street and Mr. Rogers, so really there is no excuse.

By the time we returned home, we were so irritated and so over the human race, that we passed out for an hour on the couch out of sheer exhaustion due to idiots we had to co-exist with all day.

Shopping shouldn’t be such an exhausting feat, people. It really shouldn’t. What I’m about to outline below may sound bitchy and rude, but it’s the straight up truth.

I’m outlining this because I want us all to play nicely in stores. Be considerate! Move when someone says, “excuse me” without a huff and puff. Use your inside voice. Don’t talk to strangers because they probably don’t want to talk to you (weirdos ALWAYS feel the need to talk to me in stores). I just feel like we’ve forgotten these simple rules of life, and as obnoxious as you think I’m being about it, we all, deep down, know a refresher can help us have a more calm and collective shopping experience.

Ahem …

The Super Mom: The mom that has a child in a cart, pushing it around, and speaking to it like an idiot the entire time she is browsing. “Did someone go poopies? I smell a little something stinky! Did someone go poopies?!” (This literally happened) Dude … you’re in PUBLIC. And your kid can’t talk. From what I’ve witnessed it can only scream bloody murder. So do us all a favor, talk like an adult and go change your kids diaper … for the love.

The Cart Blocker: I hate shopping carts. I would rather have my arms full, dropping shit all over the place, then use a shopping cart. Simply because no one knows how to use them properly. Licenses to operate a shopping cart should be required. Because it isn’t okay to block an entire aisle with your cart, or eye roll the person who politely said “excuse me” to get around you and your dumb cart. Would you block an intersection with your car? Same thing, kids. Same thing.

The Full-time Conversationalist: This is the person who has his/her cellphone attached to his/her ear the entire time he/she is in the store. “Wait, Becky got what? Does it itch?” I mean … . And if you feel super awkward about going to a store by yourself and need to hide behind your cellphone as a comfort blanket, bring the person you are on the phone with to the store with you. Because I don’t care to hear about your friend Becky’s rash wile I’m trying to pick out bed linens, ya dig?

The Waste of Space: Ladies, do not bring your man shopping with you. Unless they actually care about what you put on your feet, or what accent pillows you use, leave them the fuck home. I actually saw a dude downing a piece of pizza in the middle of a very crowded aisle in Wegmens, on a Sunday, like he was chillin’ on his couch at home. Just standing there going to town on the slice like there wasn’t 15 annoyed people trying to get around him. What? Between them and the cart blockers, it is absolutely impossible to accomplish ANYTHING whilst shopping.

Your Children: What I’m about to say is a harsh reality that will most likely offend you, but this is a risk I am willing to take. Here goes …: no one likes your kids but you. No one. I realize you probably have no other option but to take them shopping with you, and I respect that, but when they scream, and carry on, and run around like little tiny psychopaths, and get all up in my bidness … gives me, and everyone else, a headache … and anxiety. My mother who has 3 kids and 2 grandchildren even hates your kids. So please don’t smile at me and be all, “aren’t they SO cute?!,” because no.