I know I’m not the first person to point out the overwhelming slut factor that eeks its way into ladies’ Halloween costumes.  But I just can’t take it.  I’m no prude and I also (kind of) believe in the mantra, “If you’ve got it flaunt it”. But…there has got to be a line.  A fine line, but a line nonetheless.

In college, I did my fair share of whoring up a Halloween costume. I’m not even gonna pretend I didn’t. Hell, there are pictures of me a lot younger than that in costumes that towed that line.

This. Happened.

This. Happened.

I’m no feminist. I believe in people having a little fun when it comes to dressing up for themed events, Halloween, etc.  And if you know me at all, I have a highly inappropriate sense of humor. Like, off the wall. But WHY does almost every female costume look like you just walked off a set from the Cheetah stage.  Seriously, there are sexy elephants, sexy cops, even a trampy Ebola nurse made the rounds this year and was brought to my attention via Facebook from a friend.

Because nothing screams sexy like an elephant

Because nothing screams sexy like an elephant

so hot

Too soon?

I mean I know there are tons of double standards when it comes to men and women, but you don’t see rows upon rows of banana hammocks for men to select a Halloween costume from! Nor should there be. That kind of shit should stay at Fantasy Fest. Please, for the love of god and all that’s holy, do not let that EVER become a trend. It’s not a good look. For anyone. Ever.

Truth be told, I don’t dress up for Halloween anymore.  I actually hate Halloween. I hate it less since I have a child who loves it. but I’ve always kind of seen it as a veiled excuse for people to act like assholes.  Last year, my daughter begged me to dress up so I bought a wonder woman shirt to match her costume, threw on the shin guards that came with her costume which she opted not to wear – and viola. Costume complete.

This year however, since I’m back in an office environment, there is a little bit of pressure to do something a bit more substantial. Nobody wants to be the asshole who didn’t dress up. Even if it means throwing on some cat ears and drawing some quick whiskers on with black eyeliner.

The easiest way to rally for an adult dress up is to pair up, right? Power in numbers.  So this Halloween I’m enlisting the buddy system and we are doing a pairs costume.  We settled on 2 Broke Girls, found costumes online that didn’t look like we were posing as hookers in a prostitution sting, and felt accomplished. Clearly I’d be Max (brunette on the left) because if you’ve seen the show, we’re both dripping in sarcasm.

Screen Shot 2014-10-29 at 7.31.22 PM

But then the costumes came, and they were hella short. Like, what the eff are we gonna do, short.  We need back up.  Spanx do no good because they just suck the life out of you underneath your clothes. We needed something that would cover our late 30s flaws.

So, we took a field trip to the only dance supply (real dance supply store, that’s not code for The Hustler Store).  We had a 15 minute dialogue with the salesman behind the counter. My part went something like this:

Me: “Hi. Do you guys sells those Hooter’s tights?”

DanceMan: “No, we just sell skin-tone colored ones but they’re pretty thick.” (hands me package to look at size chart).

Me: “Ok, I’ll take the small”

DanceMan: “You might want to consider the large” (sees my forehead vein pulsating and bitch face is starting). Stammering he tries to redeem himself, “It’s just that tights run really small.”

Ya think!


Toddler tights

Toddler tights

DanceMan: “Can I ask your height?”

Me: “Yes, I’m pushing 5’1”

DanceMan: “May I ask your weight?”

Me: “No you may not.”

I took the small. You can see what they looked like when I opened them in the above picture.  How the eff am I fitting my ass into those. How? My mother calls me Ray-lo for a reason.

In my head I’m thinking, Sonofabitch! I’m gonna have to go back, eat crow and tell DanceMan I need a large. FML


But, I tried them on and they fit. It was almost as shocking as the realization that a child CAN in fact come out of that part of your body.

I digress.

Ok, so they fit but it just wasn’t gonna do the trick.  I had to have the Hooters Hose. There was no other logical solution.

I tried crowdsourcing again since it was a major success with the lizardcide I recently committed.  But no real leads.


Screen Shot 2014-10-29 at 7.41.14 PM



So I called Hooters and when the Hooterette answered I prefaced the conversation saying that I had a weird question (I’m gonna go out on a limb and guess my question doesn’t even register on the weird-meter at this establishment). Luckily (and strangely), they actually sell them AT the restaurant! I guess there’s a market for people who frequently needs these hose to look like hoes! I walked in and it’s a weird feeling when you are face to face with someone, both dressed in work attire, but at completely opposite ends of the spectrum.  And I could NOT stop staring at the boobs of the girl who was helping me.  They were giant… and incredible. She was like a tiny little popsicle stick with two huge globes glued up top. I don’t understand how she could even walk…or stand! And all I could think was – good for her.  Enjoy em now sister.  Stare at them lovingly in the mirror everyday.

I scored the Hooter’s tights and stuffed them in my purse quickly and almost a little nervous. It may as well have been a bag of weed.  Even the packaging is shady.

Who's Tamara and does she know Hooter's gals don her "calendar girl" hose?  Was she at one time a Hooter's girl? I have so many questions.

Who’s Tamara and does she know Hooter’s gals don her “calendar girl” hose? Was she at one time a Hooter’s girl? I have so many questions.

T’was the eve before Halloween and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, except for me when I tried on not one, but both pairs of procured tights and realized that even with them, the dress was so short I could potentially get fired.  The toddler tights were not so great. The Hooters hose were even worse, plus made me look like I got my coloring from an oompa loompa from my thighs down.  Seriously, the shade those suckers come in does not exist in the human species. I’m not a mini skirt alarmist, but this was bad.  What the eff was I going to do? Can’t bail – it’s a pairs costume.  Don’t have any other options. So, I made the executive decision that I had to wear leggings.  No way around it.

Yep. On Halloween I will rock my costume like the chicks from SisterWives who wear leggings and long sleeves under tshirts and tank tops to maintain their modesty.

Screen Shot 2014-10-30 at 7.20.33 PM

And then I had another sobering thought – I have to drive my daughter to school in a painfully short waitress costume. And I’m solo – without my other costumed half.  What if they don’t watch 2 Broke girls? They’ll totally think I’m an actual waitress who shortened her uniform to score tips from Boca’s finest working the breakfast shift at Flashback Diner. Shit.

Thankfully I was able to swing going in street clothes (with a full face of makeup including cat eyes and red lips) and then rushed back to get dressed in a mess of polyester.  But…we pulled it off!

2 broke girls

Next year, I may just have to go with cat ears and eyeliner whiskers. This was exhausting!

Happy Halloween y’all!


Things that Annoy Me: The Social Media Edition

Unfortunately I am old enough to remember a time when Facebook (and all social media) did not exist.  The closest thing to it was when AOL hit the scene and me and my girlfriends would hang out in creepy chat rooms engaging in fabricated conversations with what I’m sure was the next person with a starring role on “To Catch a Predator”.  My screen name BTDubs was Bitesize98 – Bitesize being a nickname given to me by some of my brother’s friends.  It was a cute, ghetto euphemism for calling me petite.  (Interestingly enough that was followed by another size-based nickname. This one from the owner of the entertainment company I worked for when I had to deal with bar mitzvah boy boners every weekend. That one was “Lil Bit”)

Anyway, I digress.

When Facebook became open to the masses and not just hungover college students, I was working in tech PR in Boston.  Our agency principal insisted we all have Facebook accounts because social was blowing up and bleeding its way into business.  I so did not want it. Was adamantly against doing it actually. But, we all did. (Same thing happened with Twitter btw, which I still don’t like for personal use, but totally get for business.)

So here I am, with a stupid Facebook page, and my only friends are other agency folk who I literally see every day.  So dumb.

But then, something started to happen.  All of a sudden, people from all periods in my life – from elementary school to college to camp to jobs I forgot I ever had – started to emerge and send friend requests. It was CRAY!

And just like that, I changed my tune. It was incredible catching up with people. Seeing pictures of their families, their kids.  Getting updated on what everyone was doing with their lives. Seeing ex boyfriends get fat. It was like a life reunion.

And I still love it. But… there are things that go on that make me want to rip every hair out of my head.  So here they are.


Ladies and Gents - the Queen of the Obnoxious Selfie

Ladies and Gents – the Queen of the Obnoxious Selfie

Let me be clear. I know almost everyone takes selfies. I’ve dabbled myself. But there’s a difference between an occassional solo selfie, or a selfie with your friends or kids.  And then there’s that thing where your entire Facebook feed is literally selfie, after selfie, after selfie…of just you, standing in the bathroom mirror…wanting to show everyone how hot you are. We get it. You have a great body and are super pretty. Now fill your feed with some variety and throw some guests in those pics.  I’d like to see what else you have going on in your little world instead of how many shades of lipstick you’re experimenting with every week.



Jesus Effing Christ. I can’t take it. I don’t even know what I can eat anymore.  Everything is contaminated, or bad for you, or will shave 5 years off your life.  Don’t eat carbs. Wait you can eat carbs, just not white flour.  No cow’s milk unless it’s organic. Wait don’t do that. Have almond milk instead. But only this one brand because the rest is bad for you and contains ingredients you shouldn’t have.  Stay away from Soy because it makes men grow boobs.  Oh, and don’t use shampoo because it gives you cancer.

Every damn day, I have countless posts about all of the things to stay away from and I start to feel like the overwhelming majority of my friends list must work for the CDC based on the information they are publicizing.  And before you attack, I am not talking about posts related to food allergies so relax, slow your roll.



I already have issues with people on Facebook who have selective sharing. You know who I am talking about.  The ones whose lives, in the form of status updates, look like something straight out of fantasy land.  We all have em’ and this isn’t the first time I’ve voiced my disdain.  Post after post about how their kids ate something from every food group for every meal, dressed themselves in perfectly pressed clothing, shared their homemade, not from concentrate, hand squeezed orange juice with the homeless, got 10 straight A’s on their homework and have a viable plan for world peace.  Cut the shit and balance that goodness out with a post about the diaper blow out your youngest had at the mall and how your husband hated your haircut.  Seriously.



I can’t even elaborate on this. And yes everyone is entitled to their opinion but some people are so effing ignorant in what they choose to post that it gets me crazy.  I get that Facebook is all about freedom of speech, but I think stupidity should be a caveat.



Every time a celebrity dies, I feel a pinch of anxiety knowing that The Book is going to be flooded with RIPs. I know people are showing their respects, but it’s like a shiva that will never end.


office game requests

I don’t want to be in your mafia, I don’t want to work on your farm. I don’t want to give you candy.  Just stop. It’s never going to happen. You have a better chance of getting me to pop bottles in Miami.

So for the love of god, I know Facebook is ours to do what we want with. But just try not to be as asshole ALL the time.  Everything in moderation people.