The Best Christmas Ever

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

fb41d174e70b90ca266721abfe981949

Where Have Our Grocery Store Manners Gone?

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

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

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

635479525150153578-590246790_Untitled

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

Say excuse me:

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

When someone says excuse me to you:

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

Keep your kids in check:

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

Speaking of annoying things …:

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

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

Slow walkers of America:

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

Space hogs:

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

Refrain from cart wars:

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

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

Snarkless

10919341_898499173515793_2013780022_nThis post is dedicated to the city of Paris, and for all of those affected by the terror attacks last Friday. My heart is with you.

I wanted to be snarky this morning. I wanted to wake up and post a picture on Instagram about how I can hear Monday whispering, “go fuck yourself,” in my ear already. I wanted to post on Facebook how in love I was with Aziz Ansari’s new Netflix show and if I could just keep him in my pocket and take him out when I needed a laugh, I would be the happiest person in the world. But I couldn’t. It didn’t seem right.

I was 14 when 9/11 happened, and the first thought I had was, “hmmm I wonder if TRL will still be on.” My young brain clearly had no fucking idea what just had happened and how the world would never be the same.

And here I am, 28 years old, glued to the TV watching these horrific events unfold in Paris, and I can only imagine this feeling that I can’t quite describe that is consuming me is what adults felt during 9/11. 

I have no connection to Paris. My family is not from there. I did not study abroad there. I’ve never even been to Europe. In fact I was really hesitant to post the Eiffel Tower peace sign across Life Sucks In A Strapless Bra social channels, because I so desperately didn’t want it to look like I was joining the “bandwagon,” since I didn’t have a solid connection.

But I posted it because truly my heart hurt for the people of Paris. Simply because what happened to them could happen anywhere. Literally anywhere. They went out on a Friday evening to unwind, relax, enjoy the city. Something I do every weekend. Something many of us do every weekend. And several lost their lives for that for no reason.

While I know my snark will not be on hiatus forever, in fact I’m sure within the next 12 hours something will piss me off, or my cat will do something ridiculous and I’ll feel the need to Instagram it, but for now I want to focus on being positive. I know this sounds totally fucking weird coming from me, but it’s worth it since we all have so many reasons to be. Really … think about it. 

I hope you’ll join me. It won’t be easy (especially on a Monday when everything hurts and my bed is like a super comfortable vice). And I’m not saying smile all day until your cheeks burn, skipping and handing flowers to strangers. Gross. But it a little something we can do to pay homage to the brave people of Paris. 

UPDATE: my cat DID do something ridiculous and I DID Instagram it. Stella’s getting her snark back.