The “Just For Funsies” Methodology

d2eb25d88a86b94229ace14408e2b411Shopping is no easy task … I don’t care who you are. Say you go out shopping for plain t-shirts, right? Well, if you are anything like me, you will return home with a bag full of everything except plain T’s (what can I say, I get distracted quite easily … ooh something shiny?!! EEEE!).

I do have a method to my madness whilst shopping, though. My number one rule is I try not to fixate on the one or two things I need within my wardrobe. If you go in saying, “I need a black maxi dress and only a black maxi,” think of all the goodness you will overlook, right? Tunnel vision is a bitch, let me tell you. So I believe in walking into a store with an open mind. Take a deep breath, and start combing through the garments.

But I also believe in a little thing called, “just for funsies” whilst shopping. What is that, you ask? Well, let me explain. This past weekend I went shopping with my best friend, who was looking to jazz up her style a bit, which is always fun because it is like an untouched canvas. But you know when you are shopping and come across a piece that you DIE for, but say, “oh I could never pull this off,” and put it back down, only to lust after it secretly for the rest of the day? My question to you is, umm why can’t you pull that shit off? How do you know? You’ll never know unless you embrace the “just for funsies” methodology.

Just for funsies [juhst-fawr-fuhn-ies]: Trying on a piece of clothing that is out of one’s comfort zone.

For example, I came across a pair of wide-legged satin red pants. I adored them instantly. We were instant lovers. But I was saying to myself, “oh I can’t pull these off. Where could I wear them? Will they be flattering …bitch, bitch, bitch whoa as me?” as I shamelessly flirted with the material through my fingertips. But that’s when I thought to myself, what is the harm in bringing them in the dressing room with me? What, I could look like a clown and the dressing room attendant will point and laugh at me? Umm no. So I grabbed a couple different sizes (as I had no idea how they would fit and loathe having to get dressed and run back out to grab a different size), and decided to give them a whirl. Long story short: they are my new favorite thing. If I could make out with them I would (but that would land me on that weird show on TLC where men make out with their cars).

My “just for funsies” methodology is a great way to step outside of your style comfort zone. It is also great for a laugh or two, especially if you are shopping with your girlfriends. My best friend and I peed ourselves laughing over micro mini skirts that barely left any vagina to the imagination and unflattering dresses that made me look like a 1950′s housewife, and not in a good way. Even if you are shopping by yourself … Jesus put doors/curtains that close off dressing rooms for a reason. Have a laugh at yourself if you tried something outside of your comfort zone that makes you look a hot mess. I feel like dressing rooms should be a “safe place” or “judgement free zone.” Talk to yourselves, ladies. Laugh a little … for the love. Clothes are meant to be tried on.

My “just for funsies” methodology won’t kill you, I promise. It will let you embrace styles you never in a million years could pull off, but, realistically, can … sometimes. So for that, I accept your praises. Don’t be shy … send them my way. You’re welcome in advance.

The Bright Side Of Being Sick

Photo Credit:http://www.refinery29.com/siri-tollerod-makes-the-cat-la

Photo Credit:http://www.refinery29.com/siri-tollerod-makes-the-cat-la

If you’ve been following me on Instagram, you are probably wondering, “why is this bitch turning into a full blown cat lady?” For the past three days it has been all about cats, simply because, well, I got poisoned by something I ate which landed me in the hospital. Yes. The hospital. None of it was cute. Not that any illness is “cute” per say … but I would have preferred to have to discuss the symptoms of anything besides food poisoning with a male doctor who is a stranger, and probably my age. Ugh … I lost a piece of my dignity for sure.

And because I’ve been trying to pretend I’m a different more fantastic human soul than I actually was the past couple of days, I’ve been forced to shine a light on the positives whilst dealing with such a non-chic illness. So here is what I’ve come up with. And hopefully, if you (God forbid) end up not feeling your finest, remember the following things … ahem:

1. I’m giving my skin a break. I haven’t turned the light on at my makeup table in literally three days. Nothing but moisturizer has touched my skin in literally three days. Normally I would be mortified that my naked face would frighten children, but alas, I am just straight chillin’ with my cats. This is a perfect opportunity to purify and just get “au natural” if you will.

2. I torture my hair on the reg. All day err day I’m taking 450 degree torture devices to my follicles, straightening and curling and de-frizzing, and dying, and de-tangling. I’m a straight up hair abuser. But not in the past three days. My hair hasn’t been touched by a brush, nor has it been touched by any styling devices. It basically hasn’t left bun form. Sure, it may look like a rats nest, but it is getting rest, just like my body is. There is nothing better than styling your hair after a few days of giving it rest. It’s like buttah … trush.

3. I’m sure we are all guilty of not drinking enough water. Lucky enough for me, by doctors orders, I was told I had to drink water … or bad things would happen. What those bad things were, I have no idea. Dehydration? Fainting? Who knows … but I wasn’t about to mess with it. And like Zoolander says, “moisture is the essence of wetness and wetness is the essence of beauty.” Beautiful skin and complexion just doesn’t happen without being properly hydrated. That lesson is learned with age, ladies and gents.

Aaaaaand that’s about it. I wouldn’t wish what I had on my worst enemy, but alas, at least I took advantage of the situation to give my entire body, and beauty regime, a rest.

Most of all … I’m looking forward to waking up tomorrow morning and making myself look a little less like this. It’s starting to get worrisome …

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What’s In A Name

CaptureI remember when I was in 7th grade, I had to get a palette expander installed across the roof of my mouth. It probably was one of the darkest times of my days as a teenager. Not only was it extremely painful, as my mom had to hold me down and turn the thing everyday with a key to “expand” it, but it drastically inhibited my speech. Oh yeah … and one day I woke up with a massive space in between my teeth, but that is neither here nor there (I’m not damaged from this experience at ALL). Anywho … back to the speech issues. I couldn’t say my name with that thing in my mouth. My name is Kate Concannon, and with the palette expander it sounded like “Kace Cocaon”. I’ve never hated my name more then in that moment.

Now in my post-palette expander days, I don’t hate my name as much as I once did, as I can clearly pronounce “Kate Concannon” properly. I do remember. pre-palette expander, begging my mom to let me change my name to “Cate” with a “C” when I was a tween (Cate Blanchett had just become ultra famous and I wanted my name to stand out). Or perhaps I craved a cool nickname like “CC”. But I always wondered what my name would look like in lights, or rolling off the tongues of E! News hosts. “Kate Concannon, pregnant with Justin Timberlake’s baby? Find out only here only on E! News!” So blah, right?

One day I came across something about January Jones, and I said to myself, “no way could that be her real name.” Some agent found her in LA as “Jessica Jones,” a doubty brunette or something and said, “I deem you … JANUARY Jones. Now off to the salon!” Welp, turns out joke was on me, her real name is January Jones. Bitch must have some super cool parents or something, am I right?

Then again there are some celebrities who I could see sitting right next to me in my office. “Hey Justin Timberlake, can you forward me that email when you get a sec.” “Tina Fey … can you grab me a pen when you go to the supply closet?” See! Totally normal … yet they are mega-super famous. But then again I could never in a million years see Kim Kardashian working in an office and filing papers. “Hey gang, this is Kim Kardashian, she will be our new receptionist. Make her feel welcome.” Hmm. No. Although it does excite me slightly to know the Kris Jenner would totally adopt me as my name would be “Kate Kardashian.”

I believe a person makes a name. If you have the right personality, style, charisma, etc. … you have the power to make “John Smith” stand out in lights. I, personally, don’t think I could go through with changing my name for the sake of stardom. Even for the sake of marriage! The whole idea makes me sweat. I’ve been Kate Concannon my entire life, and now I will be someone else? The whole thing perplexes me. I know it’s tradition and blah-blah-blah … but what? Seems a little dusty to me. A deal breaker to some, but a dusty deal breaker.

I remember an episode of Full House (yes, I’ve literally seen every episode like 20,000 times), where Stephanie wanted to change her name to “Dawn.” And then Danny Tanner went into this whole Dad spheal about how special she is and so on and so forth :::cue the sentimental music::: and she decided, “hey, I’m Stephanie Tanner and I’m okay with that!” It’s funny … I can’t remember what I did five minutes ago, but I remember that episode of Full House verbatim.

It still amazes me to know that so many celebrities have changed their names. And my curiosity is endless about how that process works. Does an agent not sign you if he/she demands you change your name and you refuse? And what qualifies as a “star-worthy” name? I like to think my name would look amazing in lights … at least on a billboard? Okay … maybe printed in a magazine or a book. Let’s be real, that’s where it belongs. Hell, we all belong somewhere!

Now a list of celebs who aren’t who they claim to be … ahem:

Bea Arthur: Really … Bernice Frankel

Carmen Electra: Really … Tara Patrick

Judy Garland: Really … Frances Gumm

Bruno Mars: Really … Peter Gene Hernandez

Spike Lee: Really … Shelton Lee

Natalie Portman: Really … Natalie Herschlag

Louis C.K.: Really … Louis Szekely

Olivia Wilde: Really … Olivia Jane Cockburn (Yikes, I kind of understand this one)

Portia de Rossi: Really … Amanda Lee Rogers

An Interview With Me, Myself, And I

5cf15ebda54c470e2d5631b0158cd12fAhh to be a celebrity … excuse me while I put my hand to my chin and daydream whilst staring out my window wide-eyed in Never Never Land. Something you should know about me … I have a secret obsession with celebrity culture. For example I was walking out of Starbucks this morning on my way to work and saw this black SUV with blacked out windows and immediately assumed Justin Timberlake was inside … clearly. I had my fingers crossed that he would roll down the window as I strolled by, ask me my name, and then casually ask for my hand in marriage after he divorced Biel … but :::sigh::: that never did happened.

But it is fun to imagine yourself as a celebrity … someone who sits in blacked our SUVs and gets swarms of people wanting to interview them. And after reading an inspiring article from Man Repeller, I got to thinking about how another writer would portray a play-by-play with me if I happened to be worthy of an interview with Vogue Magazine … :::swoon::: could you even imagine?!

And after a little thinking and getting in touch with my awkward tendencies, here is how I believe my interview would go, coming from another writer’s perspective:

“Kate strutted into Starbucks with full-blown Bitchy Resting Face, phone in hand, bundled in all black like she was heading from a funeral in the North Pole, and an awkward piece of hair sticking straight out between where her ear and sunglasses arm met. It was clearly bothering her as I watched her fail numerous times as she tried to tuck it away. She barely made it to the table before slipping on the slick marble flooring, but casually caught herself and played it off like a model who just bit it on the catwalk and had to keep going. The shame was hidden by the sunglasses … but the embarrassment was exposed by her bright red cheeks.

The RBF washed away from Kate’s face the minute she removed her sunglasses, smiled, and attempted to shake my hand, but realized she was now holding her cell phone AND sunglasses, so instead went for a strange side, half fist bump with the opposite hand and laughed off the awkward encounter.

After she sat down and got comfortable, she placed her iPhone next to her tea glass, and compulsively kept checking it like she was waiting for a phone call, text or email, but in reality just seemed like a twitch because, alas, no one was calling, texting or emailing her. Every 10 minutes or so she was uncross her long legs and would hit her knee on the table, causing her pain that she tried to hide, even though I heard a soft “son of a bitch,” escape her sigh almost every time. In between questions she would take a sip of her black tea, which I assumed matched her outfit and soul, and a little would slip through her lips and onto her sheer top, which she tried not to cause attention to by crossing her arms in an attempt to wipe it away.”

I’m a classically awkward celeb, aren’t I? Anyways it is fun to dig deep into your true self and express how you would handle a big time interview. Of course all of us would love to stroll in, on time, dipped in Chanel with every perfect answer ready to jump off our red lips that wouldn’t lose their color whilst we sipped our tea, am I right? But the cookie doesn’t crumble like that. The cookie, indeed, leaves crumbs on my H&M blouse.

Now it’s your turn, how would you handle being interviewed?

Looking Into My Crystal Ball O’ Fashion

Sometimes I think about people who survived the 70′s and 80′s and how they look back and cringe over the outfits they chose to wear. Bell bottoms, power suits, leg warmers, neon everything, acid washed this, punk rock plaid that. Now I only endured three whole years of the 80′s myself, which consisted of me wearing mostly OshKosh and Esprit … so clearly I was the epitome of adorable :::hair flip::: so I have nothing to worry about.

But why do we partake in certain trends if we know sometime down the road we will either be made fun of for what we wore, or end up making fun of ourselves … like how our parents and grandparents get flack for pornstaches, shoulder pads, and Aqua Net infused hair styles. Well kids, it is because we want to be cool. And unfortunately what sets the standards for “cool” is what comes off the high fashion runways. And unfortunately … again … some of those trends just shouldn’t trickle down to gen pop, am I right? But they do … and we make them work for the sake of being “cool.” And if you don’t agree, well then prepare yourselves for my wave of shame.

The wave of shame will have to wait, though, for now I would like to take the role as a fashion soothsayer and predict just what trends will make me cry, eye roll, and want to drink in decades to come:

Ombre Hair: Yes, kids … not only did I dive into the ombre trend head first, but I did my OWN ombre. And after 8 months, one hair cut, and one dye job … I still cannot get rid of the ombre. It’s fall. I’m over the ombre convo, personally. And when people who aren’t even born yet (ew) question why I thought it was a cool idea to dye the bottom of my hair a lighter color … I sadly won’t have an answer for them :::sigh:::

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Nail Art: Who needs a canvas when I can express myself with my nails :::jazz hands::: The question is … how many colorful geometric shapes can I have on one nail?! And psh let’s be real, you aren’t anything unless you basically have the God damn Mona Lisa painted on your middle finger nail while the others are painted in a metallic chevron print. Throw flowers on them. Put a bird on it! There. Is. No. Such. Thing. As. Too. Much.

CaptureLiquid Leggings: These seem like a great idea … especially when you don’t have the balls to buy a pair of real leather pants because deep down you know you aren’t Mick Jagger … nor will you ever be. Enter liquid leggings stage right … in every. Color. So cat woman, eat your heart out … you are about to see every delicious nook and cranny of my ass. And when my children, children’s children, children’s children’s children come across pictures of me rocking said pair of liquid leggings with a shirt that isn’t quite long enough to cover my ass fully … they will be thrown into a spiral of night terrors so intense no amount of therapy will ever help them recover.

sandy-in-greaseDIY: In 20-30 years, Pinterest will be the new Atari. And DIY-ing will be the new bedazzling. You heard it here first, kids.

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Crop Tops: I’m only including this because they forcefully make a come back every couple of decades. Think about it … 50′s/60′s, late 80′s/early 90′s … and if my math is correct (which it probably isn’t because I am an idiot when it comes to math), around 2033-ish will be when they make another come back after we banish them away in a few months. And when your kid refers to your old Urban Outfitters crop top as “vintage”, I hope you have a box of Kleenex and a bottle of Jack next to you.

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Arm Parties: Every time I say “arm party” in my head, I immediately feel this urge to jump up and dance like Carlton from the Fresh Prince of Bel Air to “Wake Me Up Before You Go Go.” I’m all about arm parties. I think blending the right watches, bangles and bracelets together is amazing … with that being said, I guarantee in 20-30 years this will be considered the new “neon” or “wearing more than one watch.” But never fear, generations to come will revive it and the Man Repeller’s legacy will live on loud and proud.

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Heel-less Heels: Thanks for this one, Lady Gaga. Love, your little monsters who are now in their mid-forties with their podiatrists on speed dial. GASP is that a claw?! Nope … that’s just my foot.
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