Category Archives: party

Fashion spirit.

almie rose terry richardson lion

This is my most stylish, spirited outfit. You were probably expecting something a little less glamorous. I know. But I’m not kidding when I say that when I don this lion onesie, it’s like I have a whole new outlook on life. I feel freer. I dance more. It has pockets. Pockets! I like to put my hands in the pockets, turn around, and stare at the wall. When someone asks me, “Hey Almie, what are you doing?” I turn around, shrug and say, “Oh nothing, just lion stuff.” I’m telling you, nothing says party spirit like this lion costume.

When I’m not wearing my lion costume, which is alarmingly less often than not, I stick to my classic little black dresses with red lipstick. This is, obviously, a different look than the head-to-toe Simba look, which is so hot right now. My favorite color is leopard print. My second favorite color is sequins. And all of those things go very well together.

It’s holiday party time really, really soon. I’ve gotten three invites already…all on the same blasted date. That’s just diabolical. I’m never this popular. So of course, when I finally am, it’s all at once. You bet your sweet bippy I am wearing my lion suit to at least one of these parties. And I’m not joking.

Because that’s the thing. We may not want to admit it, but if we’re going somewhere that isn’t something you can do in sweatpants (grocery shopping, going to the pharmacy, coffee run, shoving children down stairs) then we really take a few minutes (or hours!) to plan how we are going to look. Hair, shoes, clothes. Even guys do this, though maybe not to the extent that girls do.

So I’m suggesting that maybe we all just step back and go with what we really want to wear and not what we think we have to wear. Let me tell you, there are 3 stages in your entire life where you get to do this:

1. Baby to toddler stage.

2. Your twenties.

3. Your eighties + beyond.

And that’s it. I really don’t want to wait until my eighties to wear red eyeshadow at a party, like Daryl Hannah’s screaming-whatever-that-was-character in Blade Runner. And I don’t want to wear pants anymore. I’m just going to wear oversized sweaters with tights and ankle boots, and I don’t care if I look like Claudia Kishi. And I don’t care if people think I dress and look like a hipster. To quote Josh, “You’re not hipster – you’re hipster adjacent.” I think that’s fair.

People are going to think whatever they want no matter what you do or say or wear, so you may as well just take that whole part out of the equation and do your thing with the utmost dignity, pride, and awesomosity. Take your inner style spirit and let it guide you. Like how Pocahontas listened to that creepy, old, nightmarish tree. She didn’t have to, but she did. And she learned something.

And guys, wear suits more. We really, really like that. And I know a lot of you really want to dress like Don Draper or Patrick Bateman but are afraid of looking like a pompous cad. But that’s what it’s all about.



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Singledom and the holidays.

girl bikini vintage

Full disclosure: this post is sponsored by AZO. Keep it real, ladies.

The holiday express is choo chooing down the track and you either have to hop on or jump in front of it. Hopefully, you jump on it. If you jumped in front of it, you can’t read this anymore. Because you’re dead. Because this is a very literal metaphor. So let’s get you on that train. Here’s the tricky part: are you traveling alone, or with a partner, on the holiday express?

The holidays have a way of making single people feel like they need to be part of a couple. Not even in a deep, serious way; sometimes in a more superficial way, because you need a really hot date to bring to that bangin’ New Year’s Eve party you’ve already decided to go to. I shall not be untruthful: I always want, need, and like to have a date on New Year’s Eve. I don’t know why this is. Maybe I feel like it’s the real people version of The Oscars. Everyone is all dressed up for a big evening ahead, and you know there’s going to be photos taken and making out to be had. Admittedly, I feel “cuffed” to this idea, of needing a date. And they’re emotional handcuffs that I’m putting on myself. They’re cute handcuffs though. The handcuffs are the guy, by the way. In case you didn’t figure that out. Just in case.

But please understand this: I’m not going to scour my Facebook friends list, cell phone contacts, or OKCupid for potential dates. I actually do have limits. If that’s something you do, that’s your thing, go do it. But I’m not at the level where I’m going to call some dude I had sex with once three years ago, breathless, saying, “HI WOULD YOU LIKE TO GO TO A NEW YEAR’S PARTY WITH ME, IT’S GOING TO BE FUN, I’M BREEZY!” And they’ll say, “Who is this?” And I’ll laugh nervously and say, “OH MY GOD, YOU GUYS, IT’S ALMIE!” And they’ll say, “Almie…it’s November 30th.” And I’ll say, “WELL YOU KNOW HOW QUICKLY SCHEDULES FILL UP AROUND THE HOLIDAYS.” And they’ll say, “Did you just pronounce it ‘shed-u-elles?’ And why are you shouting?” And I’ll say, “I have the wrong number, I was trying to reach Tyler.” And they’ll say, “This is Tyler.” And I’ll say, “Oh, I meant Ryan, bye.” (BTW, Tyler, this is in no way referring to you, I’m referring to The Tyler Technique. Even though, coincidentally, we did spend New Year’s together one year. And your name is Tyler. But it’s not you. Swear. I think you’re swell.)

As far as needing to have a date: it doesn’t matter. If you focus on the parts of the holidays that matter, like giving and love and gingerbread lattes or whatever, you’ll be just fine. I know this. We all know this. We just can’t forget it.

Does anyone else have these, “Oh no, it’s the holidays and I’m single” feelings? If you do, how do get over it?

Ladies, read the rest more info on AZO. Or guys too, whatever, it’s just not going to apply to you, and may cause confusion and fear.

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Is catcalling ever okay?

cat paint

A while ago I wrote a piece for my blog titled “Stop hitting on me” that people both praised me and critized me for. I think the criticisms came from people thinking I was bemoaning how hot I am and how I’m sooooo sick of male attention. Not even close. I don’t think that and that isn’t what I was trying to say. I probably should have titled the post “Stop harrassing me.” That is closer to the point of the article. Anyway, if you don’t feel like reading it, the post is about how rude and upsetting it can be when strange men harrass young women when all we’re doing is minding our own business. We should be able to walk down the street without a stranger commenting on our appearance. Doesn’t matter if the man in question is young or old. It comes off as creepy and disrespectful.

But. But. A few nights ago I had an experience with catcalling that did not make me feel degraded. It actually made me feel…happy. Attractive. Confident. Is this wrong and hypocritical?

I’ll explain the situation.

I don’t often like going to parties alone. I’ve written about the subject and on my blog and on Hello Giggles about how it’s okay to go alone and have a kick-ass time, but on occasion I feel overwhelmingly shy and not good enough. The event I went to last night was a gathering of beautiful people and hosted by one of my all time favorite film directors/artists and usually this doesn’t bother me, in that, I’m born in LA and have lived here my whole life, so who cares about celebrities, but given the drama that’s happened lately, I felt kind of small. And I’m really embarrassed, even ashamed, to admit that. Though I eventually met up with the awesome person who invited me, I had to go in alone and be there alone for about 40 minutes. But once I got in there I was okay. And here’s why.

I was waiting on the corner in my dress and lipstick and heels pretending to be busy on my iPhone determining if I should go in alone. I felt like a dweeb. Just very shy and not at all confident. I’m doing nothing with my phone and a car is at a red light near me. I don’t notice it until the man inside rolls down his window and says something like, “Excuse me, miss.” I’m thinking, “Okay, here we go.” And he says, “You have the perfect body.” And I’m stunned. I’m about to attend a party where there are size 0 actresses who look stunning like a ray-gun. I do not think I have even close to the perfect body. He went on. “I’m not trying to be weird or hit on you, but I muted my phone call just now, put them on hold, I had to tell you. You look so good.”

And I almost cried. I know. I’m apalled. But I needed to hear it, and he was so kind about it. “Thank you,” I said. “Thank you so much.”

“No problem. You look great. Really.” Then the light turned green and he drove off.

Maybe my perception of body image is warped, and by maybe I mean, 100% completely is. I was surprised to receive this compliment from a strange man. And yes, I was flattered.

Am I screwed up? What do you think and what’s your experience been like?


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almie rose brokechella apocalypstick

Thanks to photographer Raymond Liu!

Coachella is not my idea of fun; it’s more my idea of let’s make Uncle Almie cry. There’s lots of people, dirty hot sweaty people, and you have to throw money everywhere. If you can rock it out there, by all means, have fun in the assy desert. But if you’re high maintenance and totally fucking annoying like I am, Brokechella is the chella for you. Not to say that Brokechella was annoying; it was crazy fun and chill at the same time. It was a bunch of people in a warehouse getting free stuff and getting photographed and dancing to random LA bands that should be crazy famous but aren’t and eating and drinking. Big thanks to Cartel: Collaborative Arts L.A. for putting together such a creative and spirited event.

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Smell ya later!

Max Landis and Almie Rose Apocalypstick

Trustworthy, honorable, sober, etc.

A few days ago, Max Landis shared something gross and fascinating with me. Naturally. He brought to my attention something I wasn’t aware existed and would probably be okay with never knowing existed.

I am talking about Pheromone Parties.

What is that? You may ask. Yourself. Where does that highway go to? I’m sorry, I have an affliction where I occasionally segue way into Talking Heads lyrics. But that’s not important right now. A Pheromone Party is where you go to meet someone you want to date/fall in love with/bang with a twist: BYOS — bring your own shirt. But before you bring it, you have to sleep it in for three nights in a row and then take it off and leave it sealed in a plastic bag (the longer the better). I hope I never feel like that plastic bag. Then you bring it to the party. And when that bag opens, that’s when it all goes down. To quote their website:

  1. Bags are placed on a table. Guests smell the bags at their leisure throughout the party.
  2. If a guest finds the smell attractive, they take a picture with the bag at a photographer station. These pictures are projected as a slide show on the wall at the party.
  3. If you see a picture of a guest you find attractive holding your number, this is the greenlight to talk to them. Haaaay.
Minty fresh!
As gross as I find this concept I also find it interesting. First of all, I think the last thing anyone needs is to be rejected for smelling the worst out of all of the smelly t-shirts. Also I’m glad I’m not single because if I were I would have to go to this and try it and report back. I’ll still go but I’m not bringing a dank t-shirt. Also I would cheat by rolling my tee around in a nice pumpkin pie, because apparently that’s a scent that men love. I read it in a study. With the candlestick. And Mrs. Peacock. But I can’t deny that I like my boyfriend’s t-shirts. I like how they smell. And that’s the whole point of this. We’re all gross and we like how we smell. Because we’re basically jerks who walk around smelling for love. And then when we smell something we like, we bang it. Or marry it.
Here is my favorite tip:

“Some things for women to consider:

Strippers get more tips when ovulating. It is not proven whether this is because of pheromones or just actions, but worth considering for coordinating your odor print phase.”

This entire party sounds awesome. Can someone please go to this and report back? Are you adventurous enough to go? Wouldn’t this be the best “…and that’s how I met your mother” story ever?

But most of all, what do you think  — is this idea legit? Do you like how your dude or lady smells?

Get thee to Cinefamily on April 5th.


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How to have fun at parties.


There’s the obvious answer: get drunk. But sometimes you don’t want to drink. Like…uh…when you already feel nauseous! Or you’re pregnant (ew). Or you’re allergic. Or someone is paying you not to. Yeah, those are pretty much the only situations where you wouldn’t drink at a party.

In this scenario you have fallen under one of those situations, you poor soul. So what do you do to keep things interesting? I have some ideas.

Make up things about your life. It’s not lying if you’re joking inside. Here are some answers I’ve used in the past to the dreaded question, “What do you do?”

— “I’m Sharon Stone’s personal assistant. I mostly get her dry cleaning and go with her parties. Helps her feel young again.”

— “I work at a zoo.” (“Doing what?”) “Animal stuff.”

— “I am the Internet.”

Feel free to adopt these!

Instagram the shit out of everything. I accidentally addicted to Instagram (follow me @apocalypstick.) By taking artsy bullshit photos you force yourself to have fun and force those following you to see how much fun you’re having. I promise you that you will not be the only swine on Instagram at that party. And who cares? You’re sassy.

Take control over the music. As a host, there is nothing more annoying than someone hijacking your ipod/record player/DJ/string quartet but as a guest, there is nothing more annoying than rubbish music. Here are some classic jams that everyone secretly loves to get the party swinging :

— “Kiss From A Rose” by Seal.

— “Don’t Stop Believing” by Journey. If you play the Glee version, just get the fuck out.

— anything Stevie Wonder.

— “Get What You Give” by New Radicals.

— “Save Tonight” by Eagle Eye Cherry.

Think, “would this make a good story?” and if the answer is yes, do it. Basically, standing awkwardly without speaking to anyone does not make a good story.


Try these and report back.


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Early Is The New Late.

Photo of my dear friend Laura taken by me.

My new mantra: showing up early is the new showing up late. I am so sick of pretending to be too cool to arrive anywhere before 11. It’s asinine. The people who show up”fashionably late” don’t arrive late because they’re busy all evening, no; they arrive late because they are simply killing time in order to arrive late. Just put on your clothes and get there when it starts. Then we can all be home by a reasonable time. If I show up on time or early in the evening then by the time I leave your dumb ass is just arriving.

But here’s the thing, events are actually usually better when there’s less people there. People crowd you in, form lines for drinks, and eat all the food. I’m taking a stand. In short, people ruin parties. If a party goes from 9:30 – 11 and there’s an after party until 1, I am going to show up around 9:30, get a drink without having to wait, get photographed, and then get out of there. I did my part. I have a really busy evening. I have episodes of Four Weddings lined up on my DVR. That’s shit that I need to see.

My friend Kimme and I once went to one of those regular dance things at  typical LA bar/lounge (I don’t mean we did it once, we did it lots of times, this is one example) and we got there right when it started and it was almost empty and the bartender made fun of us. Guess what, buddy? The way we saw it, we won! We got to get drinks quickly AND get prime seats and HEAR OURSELVES TALK. It’s not my fault that you have to work there, chief. I’m sure if I had your job I would hate it too. It probably sucks to have to serve indulgent hipsters wearing Liza Minelli stretch pants. Life choices, friend. Take it from me, the girl who watches Four Weddings and Dr. Phil for hours and winds up staying up late not because she was out at the cool party she left hours ago but because she was really involved in Dr. Phil and his lovely wife Robin helping a poor woman reunite with her drug addicted father who killed her mother when she was young.

That’s life you guys.

When you get invited to a party, when do you show up? Do you plan to get there when it starts? Do you make a conscious decision to go later because, “It won’t really start until then anyway”? Or am I going all Larry David over this, AKA, thinking too hard about something really simple?

You can read more about my party life here and here but I wouldn’t recommend it.


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