6 Can-They-Please-Catch-On Beauty Trends

I am a lover of all things beauty related.
I have rewards accounts at both Ulta and Sephora that I monitor more stringently than my credit card balance; I have tried every new mascara that has ever been on the market; my hair routine for a night out is the stuff of legends; and I own six different kinds of makeup primer.

Once while getting ready, an old boyfriend started criticizing my lengthy beauty regimen and went so far as to add a soundtrack to the experience by playing "Waitin' on a Woman" by Brad Paisley on repeat until I was finished. The fact that I witnessed him receiving high fives from strangers later that night aside (HUMBLE BRAG YOU'RE WELCOME), he may have had a point.

This could all be avoided if the beauty industry would ease up on the expectations and complicated routines. Did you know you're supposed to layer up to six different skincare products to achieve maximum facial perfection, AND that you should wait three to five minutes between each product? I love my medicine cabinet of potions but I am nowhere near that diligent.

The following are the 6 beauty trends that I wish would catch on for the sake of my schedule, my wallet, and my love life. Or maybe just the first two; a dude who wears Crocs should never have a definitive opinion on the way you do your thang.

1. GROWN-bré - My hair is naturally medium brown but I get it highlighted because Barbie was always cooler than her brunette friend Midge. Unfortunately, hair does this hilarious bit where it grows (in my case, rapidly) and my roots constantly reveal my secret too soon. Spending over $100 every six to eight weeks to keep up with my mane just isn't happening, so I propose we embrace GROWN-bré, where I completely abandon the upkeep of my highlights and everyone compliments me on my roots while admiring my laziness/cheapness. It's like when girls intentionally dye their hair ombré, except more poor.

 

2. Callouses? More like CUTESES! - My feet are absolutely disgusting and I'm weirdly proud of it. My pride and joy are my callouses, which are so thick from dance, running, and wearing absurdly sexy shoes that I could probably stick a needle half an inch into them before I started to feel anything (you're welcome for that visual). The ladies at the nail salon like to make a show out of pumicing these babies down when I get a pedicure, but why even bother? Smooth feet may be sexy feet but I'd much rather be the badass walking on broken glass without flinching.

Problem solved!

3. Cough "Negative Space Manicure" Cough - AKA let me wear my chipped nail polish in peace. Do I love how my nails look when they're perfectly painted and shiny? Yes. Do I use my hands way too much to keep them that way for longer than 12 hours? Nailed it (ba dum chh). Negative space manicures were a huge trend at Fashion Week and were dubbed the "cutout dress of the nail world," so by comparison I guess letting your mani completely go to shit could be considered the "ripped up skirt from sitting on the corner of U Street crying into the phone at your Uber driver Jesus Skylar get it together...of the nail world." Style is forever, you guys.


Just keepin' up with the trends

4. Uneven Eyeliner Wings - This would change my outlook on life 110%. Why can't one extend a little further than the other? Why can't they be of varying thicknesses? Is it crucial that they both aim a little past the tip of my eyebrow? Did Twiggy realize the amount of stress she was putting on me when she spearheaded this trend in the 60s? It's too much. It is too. much.



5. Legitimate Bedhead - There's "I literally rolled out of bed and didn't even bother to glance at a hairbrush before I came here" bedhead, and then there's "I woke up two hours ago and used salt spray, root lifter, volumizing powder, and mousse along with a diffuser to look this nonchalant" bedhead. The former is reminiscent of homeless chic and causes friends to plan interventions, while the latter is a complete oxymoron. People who claim they achieve their look by doing the former are liars and can Derelick my balls, capítan.

6. Designer Dark Circles - I'm tired, you're tired, we're all fucking tired, and I don't feel like faking being alert by pressing cold spoons on my eyes and caking on the concealer. Let's just accept that I look like a zombie, make our crack whore comparisons, and get on with our day. Standing in the makeup aisle analyzing plastic skin tone samples against my jawbone (or is it wrist?) to determine the most convincing shade for me is not only impossible but a serious waste of time, one that could probably afford me the extra twenty minutes of sleep I need to avoid dark circles in the first place.

NO ONE IS SAFE

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Celebrity Deathmatch: The Next Generation

Celebrity Deathmatch was easily the best show of the Y2K era. I fondly remember hiding under my grandma's bed to watch it in secret, as my mom had yelled at my older brothers for not only allowing me to watch it with them, but for watching it in general. Apparently ripping off a Claymation pop star's leg and beating them with it could be damaging to a 10-year-old's psyche, who knew?

Notable matches throughout the series were Ozzy Osbourne vs. Elton John, Siskel vs. Ebert, and Ashlee Simpson vs. Her Old Nose. Aside from the fact that I unapologetically believe that today's high schoolers are a bunch of pansies who hide behind anti-bullying campaigns to avoid learning how to buck up and deal with a fucking situation [DEEP BREATH], I really think CDM would be a huge hit with the kids. Think of the bloody possibilities!

Kanye West vs Taylor Swift - The fact that CDM wasn't around for this blessing of pop culture scandal is a shame, for real and for true. TSwift could have started the action by bashing her VMA in Yeezus's geometrically-shaved head, a move that obviously would've been met with an, "I'll allow it!" by Mills Lane. Kanye could've ripped out Taylor's dangly earrings and gouged her eyes out with Beyoncé's spikey "Single Ladies" glove that started the whole debacle in the first place. Eventually Kanye would win and he, Johnny Gomez and Nick Diamond would all perform said "Single Ladies" dance, in full black leotard get-up, on top of Taylor's dead body.

Orlando Bloom vs. Justin Bieber - The two got into a scuffle at a restaurant in Ibiza over VS Angel and Girl I'd Go Gay For Miranda Kerr. Orlando Bloom is a terrible actor but he does have sword fighting skills thanks to Pirates of the Caribbean, so clearly he would break those out and decapitate Biebs in 2.5 seconds. The lower half of Justin's body would awkwardly strip down to its Calvin Klein undies while the crowd boos it out of the ring.

Gwyneth Paltrow vs. Martha Stewart - Both of these ladies have been on CDM before: Martha fought Sandra Bernhard aka Roseanne's lesbian friend Nancy aka whatever you don't remember just keep reading while Gwyneth and Winona Ryder battled it out over who got the role in Shakespeare in Love. The Stewart vs. Paltrow fight comes from Martha saying, "If she were confident in her acting, she wouldn’t be trying to be Martha Stewart," which I think we can all agree is fucking badass. I have no idea how this fight would go, but it would somehow involve garlic aioli, monogrammed stationary, and crisp white collared shirts.

Charlie Sheen vs. Chuck Lorre - The feud that resulted in Ashton Kutcher being the highest paid TV actor for three years running despite the fact that I had no idea Two and a Half Men was still even on the air would be an incredible fight to watch. Between Warlocks, Tiger Blood, and "winning" I cannot see this match going any way but incredibly right. Regardless of the physical outcome of the fight, I think Lorre still wins simply because he's got two of the highest rated sitcoms on TV and has a net worth of $600 million to Sheen's $125 million.

Mariah Carey vs. Nicki Minaj - The two former American Idol judges basically didn't like each other because they're both divas with extensions who wanted to be the hottest one sitting next to Randy. As soon as Mills Lane yelled "Let's get it on!" Nicki would lunge at Mariah with her huge veneers and take a bit out of her stomach like Jaws. Mariah would be fine with this because her weight fluctuates so frequently that she basically just received free lipo. She would belt out a whistle note and completely explode Nicki's eardrums. She would then drop-kick her with a stiletto to the butt, popping it as the entire audience discovers that not only is Nicki's ass fake but it's stuffed with love letters from Drake. Nicki would summon all 600 of her alter egos to attack Mariah from every angle, one of which would suck the talent out of Mariah like Ursula did to Ariel in The Little Mermaid, and Nicki would finish her off with her line from "Did It On 'Em" which reads "If you could turn back time…Cher/ you used to be here now you gone…Nair." Mariah would give her a confused look and then die.

The fact of the matter is that MTV needs to bring this show back, because it was absolutely phenomenal. Our current crop of celebrities is better than ever; how else would we celebrate their stupidity than by cheering their animated versions on as they beat the living shit out of each other?
This is America.  


What other Celebrity Deathmatches would you want to see? Do you think we could petition the network to restart production? Does anyone even still watch MTV??

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Instagram Stole My Sanity

I legitimately think I'm losing my mind, and it's all thanks to an app.

I posted my last Instagram picture sometime back at the beginning of June.
I've done many things since then.
Exciting things.
Fun things.
Adventurous things.
Things I want to brag about to everyone I know.
How am I supposed to do that, call them on the phone? Screw that. I want them to ogle my exceptional life via square photos.

When my photos first wouldn't post, I gave Instagram the benefit of the doubt.
"Oh, it's just a silly little mishap. Probably too much traffic from people posting regrettable Memorial Day Weekend pics. No problem. Maybe I shouldn't be THAT GUY and post a picture of my Blueberry and Peach Coffee Cake anyway," I thought.

Then I baked strawberry soufflé. Then I saw a homeless man wearing a full-on Cat in the Hat costume with Mardi Gras beads on my lunch break. Then it was my birthday. Then my friends from Louisville came to visit. And I couldn't post any of those pictures.

This is the screen that appears whenever I try to upload something.

My friends, though sympathetic, are no help at all.

 

 

 

 

 

I've reported my problem to Instagram Help Center which basically told me it was my fault and I should find a stronger WiFi connection and/or get a life.
In reference to the former: my WiFi connection is solid.
In reference to the latter: uh, fat chance.

So now I'm left with one option; the point that I never actually want to reach but which seems to come so naturally to me: complain mercilessly.
Reporting my specific problem to Instagram has done absolutely nothing, so I've taken to Twitter to show them not only how perplexed I am, but that desperation mixed with mental instability is a cocktail in which I indulge on a daily basis.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Please, Instagram, I beg of you, just fix my account. I'm trying to be the voice of a generation, and I can't very well do that without participating in Throwback Thursday.

My 5-Piece Desert Island Survival Kit

I did not watch Lost.
I did not watch Fantasy Island.
I've been told that I look like Mary Ann from Gilligan's Island, but I've never seen more than half an episode of that show either.
Thus, my familiarity with desert island life is not exactly up to snuff.

When Man Crates--a new company that ships awesome gifts for men in custom wooden crates--reached out to me asking what I would pack in my own personal survival kit, I was admittedly at a loss. "Um a cell phone and alcohol to keep me entertained until help arrives, duh," didn't exactly seem like the best response, and I actually believe that my friends would let me stew for a few days just to get some piece and quiet and to avoid being forced to watch pimple popping videos on YouTube (The Zit That Won't Quit. You won't be sorry).

Therefore, I needed to consider what my essentials would be, and you know what? Leave me on that island; with the necessities I've come up with, I don't want to come home.

Justin Timberlake, shirtless: He must look exactly like the picture below. I cannot stress this enough. We're stranded? We're running out of food? The animals are coming to gnaw on our thighs? It's okay, Justin, it's fine, let's just hug it out and never let go. Maybe an "I Thought She Knew" or "(Another Song) All Over Again" serenade while you rub my back will help us think of a survival strategy.

Drum Kit: I have always wanted to learn how to play the drums, and I would finally have the time to do so. As a perfectionist, I do not like trying things if I don't know I'll be the absolute best at them, so with this opportunity to learn (as well as JT's guidance) I could channel my inner Neil Peart and go nuts. 

Ketchup: I effing love ketchup. Like, more than I love my family (minus the dog). If I'm expected to cook mystery animals over an open flame, I will be needing an excessive amount of the red stuff. I recently sent a Snapchat to my friends about a culinary experiment pairing carrots and ketchup that they all found disgusting, but I'm willing to bet, given the circumstances, they'd respect my ingenuity in the interest of life-saving preparation. If things start to go south and Justin hasn't paid me a compliment in the last five minutes, he's getting whacked and I'll savor his biceps with a heap of Heinz.

A bat: I love being outdoors, I just don't appreciate the bugs that come with the territory. One bat can eat between 600 and 1,000 mosquitoes and other insects in just one hour. I like those odds. Bug bites on the tops of your feet are like, the worst, and I really just don't feel like dealing with that.

Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, the 4-book boxed set: Every literature professor I had in college would groan in agony to hear how much I love these books. They have been my favorite since high school, and I can read Bukowski, Plath, and King all day long, but Brashares is my girl. Have I read all four upwards of ten times? Yes. But you can't be alone and scared on an island when you have the story of long-lasting friendship and a pair of magical Levi's on your side, can you?!

Speaking of, there is one thing I definitely would not be needing on this adventure: Pants. I barely like wearing them when lounging around my house alone on a Saturday, there's absolutely no way I could be convinced to keep those babies on if I'm fending for my life. Shirts, you're next.

I'm clearly a smidgen on the complicated end, but Man Crates makes it easy to find the perfect survival essentials and/or gift for the guys in your lives. Their mission is to end the difficulties that have long been associated with buying gifts for men, and whether he's an athlete, a beer lover, a carnivore or more, Man Crates has something awesome that he's going to love.

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Oops I Did it Again: The Life of a Chronic Impulse Shopper

"Skylar, before you go, there's something I want you to have."
"Oh, it's beautiful! But wait a minute, isn't this..."
"Yeah, yes it is."
"But I thought it used to cost $119!"
"Well, baby, I dropped it down to $90 for ya. BUT ONLY UNTIL 4/27!"

Flash sale emails get me every time. I innocently check my personal email every day on my lunch break, looking for a random picture of Westies from my mom or my weekly email from Giant so I can create my grocery list (I am a 40-year-old woman and I'm not sorry), and my inbox is flooded with money wasting potential.

If I have the willpower, I'm able to delete all of the emails from my favorite stores and continue on with my day, my bank account unscathed. The other four days of the week, I'm violently clicking links to see what I "just can't pass up" because HELLO 25% off basically means free.

It's the classic scenario that no man will ever understand:
If a top is $75 at full price, I rationalize that it's more than I'd like to spend and move on. However, if a top is $100 but is on sale for $75, that's a steal, and I need it in my closet pronto.

Let's check out the common tricks that retailers [successfully] use to ensure that I have four button-ups in stripes of various widths and two new pairs of jeans when a) it's Spring and b) I really only needed one pair, maybe.

"SHOP OUR NEW ARRIVALS A DAY EARLY!" - When you're the youngest of three, you wear a lot of hand-me-downs. Economical? Absolutely. Fashionable? Absolutely not. There was a pair of red, blue, and yellow colorblocked courduroy pants that even as a 7-year-old I knew were getting me nowhere with the boys. For that reason, I'm now a huge fan of clothes that are all mine, and I like getting them before everyone else. Yeah, Jennifer and I might wear the same dress out on Friday night, but Jennifer bought hers two weeks ago. I had it the day before it hit the site. The day. Before. It hit. The site (suck it, Jen). The sooner I have those new clothes, the sooner I can get bored with them and forget that they exist.

"Spring Stock-up Sale! All skirts $15 and up!" - A seasonal stock-up sale signifies change, growth, and a new outlook on life; i.e. I have to pay for my gas in change, my closet has outgrown its limits, and I will be looking out from underneath a cardboard box when I can no longer pay my rent. If the Fashion Gods wanted my legs to be covered up they wouldn't have made them so fabulous (albeit short. Nobody's perfect. #Miley). Pencil skirts don't fit my body correctly, but that one is anchor printed and only $30, therefore I'll make it work. 40 degrees in the beginning of March means pants, sweaters, boots, and scarves. 40 degrees in mid-April means dresses, skirts, tanks, and sandals. I don't make the rules, people.

"Get a free mystery gift when you buy 2 bras!" - What could it possibly be?! A free lotion? A tote? Lip gloss? I don't even need any more bras but this is no time for logic, it's free! The email clearly states that it's only for a limited time and/or while supplies last, the $100 (Side note: yeah gentlemen, two of them cost that much) I spend to ensure I get one is a life investment. Get on my level, Warren Buffet.

"Free Shipping when you spend $120!" - This is my kryptonite. I am literally powerless against it. It works like this every time: The top and shoes I've been eyeing total up to $110. Shipping is $8. I'll just pay shipping and still come in under the $120 mark, right? Hahahahaha. No. I'll add my shirt and shoes to the cart plus another $40 top to guarantee I get free shipping and pay $42 more than I originally would have because I am a free American.   

 "Come claim your birthday gift! No purchase necessary!" - Right. Like that'll happen. It's always the same with you, cosmetics store which I will not put on blast because damnit I love you too much: I walk into the store with the sole intention of scooping my free sample-size mascara and eyeshadow. Eyes on the prize, Skylar, eyes on the pr- Oh my God, Versace Bright Crystal comes in a rollerball? Neeeeeed. Suddenly I'm testing the limits of my baby hands by simultaneously holding root lifting spray, an argan oil hair treatment, fake lashes, and three different shades of lip stain, and the girl at the register wishes me a happy birthday with a twinkle in her eye that says, "Bow down, bitch." And I do.

In the coming months I'll need to buy a car and pay off summer vacays, so you'd think I'd buckle down and save up. Those things will get taken care of, no worries [Dad], but you better believe I'll be cruising to the beach in new sunnies and a brand new bikini, both of which I received for 20% off (but TODAY ONLY!).  

Raise.com--an awesome new peer-to-peer marketplace where you can buy discounted gift cards to your favorite brands and sell your unused gift cards for cash--understands my penchant for good deals, even when I'm not getting one. Check out their blog series about how our go-to stores convince us to impulse buy, and maybe you'll think twice about giving in to the next flash sale.

Or you'll buy three pairs of new wedges. You do you, I don't know your life.

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Playing With Myself

When I was younger, my mom's tactic for getting me to get a chore done faster was to put me in an imaginary competition with a girl from a different country (typically Jamaica. Nope, no clue why).

"Skylar you have to beat the girl from Jamaica in unloading the dishwasher!"
"See if you can vacuum the living room faster than the girl from Jamaica!"
"I need you to take the dog on a long walk. Be gone...longer than the girl from Jamaica."

My mom is a scheming little genius, but this trickery instilled a lasting competitive spirit in me that has since caused me to seek and find the game in every situation. Why suffer through a nine-hour road trip when you could be racing on the real-life version of Need for Speed's Rusty Springs track? I need to unlock the secret ninth car! I want to drive the Warrior! The Mitsubishi Eclipse next to me doesn't know it but we're totally in two-player head-to-head racing mode right now, and I. don't. lose.

 

Life should definitely not be taken seriously, so if you need to participate in your own personal game show to get yourself through the day, feel free to get yourself started on one of my favorites:

Treadmill Races: Everyone does this. If you are side-by-side with someone on a treadmill, and you both happen to crank your speed up to 7 at the same time, it's so on. Once, I had already run my two miles and was about to slow down to a walk when a girl jumped on the machine next to me and immediately cranked it up to a sprint. Part of me thought, "Have fun with your shin splints, idiot," while the rest of me realized she was about to win. Win what? I don't fucking know, but I wasn't going to lose it. My inner Shaun T said to dig deeper, so I upped my speed to a 9.5 and prepared to dominate.
She totally noticed.
Other people totally noticed.

 

It was the most unnecessary display of female peacocking that has ever taken place inside of a university gym, minus the sluts in the corner successfully out-whoring each other with their thrice-rolled Soffe shorts. We hung together for about a minute before the awkward side glances started to happen, silently asking, "What is even happening right now?" Need I remind you that I'm not a quitter, so I ignored the gargantuan cramp developing in my ribcage and pretended like this was just a casual yog. This was a girl after my own heart, because she stuck it out for another 15 seconds before she let out a small gasp and desperately punched the keypad down to a cool five miles per hour. I'm a gracious winner, so I continued on for 30 more seconds before I calmly turned down to a 3.5. I went on to walk home like a newborn deer because my legs were completely shot, but whatever, I had Flo-Jo'd the shit out of that girl.

 Clean Up on Aisle 3: If I don't have a game plan upon entering the grocery store, it is a complete disaster and I end up panic-buying three bags of almonds, pizza dough, and a greeting card. A shopping list is not only an orginizational tool, it's a necessity. However, even with an outline of my needs I can still get distracted and find myself spending an inordinate amount of time comparing the protein amounts in various brands of hummus.

 

I came up with a solution to this problem by accident. I had been running errands all day and was starving, but the grocery store was the last stop on my itinerary so I just scooped a 32-ounce Gatorade and kept moving.
By the time I got to the parking lot I was legitimately in fear of my bladder. Boy, was she angry. Still, I needed food, and the Get Out of the Store Before You Pee Your Pants game was born. I was checking out, with precisely everything on my list, in 12 minutes. Now, when I know I don't want to waste time/money perusing the aisles, I drown myself in water and then do a little jig as I pick out my 10 for $10 yogurts before I speed home.

Secret Singing: I really get down with my bad self while listening to music in my car. If Rihanna ever had a freak vocal cord accident and needed someone to sing the rest of her set list, I could grab the mic and belt out both parts of "Stay" without issue. I took voice lessons for five years and, as the youngest child of three, am a natural-born performer, but I still have serious problems singing in front of people. Even within the confines of my car, where no one can actually hear the sweet magic coming from my mouth, I am self-conscious about the guy next to me on the highway noticing my solo performance. To avoid embarrassment, I have come up with a series of tricks that allow me to trust the voice within while appearing completely normal to the outside world.

1. Pretend to be on the phone - Unless you live in California, New Jersey, or any other state that prohibits cell phone usage while driving (safety first!), simply holding the phone up to your ear and singing your heart out just looks like a very passionate conversation to onlookers. Foolproof.
2. Nose scratch - The point here is to create distraction in the vicinity of your mouth. Just make sure it is very obvious that it's a casual scratch. Appearing to dig for gold is infinitely more embarrassing than being caught belting out "Timber."

3. Drinking from bottle - Pretend you're going to take a sip of water, stop short of getting any liquid in your mouth, and proceed sing it loud and proud. Bonus: it works as a mini microphone!

Six Degrees of Tanning Bed Music Separation: I will admit, this one is a bit excessive. You're literally just lying there, so you've gotta do something to stave off your mom's incessant warnings of skin cancer. A typical tanning bed sesh lasts about 12-15 minutes, or about four popular songs from 2007. Let's say these songs are "Buy U a Drank" by T-Pain, "Kiss Kiss" by Chris Brown, "Umbrella" by Rihanna, and "Good Life" by Kanye West.
Lets play: I clearly remember getting in trouble at a high school dance for grinding up on a kid from my math class too intensely (you're welcome, buddy) while "Buy U a Drank" played romantically in the background. T-Pain was also featured in Chris Brown's "Kiss Kiss" that year, and with two years before the Rihanna Smackdown would go down, those two were still cute together. Rih came out with "Umbrella," which I'm still not sick of, featuring Jay-Z. Jay-Z and Kanye West are butt buddies. Kanye had released Graduation aka not as good as The College Dropout and Late Registration and "Good Life" which featuuuuured...T-Pain.
Technically that's only five degrees of separation but I can feel my moles changing in color and border regularity so it's time to get out.

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6 of my Favorite, Most Unladylike Parts of Skirt Season

A photo exists of me at about age two playing in the snow. I am tiny, holding one of my signature Snow Babies (literally a squash-sized pile of snow. My sculpture skills improved with age to include more anatomically correct attributes, like a neck), wearing a bright purple jacket and snow pants with mittens that definitely extended beyond my fingers by about two inches. The picture is, in a word, adorable.

What makes it even more adorable is the evidence of one of my weirdest/most deep-seated quirks that still thoroughly defines me today. I was wrapped tighter than Randy in A Christmas Story ("I can't put my arms down!"), but sticking out from under my puffy coat was a little ruffly dress. As a toddler, I insisted on wearing a dress at all times, so a skirt peeking out from where it shouldn't be was nothing out of the ordinary.

 

I have almost recreated this look a million times this terrible winter. I like wearing sweaters and boots and earmuffs, but make obligatory small-talk with the meek finance guy in the break room and even he would blurt out, "I don't know how much more of this I can take!" Side note: this might also be the exact point that he's snapped. Make friends quick, he's going to set the building on fire. I still love dresses. Hiding my man calves under a layer of tights and dress pants (I don't fuck around) has been so depressing. They didn't deserve to be in leg jail! They want to breathe! I could be unknowingly developing cankles! This is torture, Mother Nature!

Needless to say, I've been desperate for Skirt Season. I realize that any man reading this just let out an appreciative, "Damn straight!" but I'm willing to bet we have different agendas.

For guys, Skirt Season means legs and possibly even some donk should a Marilyn moment occur.

For girls, it means an easy outfit that's cute and feminine.

For me, it means something much more inappropriate than that. Here are my six favorite, yet most unladylike aspects of Skirt Season:

1. Maxi dresses let you sit like a man: "Wanna come over and watch the game?" "Wanna go on a picnic at the park?" "Wanna watch a P90X DVD while we eat Doritos?" I would like to do all of those things very much, and I will do all of them sitting spread eagle. Know why? Because I can. Where mini's and midi's advertise your hoo-ha when you move your knee a quarter of an inch any which way, maxi's are the friend that says, "Let loose, girlfriend, I've literally got you covered" to which I reply, "I love you so much, Crotchless Yoga Pants."

2. Constant Air Conditioning: Remember when the picture of Fergie from The Black Eyed Peas surfaced where "it looked like" she had peed her pants, but she just said she was really sweaty? First of all, that was a lose-lose situation, amirite? Second, had she been wearing a skirt, her Londy Londy Londy would've kept its cool and/or she could've let the River Thames loose and no one would have been the wiser. I love the fact that while I'm twirling in a skirt, it appears as though I'm having fun and being dainty. Not the case. I am actively creating a breezy environment from the waist down. I am a human oscillating fan.

3. Jump out of bed ready for the day: As in, I could wear a casual dress all day Friday, get home late and get straight in my bed, wake up the next morning, and immediately walk out the door to meet a friend for brunch, and I would have been comfortably and appropriately dressed the entire time. It's hard enough for me to take my own shoes off before I tuck myself in for the night--completely change from one set of clothes to another? Child please. The dress accepts my laziness and celebrates it. You gotta love an article of clothing that will change its name to "nightgown" just to make you feel better about your life.

4. Feign interest: Sometimes, I go on dates with people I'm not the least bit interested in (yes, I'm the one they've warned you about). It's not for attention or because I like to toy with people's emotions, I would just rather have plans than not. Simple as that. Throw in free food and an awkward story to share later and I'll go out with just about anyone [hot]. Date night outfits can vary depending on my level of legitimate attraction towards a person, which can get tricky. How do I decide the difference between an "I like you!" outfit vs. an "I haven't been grocery shopping in a week so yeah let's go to California Pizza Kitchen" one? The great thing about dresses is that they do the work for you. My mind says, "Oh my God are we going to talk about your fucking triathlon training this entire dinner?" but my dress says, "That's so interesting! Tell me more about the difference between your off- and on-season caloric intake percentages!"

5. Food baby disguise: Fourth of July is my jam. Beer and grilled meat are the foundation of our beautiful country, therefore patriotism demands that we consume as many of each as we possibly can with a large group of friends and an arsenal of colorful explosives. Unfortunately, Old Glory can cloud your judgement and suddenly you've downed six hot dogs faster than Joey Chestnut. A crop top would totally bail on you in this situation but a sundress steps up to the plate and conceals your bump without restriction. Go grab yourself a slice of apple pie, Baberaham Lincoln, no one has to know.

6. WHAT IF SHE HAD BEEN WEARING PANTS:

 

Enough said.

 

 

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When Calories Don't Count

It is snowing something fierce outside. I'm cold in 50 degree weather, so you can imagine the physical and emotional turmoil I'm currently going through. Immediately upon walking through the door after getting off work early (heyooo), I headed to the fridge for my standard bowl of mixed berries and maybe string cheese.

Then I looked outside.

Then back at the fridge. Then outside. Fridge. Outside. Down at my nails (just did them last night, they look fab). Back at the fridge.

This is not mixed berry weather.

Sometimes, you just need a carb or two. When your Northern Virginia suburb has transformed into the Yukon, you need a carb or two million. Meatball subs, chocolate chip cookies, nachos; it's like Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory except I'm Augustus Gloop and Veruca Salt all rolled into one: I want to eat everything, and I want it now.

 As far as I'm concerned, calories shouldn't exist when it's a winter wonderland outside. I don't have the ability to hibernate, so a fatty food coma is as close as I can get and I plan to milk that for all it's worth. There are other situations in which calories don't count, and though they are all unique in their own right, each situation typically centers around a lack of makeup and a pronounced couch cushion butt imprint.

The Holiday Season - If you're updating MyFitnessPal and sneaking in a few crunches between Christmas dinner and dessert, you're a pa-rum-pa-pum prick. You know who likes that guy? Not Santa. Your bubbe didn't slave over a brisket for three hours just to hear you complain about the fat content, and if you seriously suggest ways in which to make the cheese blintzes "clean," don't bother returning from your 10-mile run tomorrow morning. If two months out of the year have earned the reputation for being the most calorie-dense, you should treat the season with the utmost respect and stuff your face accordingly.

First Date - Certain foods are not safe First Date foods. Spaghetti is an obvious no-go (stick to shaped pasta, like penne or bowties). Ironically, in an effort to be dainty and skinny, salad is also a terrible choice. You look like a stegosaurus the second one of those spinach leaves goes rogue and tries to escape from the corner of your mouth, leaving you to chase after it with your tongue and/or fork in a way that is anything but incognito. Just let the girly thing go. If your date wants to spend more time with you and linger over a Red Velvet Pizookie, but you're afraid of the extra 150 calories, you A) need to pull the stick out of your butt and B) should stab the first spoon in that baby and show him/her how it's done. You can save tofu for the third date when they realize how boring you are--keep the dream alive for at least one night.

"Wahhh I should've just ordered the burger."

Your Birthday - You can cry if you want to and everyone has to do what you say while giving you presents for it, why wouldn't you be allowed to eat whatever your heart desired? You know why Pillsbury doesn't make Diet Funfetti cake mix? Because Poppin Fresh is an adorable dough boy, not a gluten-free monster. Restaurants actually encourage the surplus of calories on this fantastic day: Arby's gives you a free 12-oz. milkshake, Denny's gives you a free Grand Slam breakfast, and Waffle House gives you a free waffle. A free. Waffle. Why would you pass that up? Because you want "abs"? You can get abs on Arbor Day, loser. Vixen's is waiting, go get you a free lap dance.

Getting Dumped - Following a particularly bad breakup, I stayed in bed for 15 hours a day for a week straight (drama drama drama). Luckily, I locked myself in my apartment and wouldn't let anyone in to see the gremlin I had become, which led to a pleasant absence of expectation and general hygiene. It also led to an obscene amount of pancakes. Effort was not the name of the game at this point in time, and considering I couldn't let my regular Jimmy John's guy see me this way, I had to fend for myself. Pancake batter is easy, and you can make a batch big enough to last you four days in just as many minutes. In that week I probably ate close to 30 pancakes, occasionally throwing an apple or banana into the mix so I didn't get Single Girl Scurvy. I finally snapped out of it and ventured out into society for some exercise and Vitamin D, an act really only fueled by my own self-disgust and the fact that I ran out of flour.

 Girls' Night - A girl who runs a six-minute mile and reads fitspo blogs by day is the same girl who, later on, demolishes the cookie dough dip before anyone else has a chance to try it. Girls' Night is about wine, gossiping about how Christina's new boyfriend is definitely a Bar Dad, and, of course, eating obscene amounts of junk food. No I will not judge you for grabbing Rice Krispie Treats two at a time, because I'm currently double fisting taquitos and sugar cookies. Cheers, sister. Will significant time be spent commenting on how fat we feel and how we shouldn't be eating this? You betcha. But if Brooke shows up with a tub of hummus and a platter of celery one more time I swear to God I'm force feeding her Kalteen bars in her sleep.

And with that, Puking Patty was eliminated from the group text

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Female Body Inspector? FBI! You're Hysterical: Male Halloween Costumes, Explained

I love me a clever Halloween costume. As evidenced by last year’s “sexy” costume post, I’m all for creativity, but you really do walk a fine line between looking hot and being the butt of everyone’s joke the whole night (Sexy Bacon? You’re making breakfast time taste like lap dances and a father’s tears).

 

For the guys, it’s really not about looking hot as it is being “funny,” a term we will use very loosely throughout this entire post. “Look ladies, I’m wearing my personality! Could it be any easier to find someone else to talk to tonight?” How many costumes can they really make that either suggest that the wearer has a ginormous Krull the Warrior King or force hoes to shove their boobs in his face, and what exactly does the costume say about the guy as a whole? Let’s find out:

 

Wholesome Disney Character Costume – You either have kids, or are in the complete opposite direction and have never been laid. Ever. More than likely you are wearing this to a neighborhood costume party where your wife is a big puffy version of Buzz Lightyear (because who does she have to impress anymore?), but should you find yourself at a bar at 1 a.m., you will definitely only be taking one and a half Gummi Bear shots and drunkenly telling a Sexy Ninja Turtle, “But I like, respect you, you know what I mean?” right before you go home alone.

 

Rub Me Genie – Get it? It’s like asking for a hand job. Because at 26 years old that’s exactly what you should be going for. Your friends really don’t like you or else they would have talked you out of this horrendous get-up. Rub your own lamp, weirdo.

 

Wacky Waving Inflatable Arm Flailing Tube Man – You’re a heavy drinker (read: alcoholic) and a man with a plan; I admire you. You’re aware of the fact that you will be getting unbelievably trashed tonight, so when you’re swaying around and falling into people, you know they can’t get mad because you’re just staying in character. This is genius. Carry on. Also, Family Guy references are always crowd pleasers, it’s just a fact of life.

 

Weed – Nothing says, “I’m unemployed!” like a marijuana leaf costume. You’ve also just placed a big target on your back because if a group of guys come stumbling out of a bar, who do you think the cops are going to zero in on first? You guessed it: the bro who looks like he dropped $75 on a ticket to The String Cheese Incident concert.

 

The Joker – It’s been done. You’re either lazy, completely oblivious to any advances in pop culture, or a Bar Dad. To be fair, it’s most likely all three. Seriously though, there’s even been another Batman movie to come out since this one, you really need to get with the times.

 

Charlie Sheen – Can’t wait to hear you yell out, “Winning!” all night with your buddy The Joker. Go home.

 

Robin Thicke – You, sir, are doing it right. Culturally relevant in every possible way, this costume could either be a happy accident or the ploy of an extremely strategic young man. Women will flock to you for one of several reasons: 1) Every Woo Girl in the place will assemble when the DJ plays “Blurred Lines” for the umpteenth time. “OMIGAHH I LOVE THIS SONGGGG YOU SING IT SO GOOD!” 2) You have un/intentionally invited multiple ladies to twerk all up on ya throughout the course of the night. If you play this correctly, you can start a twerking contest in which five skinny white girls will drunkenly grind on your junk trying to outdo each other, and one black girl will step in to show them how it’s really done. Major, major kudos.  

 

Zombie Hotdog – Goddammit, is nothing sacred anymore?!

 

Banana – Have you been anything new for the past seven years? Be honest. Whatever, you don’t even really like Halloween and will still pull based on this blatantly obvious nonchalance. You can also revel in the fact that Sexy Big Bird will definitely text her friend Sexy Cinderella in the morning, “omg i think i got gang banged by a fruit basket last night, can u come get me?”

 

Zero Fucks Given T-shirt – Can you just go in a corner and watch Portlandia on your phone the rest of the night? Like, please? Your rose gold oxfords and grandpa cardigan are really putting a damper on everything. No, I don’t think the DJ knows any Clap Your Hands Say Yeah.

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