Behold! A Bitch Who Doesn’t Brunch

Screen Shot 2015-04-27 at 10.54.13 AMI hate making decisions. Especially, for some reason, right now. I’m blaming the explosion of allergies that is occurring. But I cannot make a decision to save my life. Do I want to organize my closet? Or do I want to watch a Will and Grace marathon? I’ll clean my closet :::gets to closet:::. Wait! This is a really good episode of Will and Grace (real life example) …back to the couch. Decisions are not currently my bag … baby (Austin Powers … still relevant). 

Hence why I loathe brunch. Now I know a bunch of city hipsters just threw their soy milk latte at their MacBook Pro screen … but it’s a fact. And it’s just a part of who I am. I am not a bitch who likes to brunch. There. I said it. I’m not a huge “Sunday Funday-er” and I hate the idea of breakfast and lunch merging into this beast of weird and overwhelming menu options. And here’s why:

7 a.m. – 12 p.m.: Breakfast 

12 p.m.-5 p.m.: Lunch

5 p.m. to 10 p.m.: Dinner


Do I like the idea of day drinking? Umm it’s one of my most favorite things in the whole world. But why do I need to go to some snotty cafe or restaurant at noon on a weekend to have mimosas to do so? The answer is you do not. Day drinking can happen even if the word “brunch” isn’t in front of it. In fact, I think the word “brunch” was just invented for prude people who think day drinking was made up by the devil, and by simply adding a non-word to cover up their love for day drinking, they think they are better people than the ones who openly get their day drink on. 


And there is a reason why I don’t fancy going to restaurants like the Cheesecake Factory. The menu is a fucking NOVEL. I literally start to make a pros and cons list of menu items. And when I finally pick something, I’m always let down. That shouldn’t happen at a restaurant. So why would I put myself in a situation where I had to choose between delicious, scrumptious and mouth watering pancakes or a big ol’ meaty burger with fries that make angels cry? It’s insanity, people, insanity! I want both. And now I’m fat. Thanks, brunch, thanks.  

Brunch has become the new black, I get it. I hear in New York City if you don’t do brunch, you literally aren’t a person … which reminds me even more why PHILLY RULES. But friends, if you ask me to brunch, I will politely decline. Ask me to breakfast! Seriously, I can’t remember the last time someone asked me to get breakfast on the weekend, probably because we are all too hungover to make it there. But hey, lunch is also an acceptable option, too. I adore lunch. Lunch rules. Sharing apps, having some cocktails, getting my carb on … it’s the best (man I’m getting hungry).

But when it comes to brunch, insert the biggest eye roll on the planet. What’s the next craze to hit the eating scene? Linner? “OMG you guys, let’s meet at 3:30 p.m. at Piere’s Sacred Bistro For Cool People and get our vodka and Red Bulls on with a Turkey Club Sandwich and a Steak!” No. Stop it. Maybe I’m old school, maybe I’m just a square, but brunch doesn’t fit into my vocab … at all. 

Some Thoughts On 2015…

thumbI usually save these types of posts for New Year’s Eve and shit, but I saw Man Repeller do a post reflecting on lessons learned in 2015, and since she is my blogging spirit animal I said, what the hell? And it’s important to “reflect” … ya know? 

This year … :::raises fists in the air and grits teeth::: THIS YEAR. ARGH. I mean … it has been splendid. It’s just darling. I can’t … honestly … think of one bad thing to say about it so far … :::blank stare:::

No matter what kind of year you are having, lessons are learned. Happy, sad, drunk, sober … we learn them. So please enjoy the lessons I have learned so far … although I’m warning you, some are sappy. Damn emotions … damn you to hell.

1. My goal of reading one book a month has not only helped in my relaxation efforts and made me want to stab people less (not that I would :::shifty eyes:::), it also has been really inspiring hearing other peoples words and stories.

2. Kylie Jenner’s lips give me nightmares, straight up. Even worse are the teens trying to obtain her lips by sucking on shot glasses. What?! Bitch, just say you got Botox so our youth can stop torturing themselves, kay?

3. If you have a couple of cocktails and then attempt to walk on ice, even in Hunter Boots, you WILL fall, and you WILL have a bruise on your ass the size of Texas (and no … nothing helps a bruise heal faster, I tried it all).

4. I can’t pull off 75% of the sandals that are en vogue this season because I’m in no way shape or form “norm-core” … and that bums me out significantly.

5. I’ve gotten considerably more goth and I’m 100% okay with that (my nails are red, does that count?).

6. Doing things by yourself (eating at restaurants, going to the movies) is super important and something I’m still trying to get comfortable with.

7. Everything, indeed, DOES happen for a reason. Roll your eyes all you want. I see you over there. Yeah I’m looking at you. That shit is true and I could give you like 400,000 examples of why that is so. Okay maybe not THAT many, but you know what I mean.

8. People who shame others for being single, fat, skinny, ugly, poor, rich, or for no reason at all, suck. Just be nice to one another, for the love of Jesus. Do you, and let the noise be what it is. Noise. Annoying, fucked up noise.

9. In that same breath, believing your own bullshit is insanely important. There’s a fine line between “cocky” and “believing your own bullshit,” I know … but if you feel like you did something well, or look extra fierce … tell ‘um … “I DON’T LOOK LIKE A GARGOYLE TODAY (in the tune of Beyonce’s “Flawless” if you couldn’t tell).

10. The people I loathe most on this Earth are the ones who tell me to “smile.” Still. I don’t think I will ever have an instance where some jagweed will tell me to “smile” and I’ll be all, “OKAY!” and skip along on my merry way. Nope. Not up in here. Just stop.

What have you picked up so far in 2015?

Wanted: A Ladysitter

kyle-ladysiter-smallI’m not afraid to admit that I’m mildly obsessed with the Real Housewives franchise. No matter what city or state they are in, I adore watching these crazy rich bitches take us on a tour of their crazytown lives.

Especially Kyle Richards (ps. I’m totally on Team Kyle … for any of you who watched the reunion over the past couple of weeks). There was an episode where she was getting ready in her fantastic bathroom … so fantastic I would actually move into her tub, when a man walked in, who I assumed was her assistant? Friend? But no. A caption appeared that revealed he was Kyle’s Ladysitter! (LADYSITTER, WHAT?! GASP?! WHAT IS A LADYSITTER?!)

My first thought was, is there a website like “” where you can find your dream Ladysitter? And two, what is this role exactly? Is it like a cross between your personal bitch and your authority figure who can be all, “NO, KATE, NO … put that fudge brownie down. BAD! :::smacks hand::: Now go do 50 sit ups and think about what you did.” Like he/she answers my emails, then tucks me into bed no later than 9 p.m. so I can get optimal beauty sleep? What is it!!?

I did some research (because doesn’t everyone research shit like this) and turns out, sites for the “elite” do have a Ladysitter service. Elite Metro Nannies lists it as: “A lady sitter can also provide the same services for singles that may be on the go and need personal assistance, much like a mother’s helper.” Sooo … you’re basically saying I’m hiring a personal assistant? What is the difference?

Kyle Richard’s Ladysitter seems to help her plan parties, take care of her kids, help her get dressed, and who knows what other shit Bravo isn’t showing us. Seems to me a Ladysitter just comes in and helps you get your shit together and do all the things you don’t want to do. Uhh genius. Where do I rope some poor soul into doing this for me?

So if any of you are just DYING to be my Ladysitter (don’t all kill each other to get a chance at this amazing opportunity, now), here are the job requirements … ahem

 The Ladysitter position for Miss Kate Concannon must fulfill the following requirements:

 1. Must like cats and be open to changing cat liter (I mean who likes cleaning that thing?!) slash cater to my cats the same way you will cater to yours truly and talk to them in the “cat voice” I use (instructions will be provided and you will be quizzed until you get it right)

2. Must enjoy drinking wine … chardonnay specifically (no one likes drinking alone)

3. Must have strong will power to keep my phone away from me when I’m drinking so I don’t text anyone I shouldn’t (I can be REAL convincing whilst drinking)

4. Must kill spiders and all other bugs, I don’t care how tiny they are … murder them

5. Must return phone calls for me AS me since I loathe talking on the phone (hope you’re good at impersonations)

6. Must make sure my cat pajamas are always so fresh and so clean clean

7. Must be funny … like Tina Fey funny (no one likes a serious sally)

8. Must be willing and able to smack unhealthy items out of my hands when you see me about to eat them 

9. Must be willing and able to massage my brain whenever I need it (allergy season is a bitch … my brain always hurts)

10. And finally, must get a tattoo of “Life Sucks In A Strapless Bra” somewhere on your person because mama’s gotta promote her baby at all times (okay fine, temporary tattoos are acceptable)

 ***Totally kidding. Kind of. Sort of.


Sia Holds The Cure To Resting Bitch Face

The 57th Annual GRAMMY Awards - Red CarpetMondays are rough … even if you are in between jobs like myself, sitting on your couch in cat pajamas watching Kathy Lee and Hoda, waiting patiently for your Claritin to kick in because your allergies are so bad you just want to scratch your face off (hi, welcome to my fabulous life).

My brain just never seems to function properly on a Monday, even if I’ve spent the weekend meditating, drinking strictly green juices and retiring to bed in hydrating face masks at 7 p.m. (because I ALWAYS do that, right?) It just doesn’t. So this got me thinking a lot about Resting Bitch Face (RBF) and just not wanting to participate in the human race because you’re cranky.

We all have our days when pulling up the covers and sinking into our mattresses seems like heaven … especially on Monday. When we find ourselves sitting on a train on the way to work or at our desk before getting caffeine into our veins, and catch ourselves looking like we want to cut someone. We’ve ALL been there, and if you say you constantly walk on sunshine and vom rainbows, I want you to get your head checked, kay?

That’s when I started to think of Sia, who I’m obsessed with. I was a Zero 7 fan (I totally sing “Waiting Line” in my head when I ponder life … I know I’m a freak), I die for the song, “Breathe Me” (mostly the Mylo remix because the original version bums me out), and now … I swoon for her wigs.

At first I was like, “whhhhaaaa?!” But then during an interview, she was quoted saying she just doesn’t have any interest in being famous or recognizable. Hence why she wears the crazy wigs that cover her entire face, have other people in her music videos, and faces a wall during some performances while other famous people put on the show.

And this got me thinking … why can’t WE have “fill ins” when we don’t feel like participating in life? Or better yet! Why can’t we wear over-sized wigs on a stupid day like Monday when no one REALLY wants to participate. Could you imagine how beautiful it could be?

PMSing? Throw on the over-sized wig that mirrors your own hair, but only allows the general public to see your lips (I mean we’ll cut eye holes in it or something … details, details, people). I feel like sending in a so-called “stunt double” to your place of employment would be illegal or something … so let’s not go there … but the wig is GENIUS.

RBF would be obliterated! No longer would co-workers get weird vibes from you and immediately file you under “bitch who you shouldn’t be nice to.” Mixed signals would be gone. If you walk in one day wearing the wig people would just be like, “oh … Kate is having a day … let’s let her be.” And you could just sit at your desk, chugging caffeine, getting your work done, and not having to have painful conversations when you just want silence. Beautiful, breathtaking silence.

So thank you, Sia. While a lot of people don’t understand you and think you’re a weirdo (ps. I never did, let’s be friends and wear cool wigs together, call me!), I think you’ve just come up with the cure for RBF … which is a beautiful thing. Because thanks to society, it just isn’t cool to start off a conversation with a co-worker like, “hey … I have cramps that hurt so badly I could probably punch a hole in the wall, and I would love to cut someone. Kind of. Not really. But kind of. This is why I’m sending off these negatives vibes and look like a bitch.” Just so they know, indeed, you aren’t a bitch. It just isn’t cool. But the wig. Well. The wig could solve it ALL. ALL I say!


Don’t Shame Me For My Body, Ass

Untitled-1Remember the age old saying, “if you have nothing nice to say don’t say anything at all?” Clearly no one does, because apparently it is TOTALLY okay to discuss another persons weight. Now may I ask, what in the living hell is going on in the world?

Yesterday I was strolling through the Philadelphia Museum of Art and saw these paintings of women portrayed as gigantic blobs. There was literally nothing sexy about them. I remember learning in an art history class I took in college that this was once considered “beautiful” to be a large gigantic blob. Now … if we eat more than one slice of pizza without blotting off the excess grease, I mean burn us at the stake why don’t ya.

From Kim Kardashian getting fat shamed when she was preggo (I mean … don’t even get me started on that one) to Kelly Clarkson getting fat shamed for just having the nerve to not be a size negative 2 and be a successful musician, no one has the right to discuss another woman’s weight … ESPECIALLY a man. Why a gaggle of women haven’t gathered together with pitch forks and flaming torches to shame that Fox News anchor is beyond me. If anyone is down, let me know and we’ll get this shit started.

And let’s not forgot the polar opposite, which is even more hilarious … being TOO thin. I was watching the Today Show this week and Giuliana Rancic was discussing how people actually tweet at her to, “EAT A BURGER, BITCH!” Really? Because I would have to say if she was caught stuffing her face at McDonalds eating a burger, secret sauce running all down her face, all of a sudden the tabloid headlines would change from, “Scary Thin … Is Giuliana Invisible?!” to “Stick Goes Supersized” or something else disgusting like that. No one can win.

Listen, you have NO clue what someone is going through. These people could be on medication that makes them gain or lose weight uncontrollably. They could be depressed. They could very well have an eating disorder, and you know what? I don’t think a bulimic woman/man wants to sit down with a perfect stranger who is judging him/her to say, “yeah, I saw you were looking at my frail frame. I make myself throw up after I eat. That’s why.” It’s private. It’s painful. And it’s none of your damn business.

And look, if you have a family member or friend that you think has a problem, hell yes try to help them … privately, of course. But if you see a woman on the street, in Walmart, in your office, anywhere really who is either “too big” or “too skinny” in the eyes of society … keep it to yourself. Focus on more productive things in life, like people actually committing crimes and being mean to innocent human beings. Because those are the disgusting people, not the ones that just don’t happen to have the same bone structure as Kate Moss.

Society makes it really hard for women to love themselves. REALLY hard. The most important thing is to be healthy and happy. Straight up. And if you don’t like the way we look outside of that …


Now if you would excuse me, my burrito is waiting for me. SUCK ON THAT … AYE AYE AYE AYE AYE AYE.

Getting Zen In 2015

1416624462973_Image_galleryImage_Beyonce_7_11_video_on_Bey2015, so far, has been the year of me trying really hard to get “zen” … whatever that means. And quite frankly, it is not an easy task. Especially for someone like me who gets thrown off track the minute a shiny thing presents itself. It’s sad … but oh so true.

So I thought to myself, self, what makes you relax? What would give you the allusion that you are laying on the beach when in reality you are on a PATCO train on the way to work? Since I don’t believe in list making (not even on the notes section of my iPhone, I blame my mom as she is a list making freak … thanks, mom), I mentally thought shit out.

I can say three months into 2015, I’m already starting to feel more “zen,” more relaxed, and more present in the moment. It is so easy to get caught up in meeting deadlines, pleasing every single person in your life, cutting time out for friends and family, finding the “man/woman of your dreams” and attending event after event. But it is fucking exhausting, am I right?

More than ever I’ve realized taking time for you is so important for your mental and physical well-being. So lovely readers, I encourage you, for once, to follow in my footsteps in becoming your own biggest priority. And no, I’m not becoming a self help guru. I just play one on a blog.

Reading Rainbow: I set a goal for myself to read one book a month, and so far so good. In fact I’m surpassing said goal (what, what! :::Raises roof:::). I’m a huge fan of biographies/autobiographies, and find diving into someone’s life and words for a bit kind of takes the heat off of your own. Even just reading one chapter before bed helps ease yourself into a peaceful nights rest.

Get a Hobby, Freak: Everyone laughs at me when I tell them this, but I’ve always had a fascination with weaving. Yes. Weaving. People ask hesitantly, “but what will you make?” And when I tell them tapestries and they laugh and say, “what the hell does that mean,” or “yeah right :::eye roll:::” I then stand my ground and guarantee that they will receive my first tapestry as a housewarming gift. So I dare you to make fun of my hobbies, fools.

Make Time For People Who Count: While we all think we have super human powers and can be in 20 different places at once, we cannot. And quite frankly, who the hell wants to? Literally clear your schedule and start fresh. Figure out how to make time for the people who make you shine inside and out. You know who they are. Do this for a month and see what happens.

Do Instead of Dream: Want to get a massage? Make it happen. Sick of your hair color? Find a good stylist and get er done. What is stopping you from going to a museum exhibit or a new restaurant you’ve been dying to try? Probably you and only you, kid. Buy yourself that expensive bottle of wine that you’ve been curious about because you know why? YOLO … oh yeah, I said it, YO to the LO. (Okay, I really hate myself for saying that … DAMN YOU, Drake, DAMN YOU!)

Get Yo Health On: Thanks to ol’ man winter and his bitchy frost bite, I was feeling a little, hmm, how you say, disgusting. So I marched myself to a dietician and figured out how to get healthy. My goal was to lose 10 pounds (be realistic because becoming Kate Moss overnight isn’t real life), and we worked together to accomplish that in a healthy way over the course of several weeks. The beauty is, I can still eat whatever I want, whenever I want, because me with no carbs equals the devil.


It’s Friday The 13th, Kids!

Cher-with-Black-Cat-Dark-LadyToday I cannot stop singing, “Dark Lady,” by Cher. And if you don’t know what song I’m referring to, FOR SHAME, people, FOR SHAME. Seriously. Get it together. Life priorities. So before continuing on reading this marvelous post, please watch this and feel free to flip your hair and put your tongue to your top lip while exclaiming, “hooooooo!” as you sing into your hair brush as much as you please.

Now … back to brass tax. It’s Friday the 13th. Have I mentioned that I’m majorly superstitious? Because I am. Henceforth why this day usually has me secretly waiting for the sky to fall or something. But in an effort to not give too much of a shit anymore with things regarding superstition (watch, now a random bold of lightning is going to get me), I’ve decided to focus on the positive side of Friday the 13th. That is all things dark. Clearly.

If this post was Sesame Street (which honestly, would make no sense. The word of the day is Balls, kids … yeah, no.) The color of the day would be black. Hence why I’ve had “Dark Lady” stuck in my head since the minute I opened my eyes. “DARK LADY LAUGHED AND DANCED AND LIT THE CANDLES ONE BY ONE …. :::hair flip::: HOOOOO” Sorry for the outburst, I couldn’t help myself.

So in honor of Friday the 13th, I would like to outline some of my favorite pieces in the color black. My favorite wardrobe color. And it is the color of the day if we were on Sesame Street … which we are not. Enjoy and buy yourself a little something. It is Friday, for crying out loud.












Open Yourself Up To Menswear

annie-lennox-05I remember being little and watching SNL with my Nana (this was probably late 80’s/early 90’s) and watching Annie Lennox perform. She took the stage wearing a tuxedo for women, very casually worn, with her short male-like hair cut. My Nana, who I wouldn’t quite constitute as an old school square, scoffed at her look and expressed her violent distaste for her. “What is this? Women don’t wear tuxedos! What is WRONG with her and that short hair cut,” she exclaimed, making her dislike for the woman underlined and bold. At that moment I believe my love for menswear for women blossomed (sorry Nan).

I find tuxedos so romantic and lovely and secretly wish I would wake up one morning and see men wearing top hats, watch fobs, and … yes … monocles (I mean who doesn’t love a good monocle, am I right?!). But, it’s likely that this generation of men who find plaid shirts from J. Crew with jeans the end all be all of everything (not that there is anything wrong with that, I swear I’m not hating, calm yo selves) will ever throw back that far, so henceforth why I’m so pumped that the women-kind have grabbed the reigns once again.

What bothers me is that people think if a woman like Rhianna, who happened to rock the shit out of a menswear-inspired Maison Margiela suit at the Grammy’s last weekend, would wear such an ill-fitting garment simply because she is a hiding a pregnancy. Typical bullshit. Unless she really is preggo, then congrats?

But this trend is nothing new. The bad ass Katharine Hepburn was the queen of a good suit. She didn’t just wear it to make a statement, since it was frowned upon for women to wear such things back in the day (GASP!), but she redefined “sexy” in a new way for women. So much so that down the road the likes of Madonna adopted it (come on VOGUE, let cho body MOOOVE TO THE MUSIC … excuse me, dance break time).

700a9473005f34a82fa87302e13dd470And let’s not neglect Diane Keaton’s Annie Hall look. I mean, that shit was epic, tie and all. I unfortunately fell down the rabbit hole of wearing ties as belts back in the early 2000’s … but that is not a “menswear-inspired” trend any of us should EVER recreate, kids. Seriously. Don’t do it. Or what Avril Lavigne did. You know what? Let’s make a rule to never do anything Avril Lavigne did, kay?


Listen, I get it, menswear looks can be intimidating, especially if you’re the type of gal that lives on the more feminine side of life. And quite frankly what can’t Rhianna wear and not make it look out-of-this-world amazing? But I believe leaving some things to the imagination under perhaps an ill-fitting suit is just as sexy as a tight curve-accentuating Herve Leger dress.


It doesn’t mean you have to throw all femininity out the window, bitch please. Rock a sexy bright lip. Wear a blouse underneath your menswear blazer open (well not fully open … you know what I mean, keep it classy). Add a beautiful brooch to a lapel. Look to our sisters of fashion past to teach you the ways of menswear rocking properly. From me to you, it’s the new sexy.

And now … I will leave you with this so you can have your own dance party with your monocle. And if you don’t have one. GET ONE.


Wearing Heels To Your First Hockey Game

scrubs-my-nah-nah-nah-worst-athlete-thumbI don’t know if any of you are aware of this, but I hate sports. Always have, probably always will. My family keeps saying a dude who is a HUGE sports fan will come and “sweep me off my feet” and all of a sudden I’ll be wearing his favorite sports jersey, but not up in here. NOT … up in here. So all of you super fan suitors out there, sorry, it just ain’t going to happen.

With that being said, when the Philadelphia Flyers contacted me and asked if I would like to attend a game my knee jerk reaction was, HELL. NO. I write about style, for Christs sake. But then I thought, hey, I’m not one of those girls that are just like, “ew sports … like :::hair twirl::: let’s go to the mall,” I like opening myself up to new experiences.

So I grabbed my friend Kim, who happens to be a huge fan, and decided why the hell not? But what do you wear as an absolute non-fan? I refused to run to Dicks Sporting Goods and buy out the hockey section, but wanted to support the team for fear of getting my ass kicked. Lucky enough for me the Flyers colors are black and orange, and my wardrobe is 99.6% black, so I wore black skinnies, a black top, statement necklace and black booties. Black on black on black.

The minute Kim picked me up she exclaimed, “are you wearing HEELS?!” Well … yes, I was. But they were booties and it was a 2-inch block heel, which I don’t consider a “heel,” per say. “You are going to get laughed out of the game!” she said, continuing to shame me. She also let me know that when she sees ladies wearing heels to any sporting event, she immediately wants to throw stuff at them. Fantastic. I was fucked, clearly. (Side bar: I later found out she was wearing a pencil skirt and button down to the game. Pencil. Skirt. Hello?!)

I walked into the game in anticipation of angry Flyers fans running towards me holding flaming sticks and pitch forks screaming, “SHE’S NOT A REAL FAN, AND SHE’S WEARING HEELS, GET HER!” but it didn’t happen. Once I got comfortable I asked, “so where is the stand that serves Chardonnay,” in a joking, well not really joking, manner, and instead got handed a beer in a plastic sippy cup with a straw. A straw.

The good news is, no one paid attention to what I was wearing. Everyone kind of did their own thing. You had the super fans in Flyers gear, jeans and boots, the girls who were clearly there on a date with a boy, looking awkward AND wearing heels (see, Kim, I wasn’t the only one), aaaand then there were the “ice girls” in electric orange crop tops and tight ass black pants who “cleaned the ice” (I mean …). But don’t worry, us ladies got to look at the “ice gents” in oversized electric orange pullovers and carpenter jeans “cleaning the ice” yeeeeaaaaah … hawt.

I DID learn a valuable lesson though, kids. Crowd around, I want all of you to hear this. Because of course after the game we went for drinks at Xfinity Live, a place I like to refer to as “not my scene.” Never. Ever. NEVER EVER EVER EVER, ride a mechanic bull whilst wearing a crop top. I don’t care how many vodka sodas you’ve had. It’s not sexy. It’s not cute. It doesn’t bring the boys to the yard. Just don’t do it. Promise?

Ps. Big thanks to the Philadelphia Flyers for an amazing first experience. I got to see men getting their nose broken LIVE … what gets better than THAT?!

Treating Yourself During The Holidays: It’s Okay

clueless-shoppingFinding the perfect gift for every single person you know can not only be exhausting, but brutally stressful. As adults, handing over thoughtless gift baskets from Bath and Body Works just doesn’t float the boat anymore, and if you still do that, well, for shame. Seriously … for shame.

But while scouring the ends of the Earth to find those perfect gifts, for me, I notoriously stumble across things for myself that I adore. On an average day whilst shopping, I can’t find shit. But when I’m NOT shopping for myself, it is like everything I’ve ever desired in my life is in front of me. When people ask me what I want for Christmas I’m always like, “meh … nothing.” But whilst shopping for others, I make a pretty amazing wishlist of things that I want to make out with.

The question is, do you treat yourself when you’re supposed to be shopping for others? Now, I’m a big supporter of the “treat yoself” movement. Every now and then, it is only healthy to buy yourself a present. But the holidays are supposed to be a selfless time. A time when you treat your loved ones with things THEY desire, and give back to those in need.

When it comes to my birthday, I always buy myself a gift. Always. I mean you are the only one who truly knows what you want, am I right? And you deserve a reward for making it through another year. So why should it be any different for the holidays? You’ve worked hard, you’ve been a good boy/girl this year, and even if you haven’t, Jesus Christ, you’ve worked hard (and if you haven’t … well … maybe sit this one out, bud). So I’ve decided it is a-okay to buy yourself a holiday gift. Because loving yourself is important. Even if that means buying an expensive handbag that makes you drool that you really can’t afford, but decided the joy it will bring you is way more important.

I’m not saying scoop up everything you adore when holiday shopping, even if it is tempting. For me it sometimes it completely impossible to focus. “Oooh that jacket is REALLY cute, do they have my size. WAIT … I’m not shopping for me, I’m not shopping for me. Why am I even in the women’s clothing section?! Where in Jesus Christ’s name is the robe department!?

So if you feel guilty, consider me the red sequin devil on your shoulder telling you it is 100% okay to buy yourself a little holiday somethin-somethin. I mean you’re shopping for all these people, dealing with crowds and annoying people spazzing out like they’ve never been to the holiday rodeo before. Do it. Pull the trigger and buy yourself something shiny. You deserve it. Because I said so.