A Day In Cat Pajamas

photoThe holidays are semi-over, and if you’re anything like me, you’re bloated, tired, and your liver desperately wants to vacate your body. No? Just me? Lame.

The holidays are a straight up whirlwind. Every year we expect something different and demand something a little more “laid back,” but we all find ourselves overdosing on family time, friend time, and vodka time, right? Again … just me? Really? COME ON, PEOPLE!

As a hibernating yogi (I pinky promise I’ll dive back into it in the new year … said everyone making empty NY resolutions), I believe in honoring your body. You can only take it so far before your body goes, “ya know what, bitch? No veggies, no sustenance, and no sleep means I’m letting down my defenses. Oh yeah, prepare for the worst sinus infection of your life! Suck on THAT!” And then all of a sudden you’re ringing in the new year with a fever and disgusting substances coming out of every orifice of your body. Woof.

So yesterday, I honored my body by not getting out of my pajamas. I know, I know, not THAT crazy. But I wasn’t hungover, I wasn’t dancing on tables until the sun rose the night before. Nope. I just woke up and decided, “yep, not taking my cat pajamas off today (see above, aren’t they fantastic?! Thanks, Santa!)

And you know what? Every single person needs to do this at least one a month, if not more. It’s liberating, in a bazaar way. Close your blinds, keep your pajamas on, start working in the ass grove on your couch, and just kind of disconnect. Relax. Find a good show to binge watch (for me it was Designing Women, I always wanted to be a Sugarbaker), and just give yourself a minute to not give a shit. It’s only healthy.

And by all means, do some tiny things around the house. For example, I took my trash out. And at the end of the day, who cares if your neighbors see you in your cat pajamas? I didn’t. I went outside in my cat pajamas, sans makeup and hair in a messy bun. I guess I just started to accept the fact that I’m not Kim Kardashian and hoards of paparazzi don’t follow me around, and a pic of me in my cat PJs won’t end up on TMZ. Sigh.

I challenge you before the year end (which, tick tock, people), to do this. Whether you’re on a little vaca from work, working from home, or just need a moment to let your body rest, which we ALL do, I’m pretty sure (psssstt you aren’t super human), hang out in your pajamas for a day. Just stop. Give yourself a break. You deserve it.

But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t shower. Nope. That’s gross. Take said pajamas off. Take shower. Put pajamas back on. Whether they are the old ones or a new pair is your call, bud.

Honor thyselves, readers, honor thyselves!

I Call This … Pope-ing

Screen-shot-2013-10-24-at-10.24.45-AMPreface: If you don’t watch Scandal, you probably won’t get this. And if you don’t watch Scandal, I DEMAND you go to Netflix and watch it right now. See you in three days. That should be a sufficient amount of time to let you binge.

Have you ever had a really bad day, like epically bad so much that you just want to dive into your most beloved, ragged pair of jammies, pour yourself a glass of wine (by glass of wine I mean bottle), and cry a little (and by cry a little I mean a lot) on your couch with your cat? We’ve ALL been there, give or take. And until recently, the thought of that was a little sad, right? Drinking wine. Alone. With your cat. Replaying the heinous day in your head over-and-over again. When I pull myself out of said emotional hole I usually cringe thinking about partaking in such behavior … but, you know, sometimes it’s necessary.

Thanks to Olivia Pope, better known as Kerry Washington on the street, though, that idea no longer sounds pathetic, weak, or silly. Because NOTHING Olivia Pope does is silly or pathetic, am I right?

My friends, I call this Pope-ing. Much like coping … except Pope-ing … get it? Ehh?! It is like the chicer version of what I just described above. How do you Pope, you ask?

1. Go home and get into your all white or cream cashmere jammies

2. Make sure your hair is perfectly quaffed

3. Go to your kitchen and poor yourself a rather large glass of red

4. Turn on MSNBC, CNN, Fox News … whatever you fancy

5. Curl up on your white couch with said glass of red and your cellular device

6. Chug said glass of red

7. Wait for insanely handsome suitor to knock on your door

8. Converse with suitor while sitting in front of your coffee table with your legs crossed, drinking, and starring into space

9. Kick him out

10. Pour more wine

For a while I never realized how she wore all white, and how her apartment was all white, drank copious amounts of red wine, and never got a drop of it anywhere. Me, well, I would be a hot mess. But last week, after having a truly heinous day, I sat down on my couch in something besides my hole-ridden, bleached stained jammies, enjoyed a glass of wine, and felt like Olivia Pope, obviously the abridged version of the above steps. And it made me feel slightly better.

Olivia Pope is a bad ass woman. She don’t take no shit from no one. Clearly you don’t have to follow the above steps verbatim, BUT if you embody what Olivia Pope is all about while sipping your vino on your couch, pondering what went wrong … you may just turn into the gladiator that you need to be.

Below is me Pope-ing. Sorry, I’m really just not a red wine drinker … yet.

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End All Be All Of Jammies

Will__Grace_Sushi_Lunch_PajamaIn light of perhaps not one, but TWO snowstorms hitting in the next few days … I would like to discuss a very important topic with you all. Jammies. That’s right. I said it. Jammies.

I jump at any opportunity to hibernate. I love nothing more than getting comfy, snuggling on my couch with a glass of wine and my baby cat, and binging on a good TV show (I mean … don’t all jump at the chance to be best friends with me).

Usually I don’t discriminate when it comes to jammies. Until recently my favorite pair of sweats were oversized, hole-ridden, and rarely stayed up due to such a severe knot that not even Jesus himself could undo. They are ugly as sin, but when I’m rocking them, CLEARLY I’m not in the game to impress anyone (seriously, I know I’m like a prime candidate for BFF status).

Matching jammies never interested me. It was always whatever was the first ugly event or college logo t-shirt I pulled out of my drawer and the first pair of sweats I grabbed afterward. That is until I became re-obsessed with Will & Grace. Thank you to WE tv for awesome bingeathons so I can catch up on seasons and seasons of Will & Grace on Saturdays until I look up and realize it is 9pm and I’ve been on my couch since 1pm. Seriously, nothing gets better in life.

During a hilarious episode, Grace stumbled out of her bedroom, hair looking a hot mess, slippers on, and these amazing matching button down jammies. Wait a tick … are you telling me you can wake up having eye liner rolling down your face, hair looking like a tornado hit it, yet still look put together with button matching jammies?! Hell. YES.

If you’ve never owned a pair of these bad boys, you clearly have never lived. They not only are insanely comfortable, BUT make you feel classy even if you are dying on your couch, hung over as hell, looking like a bus just hit you. Not that I EVER am … :::shifty eyes::: BedHead Pajamas are some of my fav, and even though they are a little pricy, it doesn’t really matter because you can’t put a price on comfort, can you now? Mmm hmm, that’s what I thought! No seriously, I wear them so much they like run to the washing machine themselves. It is kind of a problem.

So screw bread and milk and fighting all of these crazies at the super market, make sure you have your jammies in order before these two stupid snow storms hit. Priorities, people, priorities.

Ps. The chick below is not me.

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A Plea to Pajamas

stylesight-intimate-details-new-york-fashion-week-fall-winter-2013-marc-jacobsDearest PJs,

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

We Did It!

I just want to congratulate all my readers, for yes, it has happened. We have survived the holiday season! I consider Christmas Eve to be like the finish line of a month of bleeding our bank accounts dry. I really just envision myself running through a finish line in my winter coat with bags upon bags in my hand as people pour vodka all over me.

But Christmas Eve can be a tricky day. All of a sudden you are looking at all the stuff you bought for people, and clearly the crazy starts setting in, and it is not enough. You immediately feel the urge to run to the mall to buy useless nonsense that isn’t necessary just for the sake of giving that special someone more shit to open. Here are some words of wisdom, ahem: Less is more. Stop yo’ self. If you really think underneath your tree is bare, well then … I dunno wrap some empty boxes or something. But don’t go all cray cray at the mall today. Do you really want to be that guy fighting through the crowds of zombies returning stuff on December 26? I think not.

Dress wise, I usually go comfy on Christmas Eve for our open house, with LOTS of sequins of course, but the real important outfit are the PJs you wear for Santa. I know some families who have a tradition of getting Christmas PJs to wear on Christmas Eve, and my family is one of them. Literally my mom, sister and I will all be wearing the same red polka-dotted sleep pants tonight.

Anywho, I just needed to congratulate my fantastic readers on completing one of the most intense shopping months of the year. We did it, guys, we did it!

Santa Claus is comin’ to town!