Rerun Week On Life Sucks In A Strapless Bra

August 22, 2015.Reading time 2 minutes.

Welp … it’s about that time of year kids. When I drive miles and miles to spend the week getting drunk enough to wear a bikini. AKA … I’m getting the eff outta dodge.

I’m completely addicted to technology … like every other jag in the world. I’m constantly tweeting, Instagraming, Facebooking, Google chatting, emailing across three different email accounts, writing, and thinking. And this is my week to gingerly place my brain on the shelf with my social media channels to collect some healthy dust while I “relax” (which PS I SUCK at relaxing).

So while I say I’m going to take a break from tweeting and shit and you know, “completely disconnect from the world,” you’ll most likely see some of my antics here and there … especially on Instagram. So be sure to follow along. I AM going to take a break from nurturing this beast, though … just for the week. But don’t cry too hard, five people who read, I’ve deemed next week the reruns of Life Sucks In A Strapless Bra. What whaaaaaaaaa.

That means everyday I will be posting old school content from back in the day (hey, remember 2011)?! So it’s like I’m here, but really, again, I’ll probably be tipsy pretending I didn’t just eat a pizza whilst wearing a bathing suit poolside.

So I hope all of you have a lovely week and enjoy going back in time with me to some Life Sucks In A Strapless Bra classics.

You’ll see a more refreshed, hopefully a more ~~sunkissed~~, Life Sucks In A Strapless Bra starting on August 31. Just kidding, we all know I can’t get tan.

Monday:

Choppin’ It Off: http://www.lifesucksinastraplessbra.com/2014/03/19/choppin-it-off/

Tuesday:

Satan-filled Weekend: http://www.lifesucksinastraplessbra.com/2014/11/10/my-satan-filled-weekend/

Wednesday:

Did You Just Tell Me to Smile?: http://www.lifesucksinastraplessbra.com/2013/07/16/did-you-just-tell-me-to-smile/

Thursday:

Target and Neiman Marcus Send Up A Piece of Flair: http://www.lifesucksinastraplessbra.com/2012/07/10/target-and-neiman-marcus-send-up-a-piece-of-flair/

Friday:

Why I Would Be The Worst Victoria’s Secret Model: http://www.lifesucksinastraplessbra.com/2011/11/08/why-i-would-be-the-worst-victorias-secret-model/

Consciously Uncoupling From Carbs and Vodka

August 25, 2014.Reading time 4 minutes.

Welp, I’m back from vacation. And it was lovely. Truly. I’m refreshed, rejuvenated, creatively stimulated from my brain sitting on a shelf for the past week, and I’m no longer Casper the Friendly Ghost status. I’m more like his fourth cousin second removed, Slightly Toasted Marshmallow. What I’m trying to say is, I no longer look like I have a vitamin D deficiency, ya dig?

But when you look deeper inside my soul, and my veins, you will find something way less pleasant. Way less … healthy. And that is because vacation means carbs … and copious amounts of vodka. Seven days of, “ooh a frozen pizza for breakfast … SURE why not!” “Cocktails on the beach at 11 a.m. that can’t stop won’t stop until I crawl to bed at 1 a.m.? Bring it on!” For seven days. I know, I know … poor me, my life is so terribly, waaah, boo frickity whooo … but talk to my body, who wants to go on strike. It hates me … thoroughly. It wants to cut me.

If you don’t believe the horrific state I’m in right now, let me tell you a little story called I only peed once on an eight hour car ride home. Just once. That is how significantly dehydrated I am. The only hydration I received whilst on vaca was when I switched to vodka and club. Literally, I think I drank 14 bottle of water today and I still feel like my eyes are roaming around the desert with no water in sight seeing mirages of dancing pieces of bread.

So because I can’t keep my eyes open and I’m lethargic, and cranky, and my skin looks like something that roams around the hallways of a middle school, and I feel like I’ve gained straight up 15 pounds … I’ve made a decision. It has been a hard one to make, let me tell you. And slightly disturbing to even contemplate. But carbs, vodka and I … need to consciously uncouple. It’s time. I’ve always wondered why this Atkins character would invent such a torture-some diet that cancels out all carbs. Now I get it. He must have gotten back from a family vacation and felt like a bloated whale and said, “ENOUGH!”

I’m not one for diets. Or working out. Or being active. Or wearing those crazy ass “waist trainers” that Kim Kardashian has been seen using (ps. what in the name of all crazy is that shit about?) I’m just not. To sound like an obnoxious, valley girl for a hot minute (we all get one minute in life to sound like such hideous fools), like :::twirls hair::: shopping is my cardio :::pops gum:::. But when you feel this gross and unhealthy like I do right now, you do drastic things that you would never thought were possible. Like MAYBE just MAYBE not ingesting so many damn carbs.

At the end of the day, ladies, it is about being healthy. Mentally and physically. Pizza at all hours of the day and too many cocktails equals death. Yoga and veggies equals fresh to death. I mean, I hope so. If I don’t start feeling better on top of giving up carbs and vodka, I may or may not shank someone. Just sayin’.

Man, if everything goes according to plan, I will look like a super model just in time for the polar vortex to rear his/her/shis ugly face so I can layer my six pack under inches of wool. Screw that, if I have a six pack, I’m rockin’ a bikini in zero below weather. What what. #Classy

Old School Life Sucks In A Strapless Bra Week!

August 15, 2014.Reading time 3 minutes.

Want to know why I woke up with “Vacation” by the Go-Go’s stuck in my head this morning? Because that is where I am headed tomorrow … what what :::Raises roof awkwardly:::

As much as I would like to continue sending you my snarky, sarcastic, honesty- and lerve-filled posts on fashion, lifestyle and what-have-you throughout the next week as I kick it on a beach, I’m going to try the impossible and “disconnect.” Even just saying it gives me anxiety. I mean what is life like without social media and having your phone glued to your body?! ACK! How will I make my Selfie Book!??! (Kidding … clearly). And not posting to Life Sucks In A Strapless Bra for an entire week kind of makes me feel like I’m leaving it with a shady babysitter as I go off and gallivant. But … I’m going to give it a whirl.

The good news is, I’ve deemed next week, starting tomorrow actually, Old School Life Sucks In A Strapless Bra Week! What does that mean? Well let me explain! I went through a solid three years of content and pulled out my favorite seven posts, all the way from 2011 to present day. I’ve outlined the posts below, and check Twitter and Facebook for live updates throughout the week, and use #OldSchoolLSIASB to join in on all the throwback fun. I hope you enjoy reminiscing as much as I did … I had a little too much fun doing it, actually.

Sadly I must bid you adieu at this point, kids. I hate goodbyes! Have a lovely week and enjoy all of the old schoolness happening on Life Sucks In A Strapless Bra as I lay on a beach at an undisclosed location (don’t want any freaky stalkers … because clearly, people are dying to stalk me) and try not to turn into a lobster. Yes, I will be that girl on the beach with a hat, under an umbrella, with SPF 70 on and will probably forget to rub it in thoroughly in awkward places … like my cheek. Hot, right?

We’ll return to our regularly scheduled program Monday, August 25 … now let’s awkwardly raise the roof for funsies again … because … why not!

Saturday, August 16: Is Your Dress TOO Short?!

Sunday, August 17: Hangover Chic

Monday, August 18: Beyonce is Brainwashing Us

Tuesday, August 19: Even Target.com Can’t Handle The Missoni Collection

Wednesday, August 20: Just Say No: Drunk Online Shopping

Thursday, August 21: A Day In The Life Of A Woman Wearing Spanx

Friday, August 22: Why I Would Be The Worst Victorias Secret Model

Ye Old Art Of Waxing

August 14, 2014.Reading time 5 minutes.

I’m about to embark on a week filled with sun, sand, and cocktails … lots and lots of cocktails … at odd hours of the day … when you are properly at work … mwahahaha! (Sorry, I had to).

But as I’ve been making mental lists and starting to pile up things I would like to bring with me (#overpacker), it also has brought something to my attention that not a lot of people feel comfortable talking about … but oh yeah, we’re going there. That would be waxing, kids … waxing.

When you go on a beach vacation, you basically have it all out there for a week, as bathing suits leave little the imagination. Even if you’ve moved to the one-piece (which, for the most part, I have), there is a lot of skin you’re showing … a lot of skin that if you’re a lady, shouldn’t be covered in hair. Hair is gross … woof.

I’m a waxing neophyte. The only thing I’ve ever gotten waxed is my eyebrows … and that took me years to commit to. I was so scared of the pain I walked around like bushy mcbusherson … it was hot, let me tell ya (I was also 13, give me a break, that is what those awkward years are for, right?)

But now, it is all about getting your bikini area waxed. And to that I say … bitch please. I’ve heard horrific stories about a thing called a “Brazilian wax.” Perhaps they are urban myths, but I would rather not pay a total stranger to make me get on all fours, ALL-FOURS, naked, and have them take a burning hot substance to my lady parts. It just doesn’t sound pleasant … to be completely honest it sounds nuts. Call me a Granny all you want, I’m here eating Werthers Originals and clutching my handbag for dear life. I keep it real. The stories I’ve been told and the screams I’ve heard at salons from women enduring the Brazilian are something made from nightmares.

I realize the “Brazilian” is the extreme end of waxing. But the PG-rated wax, the ones where I hear you put your legs in stir-ups and still have a stranger get all up in your bid-niss whilst being half naked … hmm yeah, still not my cup of tea. I’m not a prude. I’m just not down for paying for embarrassing torture. At least give a girl a shot of vodka before getting that personal with her, my God.

Sure, dealing with your “bikini area” yourself isn’t pleasant either, but at least you are alone in your shower. Sure, the end result usually looks like you have tiny red spider bites all around your woo haa or a weird rash … but quite frankly I would rather that than, again, paying a stranger to be all up in my bid-niss making me turn and twist in weird positions for the sake of removing ever stitch of hair. And if anyone questions my weird rash or wonders if I have an STD, I will be HAPPY to explain to them my theory on waxes. Yep. That is sure to bring all the boys to the yard.

You know what, your gyno should give you a free wax after your annual. I would be okay with that. He/she, a trained professional, has already been down there exploring, poking and prodding … why not get a complimentary wax after it all. I mean the whole visit is rather unpleasant to begin with, why not get a little “spa-like” treatment afterwards to heal your wounds of being completely violated for the sake of lady health. Just a thought, gynos of the world, just a thought.

I know, I know … hundred and thousands of women get waxes every year. I bet if you’re reading this and you’re into bikini waxes you think I’m the biggest wuss in the world. And to that I say … you are correct, sir. Unless I’m going to go live in a nudist colony on planet “that would never in blazing hell happen” I will most likely never get a Brazilian. I may try a regular wax just for funsies, though. But someone better get me drunk before hand. That is an order.