If Rihanna Is Fat, Then I’m The Michelin Man

90163d30bf65082a6033bad7fa6a6697We, as a society, have a problem. Actually no. Let me rephrase that. We, as a society, have MANY problems. 

Donald Trump is our “President,” the US is pretty much a stone’s throw away from becoming the Handmaid’s Tale, and oh yeah, people think Rihanna is fat?! Is anyone else pinching themselves like, “WAKE UP, self, WAKE UP, this shit can’t be real! Make it stop. I want to be a baby again!” (No? Just me?)

First of all, Barstool Sports, on behalf of ALL women, go fuck yourself. 

Second of all, didn’t your mama teach you to NEVER comment on a woman’s weight… that is unless you want to get smacked.

Because shit happens. Sometimes you get depressed and you gain weight. Sometimes you’re on medicine that makes you gain weight. Sometimes when your uterine lining sheds and you bleed from your vagina for a couple of days… guess what? You gain weight. 

tina-fey-macncheese

And then there’s this mystical thing called, “living life.” It’s this crazy world where women get to kick back, relax, and not spend every waking minute counting calories or having a trainer bark instructions at you. Where you aren’t expected to have 6-pack abs and walk around in bandage dresses with insane five inch stilettos to “elongate our legs.” Vomit.

You just say, self, stop giving a fuck for one minute, and enjoy life. Show off your new curves. Have the second piece of cake. Indulge in your cravings. Don’t cringe at the thought of having to go to the gym after work. Just don’t go. Shh, I won’t tell anyone.

quit

Aren’t we allowed to do that without some jackhole commenting that, “ooohhh someone has been hittin’ the room service a bit too hard.” 

Because as someone who has gained a bit of weight over the past few months, if these idiots think Rihanna is fat, then God damn, send me off to the bell tower, because clearly it’s not appropriate for society, especially males, to see me at such a size… GASP.

anigif_sub-buzz-7963-1496333352-1

To answer your question, Barstool Sports, being “fat” will never be a trend. In fact, the word itself, in my opinion, should be banned because it is cruel and hurtful, much like your post about a woman you only know through your earbuds and shit you read on TMZ.

At the end of the day you have zero idea of what is going on in someone’s head or heart, or what is going on with someone’s health. 

So tell me. Why comment on shit you know zero about? 

Life Sucks In A Strapless Bra OUT.

Also, Rihanna, you’re beautiful. But you don’t need my ass to tell you that. #Queen

giphy-1

Advertisements

Things That Make Me Stabby

e27063982844ada2fc69d512b4c4668eA lot of people wonder why the knife emoji is always in my emoji top 8. In fact, I get a little bummed out when I notice the knife emoji has dipped out of my top 8 (what, you guys don’t have an emoji top 8?).

Having a bad day? Knife emoji.

People suck? Knife emoji.

When your fave Chinese food restaurant refuses to deliver? Knife emoji.

Hell, sometimes I just text my sister the knife emoji and it’s like, “enough said. She’s stabby. Leave it alone.”

Which made me think about all of the things that have made me stabby recently. Because there are OH so many. For starters, writer’s block. FUCK writer’s block, man. Hence why I haven’t posted in over a month. Sigh. Because I had a whole lot of nothin’ goin’ on up in this piece. 

So here I am, feeling stabby, and wanting to share it with the world. 

Oh, and to be clear, I would never ACTUALLY stab someone. Only a little bit in the thigh, IF NECESSARY (kidding … kind of)

1. Unicorn everything: Why. Like I get it for little kids. But there’s something that just makes me incredibly sad to see grown ass adults walking, drinking, eating, and covered in unicorn shit. Right?

eJRnYJ1F-1584-1361

2. Jeans covered in mud for $425: Da fuq? That’s all I have to say about that. 

Nordstrom-muddy-jeans

3. Coachella and everything Coachella-related: Does anyone else find Coachella fashion nauseating? Cut off short shorts with my with ass cheeks hanging out and crocheted crop tops paired with a unicorn-style flower crown, and enough glitter to make a drag queen jealous just doesn’t get my rocks off. Sorry.  

coachella-celebs-flirty-700x420

4. Anything that comes out of Donald Trump’s mouth: I mean, do I need to elaborate?

donald_trump_s_big_mouth_by_cryingcats-da541ic

5. Off the shoulder tops: I kind of wanted to one until I realized, A. Sarah Palin rocked one in the White House and immediately all of them needed to be burned and B. wearing one requires a strapless bra, and we all know how I feel about them. Ladies with big taas need to wear a bra, fortunately and unfortunately all at the same time.

Screen Shot 2017-04-27 at 3.23.03 PM

6. Cramps: I’m currently suffering and just want to have an intimate spooning session with my heating pad. 

e6c55ea09ba860571ba1635ceb850e55

8. What Dakota Johnson or any other star looks like without makeup on: Makeup makes everything better. Who doesn’t feel like a million bucks after going into Sephora for eyeliner and walking out with $200 worth of crap you didn’t need? Also bitch was TOTALLY wearing makeup at the Oscars. Give me a break.

1488234785432

9. Showing your ass while posing in front of beautiful landscapes: According to Facebook, this is a thing? And it makes me want to leave civilization forever.

10. Slow walkers: Yes, I am that asshole walking way to close behind you so you MOVE THE FUCK ALONG. 

13910139

11. People who email me and refer to me as “LifeSucksInAStraplessBra” then hates on my SEO practices and everything else I have going on in the backend of my blog: How hard is it to look at my bio and be like, “oh her name is Kate,” and then say, “Hey Kate, your SEO practices and all of your other web skills suck and you have MAJOR problems.” Also, stop emailing me because I don’t care. 

12. Sweating/sweating through my bra: Murderous rage. I daydream about whipping that thing off the minute I get home. Sick, right? 

1433967527-screen_shot_2015-06-10_at_211719_2

13. In the same breath, humidity: It’s like yay springtime, outside, frothy drinks, and then the oversized, fat and sweaty palm of the humidity monster bitch slaps me across the face. Nope. Solid nope.

giphy

Self Care

parks-and-recreation-meditation-ron-swansonThe world is a God damn dumpster fire. That’s really all I can say. I literally walked upstairs to pee the other night, and by the time I came back to my couch, the acting Attorney General had been fired for not swallowing a fist full of Trump’s crazy pills. Uhhh…  

Logging on to social media is like immersing yourself in an angry crowd of towns folk trying to bring to justice a bunch of witches. That is the world right now. So many people (myself included) are so angry, sad, outraged, in shock, and God damn rightly so since we are all fucked, unless you are a privileged white dude. 

I realize “self care” has become such a buzzword as of late. And for a while I thought it was just an excuse to slack off and schedule a massage for no reason. I didn’t realize what it meant or how important it was until I found myself in the middle of a good ol’ fashioned breakdown. 

My anxiety was through the roof, my eyes were leaking, I was FEELING things (what the eff!?). I just wasn’t me, and that’s a scary thing to realize. I’m not saying it was all Donald Trumps’ fault, but his dumb ass DEFINITELY had something to do with it (#thanksDonald). Because when you immerse yourself in that much negative shit, there is really no other outcome. 

While in no way, shape, or form would I consider myself even CLOSE to a “self help guru” (hi, I’m a hot fucking mess sprinkled with anxiety and self loathing), I am figuratively stepping outside of the insane, angry crowd of people to “get some fresh air.” Because sometimes it’s too much. 

One person can’t save the world, unfortunately. What you CAN focus on saving is your sanity. Because we need sane people to help fight this madness going down in our country. 

Henceforth where this “self care” comes in. Listen to your body. If you want to punt your television every time you watch the news, then stop for a bit. If you can’t take the crazy loons screaming on social media about how everything is awful and underlining another horrific thing Trump has done, log off.

For example I’ve been keeping my phone in my purse for a few hours after I get home from work. It’s torture, and I can only imagine it is like what a drug addict goes through when they can’t get a fix, but I’m trying, dammit. 

After hour two I like run to my phone thinking 50 people texted me, when in reality only a food delivery service texted me a coupon code for my next order. Awesome. 

I’m back on Pinterest, because pinning shit soothes my soul. I watch the Food Network because I find it relaxes me (unless Guy Fieri is on or some kids baking bullshit). I have like 45 books that need reading, so I’m going to do that this weekend. Binge watching TV is cool. Like right now I’m on Crazy Ex-Girlfriend (it’s so good, but I wish they would stop singing … it makes me uncomfortable).

I mean, we are all different weird birds, so I can’t tell you how to define your “self care.” Just don’t feel like an asshole because you’ve treated yourself to a bottle of wine and you’re soaking in a juicy Us Weekly instead of joining your fellow people and protesting for our rights. 

Just don’t tune out completely … because that would be dumb and I’m pretty sure if we all tune out, we are for sure going to die. Kay, thanks. 

Everything in moderation, right? Fake self help guru OUT :::drops mic:::

That Time Topshop Made Me Feel Like A Cow

tbs_movies_meangirls_645x360_081920110109I’ll admit it. I have let myself go a little bit. Because I love French fries, and it was the holidays, and I was sick, and blah blah blah, and at the end of the day I gave zero fucks and ate what I wanted.

My clothes still fit … I just feel gross and I am fully aware that there is some extra weight where there shouldn’t be. I’m owning it. I said it. It’s out in the world. 

I didn’t feel too bad about it until I treated myself to a little shopping trip for my birthday at Nordstrom. Topshop makes up a good portion of the “trendy” section, which I wasn’t complaining about because I heart Topshop

…until we got intimate in the dressing room. 

I had pulled 3 pairs of pants to try on, all ranging from sizes 10-12 (I’m normally a size 10, but knew Topshop runs small, so I decided to go up a size, just in case). Cute, ripped up skinny jeans. Gimme. 

The 10 barely went over my ankles. So I was like, okay, I get it, their sizes are wonky, I’ll suck it up and make the 12 work. Because French fries rule everything around me and this is where I am in life. 

The 12 barely went past my God damn knees. What in the living fuck? A big part of me wanted to throw myself in the corner of the fitting room in the fetal position, rocking back and forth crying hysterically listening to “In The Arms of an Angel.” I all of a sudden couldn’t even make eye contact with myself in the mirror because I was just straight up disgusted. 

And the kicker of all of this … 12 is the biggest size they had in Topshop pants at Nordstrom. I felt like Regina George trying on her formal dress after eating all of those Kalteen bars … “mmm yeah we don’t carry your size, maybe try Sears?” 

I didn’t even want to shop anymore. Even though I had found some cute tops that I adored, none of it was satisfying to me. None of it. I just felt fat, and gross, and not worthy of Topshop. And I kind of wanted an entire bottle of wine, but that was neither here nor there. 

And you know what? That is complete and utter bullshit. My mom quickly reminded me that the last time, months and months ago, I had the same run in with Topshop. I tried some shit on and all it did was make me feel bad about myself. 

Clothing should not make you feel bad about yourself. It should be a fun expression of who you are. Not a reminder that, mmm yeah, you don’t fit within our dumbass size ranges and maybe you should just eat salad for the rest of your life, you damn heifer. 

I think “plus size” is complete and utter nonsense. People treat it like a disease. Ooohh you gained an extra 10 pounds? Shucks, looks like we have to send you out to Plus size pasture. Cue the lightning bolts. 

Clothing companies, Topshop in particular … you are there to make women feel good about themselves. And when you don’t go past a certain size, or when certain sizes go from “normal” to “curvy” or “plus” … it doesn’t always make people feel great. Just because someone is over a certain size doesn’t mean they need to be in a different class of clothing. Just sayin’…

So Topshop, your tops are cute, your accessories are lovely, but your pants can suck it. Get it together and start catering to all women of all sizes, even the ones that love French fries a little more than others. A size is a size. Integrate them, shall we? 

giphy

Let’s End Aggression On Social Media

13328977_1037032142999146_460446625_nFacebook is a pretty dark place to be on right now. Lots of feelings. Lots of opinions. And lots of nasty rebuttals. 

Yesterday I posted on my personal page a simple statement over a share of PostSecret’s photo that simply said, “Hate is not our story.” And above it I wrote, “I will get behind anyone who is interested in reforming our gun laws.” Immediately I received a pretty aggressive and detailed comment from a person who, obviously, didn’t agree with my views. And reading it made my heart sink to my stomach.

Right now we are all disturbed and heart broken over the terrorist attack that happened in Orlando this past weekend. It’s hard not to be. Because this person who killed innocent people on Sunday did it because he didn’t agree with the way they were living their lives. And guess what? These terrorists don’t agree with a lot of what we as Americans believe in, in regards to religious freedom, gender equality, and gay rights. That means that what happened in Orlando could have happened anywhere at anytime. 

We are all entitled to our opinions and beliefs. And I believe we are all entitled to love who we want, believe what we want, and get behind what we want. And because of that I responded to the comment on my Facebook page with simply, “I will respect your point of view if you will respect mine.” And just like that, I got an apology from the person through a private message. Not for their point of view, but for being aggressive and attacking my beliefs.

During events like these, which are all too often, people pour their opinions and thoughts on to their social media channels. Perhaps it is a way for them to cope, a way for them to feel like they are helping, or a way from them to take a stand. Hey, I posted my thoughts to support the victims and their families as, honestly, I didn’t know what else to do. Writing has always been cathartic to me, so therefore I used my words. 

But not all words are being used in a positive manner. They are being used to attack beliefs and aggressively prove that their point of view is the right one. Which then turn into heated, nasty debates with comment after comment of harsh statements aimed to hurt. 

Guess what, kids? You are NEVER going to get someone to change their beliefs by being aggressive and derogatory via a Facebook comment. Actually, no. You’re NEVER going to change a person’s beliefs via a social media channel. It doesn’t work like that.

You’re entitled to your beliefs, yes. But instead of causing useless rage and negativity on a social media chain, go to your government. Contact congress. Because those are the people that will listen. Your friend from high school that you haven’t seen in 10 years who posted that she wants all guns to be banned will only become more aggressive, as well as her other friends who believe the same, when you go off on a rant about your opposite beliefs on gun laws.

It’s all about perspective. Right now there are families in Orlando who don’t know where their loved ones are. There are families mourning the loss of their loved one who just went out for a night of fun on a Saturday evening and was murdered because of it. 

So the next time you see a post on your social channels that you don’t agree with, I encourage you to ignore and channel your thoughts and feelings into something bigger. Get off your ass and give blood. Go to your local government and see if there is something you can do. 

It’s Facebook, people. FACE. BOOK. Let me say it again, FACEBOOK. Yeah … I hope you’re laughing along with me. A fucking social media channel shouldn’t be ripping us all apart. Keep it in perspective, please. The United States needs more positivity than ever. Let’s work on that, shall we? 

My heart goes out to all the victims and their families. And I encourage all of us to keep not being afraid to show our true colors and walk proudly with our heads held high.

CkxS3qlUUAAm196

The Best Christmas Ever

4eafe419df7ec1ed566ab9a194f189ecI hate to say it, but I’ve turned into a little bit of a Scrooge when it comes to Christmas. Simply because I loathe running errands and interacting with psychotic holiday shoppers. 

But in an effort to not be such a crotchety ol’ bitch, I decided to reflect on my most favorite Christmas ever. Because nothing was more divine than Christmas as a kid, am I right?

While “Santa” brought me some rad gifts throughout my childhood, without even thinking about it, I know which one was my all-time favorite. And something I wish I still had today. 

Two words: Barbie. Car. And not just any Barbie car. A hot pink convertible Barbie car that I could drive at 5 years old. It was glorious. I mean it had a car phone … A CAR PHONE (it was the early 90s).

I was never one of those kids who woke up at 6am to open gifts (I know, I’m a freak). I don’t remember that exact Christmas morning, but they were all pretty much the same. I would wake up around 8am, patiently wait on the landing of my steps for my Aunt to arrive, and then walk into my living room where “Santa” had left all sorts of fun surprises and awesomely wrapped gifts.

But even when the presents had all been opened, and the stockings had been explored, there was always something else waiting to be found. It wasn’t under the tree, hell it usually wasn’t in the same room. But I could always count on the surprise finale. 

“I think I saw something in the den,” my Dad said to me with a ridiculous grin. “Maybe you should go check it out…”  as he winked and elbowed my brother. So I ran into the other room only to find a huge mass with a blanket covering it. I ripped it off to find my first set of wheels. I like to think this feeling I had when I saw it was equivalent to when Oprah told her whole audience, “YOU GET A CAR, AND YOU GET A CAR!” My head could have popped off I was so thrilled.

I drove that thing everywhere. From one side of the yard to the other. Around my house. On the sidewalk. Hell, even inside my house (which I still don’t know how I got away with that one … kind of insane behavior, parents). I was bad ass, what can I say.

Everyone loved this thing, including my Nana, who was barely five foot, and took it out for a spin when she came to visit. To this day it is one of my most pleasant and hilarious memories of my childhood. 

I would offer everyone to use it, including family members who happened to be having car trouble. I thought I was being super generous by offering them my fine set of wheels, and would secretly giggle over the idea of my Dad, in a suit, driving my pink ride down the highway. 

What happened to my Barbie car, you ask? I don’t really recall … I think my parents gave it to some ass clowns (I’m not bitter at all). Apparently it isn’t socially acceptable for a tween to be riding a Barbie convertible around. Whatever, society. I would still be riding that thing around today if I could … you know … for nostalgia purposes, of course :::shifty eyes:::

So there you have it. I don’t think a Christmas could be sweeter. To this day, even though I’m an adult who has lost a piece of her Christmas spirit (which totally sucks, I should work on getting that back), I still wake up and look for that surprise present. Even though I know it won’t be there, it still brings back awesome memories. 

Now tell me, what was your most beloved Christmas present? 

fb41d174e70b90ca266721abfe981949

Where Have Our Grocery Store Manners Gone?

loaf-sugar-1950sI came to the realization this past weekend that every person that enters a grocery store turns into a raging, ruthless asshole. It sounds harsh, and I bet you are all like, “What! Me?! NEVER.” But you do. I do. We all do. 

I realize this has nothing to do with fashion or lifestyle, or anything Life Sucks In A Strapless Bra stands for, but it does fall under the category of living your life in a stylish and classy manner. And if you’re in the confines of a grocery store, there’s a good chance you are not. 

But no matter what I do to get myself “hyped” to buy food, once I enter the grocery store, it is like the Old Orchard Mall from Mean Girls. Animals attacking one another. And by animals I mean women decked out in Lululemon eyeing up the bitch that just pushed her cart out of the way to get broccoli.

635479525150153578-590246790_Untitled

Look I hate getting “preachy,” but what I’m really here to do is remind you all during this hectic holiday season that you aren’t the only human being on this Earth. And that manners are actual things and you should use them. And when you find yourself being an asshole, take a step back and be like, “wow, I’m having an adult temper tantrum in public. In a grocery store. This is happening.” Shaming yourself is actually really effective. Trust me.

Say excuse me:

Say it with me now, “ex-cuse me.” Don’t yell it. Don’t say it in a sarcastic fashion that makes me want to smush your face. Say it so the person you need to move hears it, nod your head, perhaps crack a smile if you feel up to it, and move on with your day. It’s that simple.

When someone says excuse me to you:

Don’t eye roll. Don’t pretend you didn’t hear them. Don’t say, “1 sec, sorry” and then take an extra 55,000 secs. Don’t give them a death stare like, “HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO ME, PHEASANT!?” Acknowledge, move your cart over a smidge, and continue on picking out that perfect bushel of broccoli for another 55,000 secs. 

Keep your kids in check:

I’m here to buy my food for the week, not to give you a pass for taking up 90% of the aisle just because you decided to reproduce. I sound like a total bitch I know and “omg I don’t have kids, I’ll never understand.” Right. All I’m asking is to get from A to broccoli (man I must be craving broccoli) without hitting road blocks like your kids screaming bloody murder because you won’t buy them Cocoa Puffs (hey, we’ve all been there … Cocoa Puffs rule … I used to get super pissed when my mom wouldn’t buy them for me).

Speaking of annoying things …:

What is UP with the car-designed carts for kids that take up WAY too much room. When I was a kid my mom handed me a box of circus animal crackers, sat me in the cart, and told me to shut the fuck up. Now we need to give these kids like Benz’ to roll around the grocery store in to keep them “entertained.” Do you REALLY think these cesspools you’re putting your kids in are effective? 

Meanwhile, when you’re off barking at the deli guy to cut your deli meats SUPER THIN, do you hear me I said, SUPER THIN, as your kids nosh on their free cookie in their faux cart car monstrosity, I can’t get by. Just remember, when your off ensuring the correctness of your deli meats, some normal woman is stupid behind your stupid obnoxious cart quietly losing her shit.

Slow walkers of America:

Unless you have a disability, FUCKING. MOVE. That’s all I have to say about that.

Space hogs:

I know you REALLY need to check every single apple to make sure it’s up to your household standards, but you REALLY need to understand that you are not the only living soul that needs apples for the week. So be aware of your surroundings, and like move over a smidge. Share the space. And again, don’t eye roll when I say “excuse me,” or call me a bitch under your breath. I can hear it. It isn’t nice. 

Refrain from cart wars:

We all know how to drive (kinda). We all know hitting another car is bad, right? Yet, while using a shopping cart it’s like the God damn wild wild west. I’ve seen stand-offs. I’ve seen the dripping in sarcasm, “NO NO, PLLEEEASSSE AFTER YOU.” Guess what? Those rules you learned when you got your drivers license apply to shopping cart usage. Right side of the aisle is one way. Left side of the aisle is another. Need something? Pull over. And quite frankly people with “cart rage” (it’s a thing) should go in a designated grocery store time-out corner or something and get their life in check. The 2 for $4 Diet Coke sale will still be there when you calm the hell down. 

screen-shot-2012-08-28-at-1-38-53-pm