Sisterhood of the traveling rompers ⁰

I blame this all on the Sex and the City movie.

All I wanted was for my closet to look a little less like this:

I promise...the rest of my house is spotless.

And a little more like this:

Le sigh.

Can you blame me? It will probably never happen…but a girl can dream.

And a girl can certainly get rid of some old clothes.

Even before (almost) moving into the Manhattan Penthouse, Ms. Bradshaw herself cleaned out her “starter” closet on the Upper East Side.

When I invited my sister Hayley over to help me sort through my wardrobe, I imagined the event would play out just like this scene.

Much like the movie, we had wine, and even a tutu.

Unfortunately, our evening more closely resembled Eminem’s rendition of “Cleanin’ out my Closet”:

I said I’m sorry momma

I never meant to hurt you

I never meant to make you cry

But tonight, I’m cleanin’ out my closet

Mother…I want to sincerely apologize for the clothing and behavior that emerged from the closet last night.

It will never happen again.

I hope.

It all started out when H tried on a romper from my “toss” pile.

She's almost 5 inches taller than me, which means the backside of the romper was...obscene, to put it delicately.

It’s not my fault. Kourtney Kardashian made me buy it.

Kourtney Kardashian wears a black romper

You've gotta admit -- Katrina Kardashian does have a certain ring to it...

I don’t know what came over me…but delusions of having Audrina Patridge’s thighs seeped into my consciousness, and I opted to try the romper once more. For old time’s sake.

"I don't know how to quit you."

From the front, it didn’t look half bad.

Unfortunately the back ~~slightly resembles~~ could easily be mistaken for a black satin diaper.

But maybe if I just did a few more squats at the gym?

I quickly became distracted by H’s encounter with the other romper in the “toss” pile.

"I feel like I should go conduct a train now". Yes, that's an exact quote.

But it didn’t stop there. Things quickly went downhill after snapping the photo below.

"I've got a dirty little secret. This romper came from K-Mart." (Photo cropped for modesty purposes.)

Relax. It’s from Target. What kind of girl do you take me for?

The good news is that we were both rolling on the floor in hysterics after seeing this photo.

The bad news is I had already gotten my 64 ounces of water for the day.

The even worse news is that I was unable to free myself from the black romper without someone who had the presence of mind to unzip me.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how I ruined a perfectly good onesie.

It happens to the best of us. Right?

Right?

I’m taking this whole thing as a sign from God. That yard of shiny fabric is never meant to see the light of day.

I’m pretty sure Scott would be filing the divorce papers if I hadn’t been clever enough to blame the “incident” on the dog.

"Heyyyy!"

Just kidding, it really wasn’t very much at all. Like, not even a teaspoon.

But I did learn that just because something looks like a black satin diaper doesn’t mean it absorbs like a black satin diaper.

H knew just what to do. She quickly cheered me up by suggesting I have my very own SJP moment.

Look! I have a tutu JUST like Carrie Bradshaw's! If Carrie left the Upper East Side for a fresh start on the Jersey Shore, that is.

Whatever. GTL is the new SJP.

And it’s not like I wear this to the office or anything…clearly this is a workout tutu.

I promise it will make more sense after I post photos from my trip to hip-hop kickboxing camp.

Yes, I’m going to hip-hop kickboxing camp.

On that note, I’m going to go lie down in my romper-free closet and cry myself to sleep.

At least R-Kelly will be my friend.

Doesn’t he like urine and closets?

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A quarter of a million dollars

I never agreed to this.

Red Means Go, Midnight Means Bedtime ⁰

Did you know the bass guitarist for Red Means Go happens to be my younger brother Janss?

The rock star playing guitar on his knees? We're totally related.

This automatically makes me hip and edgy, without having to smoke cigarettes for a photo shoot.

I was pretty stoked when I found out the band had a gig at Connor Byrne Pub in Ballard this weekend.

Until I was informed they would be hitting the state at twelve.

As in twelve midnight.

I’m getting too old for this ‘ish.

The entire W. clan made the trek up to Ballard for the occasion. After a Greek-tastic dinner at Mr. Gyro we settled in at my condo, as Scott and I live just down the street from the pub.

With 3 hours to kill before concert time I decided to change into my infamous rainbow sweatpants and settle in on the sofa with a glass of wine.

Correction — I settled into the sofa and waited for a glass of wine. We didn’t have any in the house, so I made Scott run to the store, pick up a bottle and then pour some for my mother and I upon his return.

I really do have the best husband in the world.

Either that or he didn’t feel like joining us as we watched “Addicted to Food” (God bless you Oprah Winfrey Network) and read about Khloe Kardashians ten pound weight loss in US weekly.

Us W.s are a sophisticated bunch.

I’m not sure if it was the glass of wine, or the fact that I had risen at the butt-crack of dawn to go exercise, but after about an hour, this little siren lured me into the bed for some good quality sleepy-time.

This is how I justify spending an exorbitant amount of money on throw pillows. She NEEDS them.

About two hours later, my mother expressed to me that I needed to get up to go see the band.

It wouldn’t have been so bad if she hadn’t interrupted my dream about being a game piece in the real-life version of Candy Land.

After much coaxing (read: forcing) I was finally out of bed. But I wasn’t happy about it.

"You guys! I was just about to get to Queen Frostine and the Ice Cream Sea!"

Notice my lips are still stained from the red wine.

I’ll say it again — us W.s are classy. With a “K”.

Scott promised me if I went to the concert, he would buy me one of these.

They have a fondant rainbow on top AND rainbow sprinkles. That's almost better that Queen Frostine's Ice Cream Sea!

It worked like a charm. I was dressed and out the door in five minutes.

Tragically, Cupcake Royale was closed — but don’t worry — I’ll be inhaling a couple of these for breakfast after church tomorrow.

The calories don’t count if you’re doing it for a cause.

I was surprised to see that my Mom had stayed awake until midnight. If there’s one person in the Puget Sound area that might give me a run for my sleepiness, it’s most definitely her. When I asked what she had done to stay awake, she picked a piece of popcorn from my tangled hair and simply stated “I read the Book of Romans”.

Hmm. I’ll have to try that next time.

By the time we made it to the pub, I was slightly less sleepy, but far more cranky.

I made a beeline for the last open chair, so that I wouldn’t have to stand, dance or “mosh” (Do people still do that?) during the 90-minute show. In the twilight of my twenty-sixth year, I have come to accept the fact that I’m too old and don’t have enough tattoos or energy for that sort of thing.

The middle-aged woman standing by my chosen bar stool informed me that it might be reserved for her friend’s husband. She then made a point of mentioning that her friend (who was standing right next to her) was a “scary gang member” so I might want to watch it.

The last time I checked, gang members don’t wear J. Crew cardigans and Cole Haan handbags.

And if they do…how do I become a gang member?

As Red Means Go took the stage, I was reminded why venturing out at this time of night was a truly worthy venture. The band is extremely talented and fun to listen to. You can check out some of their music here — just know that it doesn’t begin do them justice. They are one of the few ensembles that sounds even more amazing live, thanks in large part to Jazmarae, their dazzling lead singer who has an incredibly unique voice.

I felt really proud of Janss and his friends. I may have even clapped my hands above my head while singing along to a few of their songs, despite being the oldest woman (besides my mom, and the preppy gang member) in the place.

I was reunited with my bed at two in the morning, and would have instantly fallen asleep had I not felt it necessary to complain about the foul language used at the bar and the fact that my ears were ringing for at good twenty minutes.

This is how I can tell I’m getting old.

An observation that can be supported by my newfound love for cruise ship vacations and Werther’s Original candies.

When I being sending email forwards, someone may have to intervene.

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Meow!

Don’t get crunked ⁰

Is there any one out there who hasn’t secretly dreamed of meeting Lil Jon?

When my friend Carina invited me to join her at DList Magzine’s 4 year anniversary party I just couldn’t resist.

You see, I knew my gangsta boyfriend would be in attendance.

Take that and rewind it back, Lil' Jon got the beat to make ya booty go smack.

I love him for his teeth. And, of course, the pimp juice.

Seriously though, “Yeah” was the first song Scott and I played at our wedding reception. Gotta keep it hood.

Lucky for us, Carina had the hook up and scored VIP Press passes for our group.

Upon our arrival, we were escorted to the VIP tents overlooking the waterfront, after a quick stop at the step and repeat.

Katrina and Carina at the DList magazine anniversary party

I looked like an Oompa Loompa and smelled like pizza. Thank you, spray tan.

: Yo, VIP, Let’s kick it.

Our VIP status meant a private meet and greet with Lil’ Jon himself. This would be even better than when I shook hands with the King of Norway! I immediately texted Scott to inform him of my impending rendezvous. His response?

Trust me, you don’t want to know.

At least I don’t think you do… I’m not fluent in “Lil’ Jon”, but I’m pretty sure the second part of this was really bad.

I wasn’t quite sure how I should reply…so I borrowed a quote from the King of Crunk himself.

You should hear me actually say it. I sound just like him. I don’t want to make a big deal out of it or anything, but it’s kind of, like, really impressive.

But enough about me. The best part of our VIP table? These little fellas right here…

Come to momma.

Halfway through scarfing these bad boys down, we were informed that our table (and it’s snacks) were reserved for someone else.

Oops.

Hope they don’t mind that we helped ourselves.

Carina and I took this opportunity to snap some photos of the evening’s best dressed for her fashion blog — it’s why we were given the press passes in the first place.

This femme fatale was my favorite diva of the night.

DList Magazine anniversary party in Seattle - Best Dressed

Goodbye, self-esteem.

You should have seen her in person. She posed like a professional. In fact, her six-foot three frame was probably an indication that she is in fact a professional. She moved for the camera like a gazelle who had been trained in classical ballet. It was beautiful, effortless, and so fierce the sight of it would undoubtedly bring Cristian Siriano to tears.

I was beyond moved. It made me want to become a professional poser.

While I had only sipped on one cocktail (a true lady never gets crunked, or drinks from a pimp cup…no matter how badly she wants to) I blame the 57 images I found on my digital camera the next morning on something the bartender must have slipped in my drink.

No one in their right mind would have taken these photographs.

I’m assuming I was trying to pose like the woman above. The results speak for themselves.

I’m really sorry you had to see these. Although I do think my hamper filled with used towels adds a touch of class to the center shot.

The sad part is, out of all 57 photos…these were the best.

Which is why I must never quit my day job.

Why do I get the sinking feeling I just lost half of my friends on Facebook?

I’m hoping the fact that Carina and I made D-List’s best dressed list somehow cancels out the train wreck depicted above.

Something tells me that it doesn’t.

The worst part is that Lil’ J and I never even got to meet up.

Although I’m pretty sure he’s breaking up with me as soon as he sees the photos.

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Christmas in July

Ringo Taylor

Hipster Pizza ²

I have a deep-rooted love for Take n’ Bake pizza.

This undoubtedly stems from the fact that I worked at the Parkland Papa Murphy’s during high school and college. Let’s just say I can braid a mean Chicago style stuffed crust.

The love for all things “Papa” runs in the family. My father frequents the Parkland store at least once a week, offering to rescue any custom ordered creations that were failed to be picked up. These leftover pies are sold at half price, which almost makes up for the fact that we sometimes end up eating pineapple sausage pizza with alfredo sauce.

I also happen to have an A-list connection at Papa Murphy’s. My dear friend Carina does PR for the Puget Sound area stores, and gets to ride around town in this bad boy.

Meet "The Murph Mobile". He even has an oven in the back.

I am beyond jealous of this thing. She let me drive it for five minutes once. It may have been the highlight of my ~~week~~ life.

Unfortunately for us city-folk, Seattle Papa Murphy’s are few and far between. Every time I have a hankering to bake something in my oven without actually preparing it, I am forced to go here.

They refer to it as “artisan pizza in the raw”, which roughly translates to “hipster pizza”.

This is probably my favorite quote from their website:

“And they [the founders] knew – with that unshakeable knowing reserved for those few things in life you would bet your bottom dollar on – that a pizza is never just a pizza.”

Call me crazy, but sometimes, isn’t a pizza just a pizza?

To grasp the true essence of hipster pizza, we must first understand the hipster himself.

Here’s what urban dictionary had to say:

I have some advice for the coolest of the cool. Quit trying to make ~~fetch~~ deck work.

What? Hipsters don’t like Mean Girls?

Doesn’t the hipster kind of sound like a mythical creature? Are there really people out there with only 2% body fat? Does this mean Rachael Zoe is a hipster?

"I die."

Suddenly, I understand why a normal human being can eat an entire large pizza from ‘Zaw without actually feeling full. I suppose this is so the hipster can still fit into his microscopic denim.

Janss wearing skinny jeans and eating 'Zaw pizza in Seattle

This slice has only 8 calories. Long live the skinny jeans.

The piece he’s noshing on was from the rhubarb pizza. That’s right, rhubarb.

So what else constitutes a true hipster pizza?

Hipster pizza is delivered. On bikes.

Hipster pizza comes from a land filled with cheap furniture that's trying too hard and an abundance of over-priced wine. Hopefully you'll be distracted by hipster magazines and overlook these discrepancies.

Two hipster pizzas cost $28, even after redeeming a $20 Groupon.

Hipster pizza is never seen in public without its Ray-Bans...

...or its trusty Converse sneakers.

After the first slice, I could begin to feel the hipster poison seeping into my bloodstream. I quickly ripped the Ray-Bans off rhubarb’s face, succumbing to the voice in my head which urged me to mess up my hair. It was as if I were a werewolf beneath the full moon. I had become what I hated.

Now I just need a pack of organic cigarettes and some ironic suspenders.

Thank goodness Extreme Couponing was playing in the background.

The show is hipster kryptonite.

I quickly snapped to my senses, returning to the normal Katrina who loves her quality time with TLC.

I know, I’m so not “deck”. But I refuse to sport an androgynous haircut and pretend like I care.

P.S. Did you know Papa Murphy’s has been around for 30 years? I doubt ‘Zaw will last that long. Even if they do, they will definitely be too old to be considered hipster. I don’t care what you’ve seen at Whole Foods — parents walking around in transparent unisex tees with asymmetrical bangs, rocking out to Mumford & Sons is just wrong.

But enough complaining. I’m off to do some extreme couponing of my own on the Papa Murphy’s discount page. Maybe I can score their famous Cowboy Pizza for free. Even if it does cost me a couple of bucks, I’m comforted by the fact that the toppings will not be arranged to make my dinner appear to be wearing a trendy plaid shirt.