Birthday, bah humbug

Friday is my 28th birthday.
Over the years, I have developed an ambivalent relationship with birthdays. It’s not easy getting old. Actually, it sucks. Every year brings a new symptom of aging that would make my younger self cringe. This year’s kick in the ass was the debut of my senior citizen hair. All of a sudden, out of nowhere, nappy white and gray hairs popped up all over my head. “What the fuck!?” I would scream at the stranger in the mirror. How did this happen? I’m so young! OH, the inhumanity!

Cue scream:

After my nervous breakdown, I took to the plucking route. You know, the thing that everyone tells you not to do. Yeah, I did that. I plucked and plucked until my scalp was sore.  Then the fuckers grew back and they sprouted straight up towards the sky. It was real attractive. I gave up. I had to dye it. There was no other choice.

Good bye, natural black hair!

Hello, John Frieda’s “natural black” hair!

John Frieda Precision Foam Colour Luminous Natural Black 2N 1 Each [717226170744]

Now I’m 28. What will it be this year?! skin tags? wrinkles? extra body hair? The suspense is killing me.


Last Saturday I took a trip to the Museum of Modern Art with my good friend from college. It was the last day for the Magritte exhibit so the place was bursting at the seams with smelly artists and hipsters. It reminded me of the sweaty dance parties we used to throw in college, minus the dancing, alcohol, and fun.
I’m not really the “art viewing” type of person but the MOMA has many famous pieces in their permanent collection that I appreciate, including, but not limited to, “A Starry Night” by Van Goh, “Christina’s World” by Andrew Wyeth, and “The Persistance of Memory” by Salvador Dali.

I’ve come to realize that the attraction of the MOMA is not the art, but the glorious selfie opportunities that the art provides. A “selfie” is a photo that one takes of one’s self. It wasn’t just one person taking selfies it was EVERY SINGLE PERSON in that museum. Even the dopes that carry around their IPads were joining in the fun. Honestly, IPad person, you look like an asshole. I saw one moron grab a sculpture for a “funny” selfie. A security guard almost tasered her. Anything for “the shot”.

Did I Participate in selfie Saturday at the MOMA? Of fucking course. It was too good to pass up. In fact, I went above and beyond the traditional selfie by asking others to take the picture for me. It was epic.

A Starry Night? who cares! Salvador Dali? Who’s that? Is my hair good? Okay, take the picture. :Smile: :Shoot: :Filter: :Hashtag: :Post:- Trip to MOMA complete.


Then, just as we were about to leave, we spotted someone wearing the same exact outfit as me. At that moment I made two decisions: 1) To never shop at Target on black Friday again 2) To follow the chick around until I got a shot worthy of social media posting.
Now that you’ve finished reading this post, do yourself a favor and search #MOMA on Instagram. It will make you laugh. I promise.

Juice Head

I’m a self proclaimed juice head. Not the Jersey Shore type of juice head, but the actual juicing type of juice head. While I thoroughly enjoy the sport of juicing, it can be a real pain in the buns. Clean, peel, cut, core, juice, drink, clean- Way too much work for one friggin glass of juice. In the real world (not my world) where people have jobs (not me),  juicing is much too time consuming to do regularly. 


At one point in my short lived juicing career, I was juicing once a week. Then I started storing my juicer, AKA the Situation, in a not-so-convenient location. It was all down hill from there. Today, I took the Sitch out of hiding and blew the dust off his parts. He looked so happy to see me, and I could not wait to light his ass up like a Saturday night at the Shore!


I choose my flavors by scanning the fridge and determining what fruit or veggie is closest to rotting. It’s a pretty quick selection process. If you look funky and smell funky then you’re gettin’ thrown in the Situation. The rotting treasures of choice are always the shining stars of my juices. Today, I happened to have expiring strawberries and oranges. Lucky for me, they are a nice flavor combination.


One lesson I learned during today’s juicing session is that it may be more economical to blend strawberries into a smoothie with other soft foods, like bananas, because the Situation extracts lots of good pulp. Of course,  this pulp, like all pulp, could be used in a number of different recipes or it could just be eaten right out of the pulp catcher thingy, but why go through the hassle of scraping out pulp when it can just be blended into a delicious smoothie.


One pint of strawberries and two naval oranges make about 16 oz of juice. It’s amazing how much fruit it takes to make one friggin glass! This is something to keep in mind when you first start to juice. Here’s a basic list of approximate fruit to juice ratios:
2 naval oranges= 8 oz juice
2 grapefruit= 8 oz juice
3 medium carrots + 1 Apple= 8 oz juice
3 Golden Delicious Apples= 8 oz juice
1/3 pineapple= 8 oz juice

If you don’t have your own Situation and you are looking for one that won’t break the bank then check out the Jack LaLanne Power Juicer. We bought this for my mother in law and she loves it. Go ahead and treat yourself to a sitch! You deserve it!


Crackpot Robs

I have a friend named Parch. Actually, her “real” name is Sarah…

I know what you’re thinking. Sarah? How average. Yeah, that’s what we (“we” being a hilarious group of drunken like minded individuals) thought too. So imagine our excitement when T9 mistook the spelling of her name for PARCH. We were elated! Finally, a solution for the name Sarah! At that moment, Parch was born. There was no going back. This is how it had to be. T9’s reign of texting bloops lasted only for a moment, but Parch is forever.

Personally, I was saddened by the loss of T9. This, of course, was before I learned of the joys of auto correct. If you have not fallen victim to this ingenious function of the smartphone it is important that you visit the website

:Sigh: Oh, auto correct, how I love thee ❤

Actually, since we are on the topic, auto correct chose the name of this post! The original title was “Crock Pot Ribs” (Borrrrrrringg). Auto correct decided that a better name would be “Crackpot Robs” and I couldn’t agree more! Crack is the perfect way to describe these robs. Sometimes you just have to let the computers do the work, ya know?

Let’s get down to business, crackpot business. The last meal we ate in 2013 was Crackpot Robs, more commonly known as spareribs made in the crockpot. The first step in this recipe is ditching your crackpot and purchasing the Ninja Multi-cooker.


This black beauty has a stove top, oven, and slow cook function. This will allow you to sear the ribs (both sides) in the cooker before you turn switch to the slow cook mode. Of course, you can always sear the ribs in a separate frying pan before placing it in the slow cooker, but then you will have to clean that extra pan…and that sucks.

Before seasoning and searing make sure that the membrane is removed and that the individual ribs are sliced halfway through. My butcher at K & T Quality Meats in Astoria, NY did all of this for me [Thanks, Butch!], and it turned out more beautiful than I could have ever imagined. So beautiful, in fact, that I was tempted to pull a Lady Gaga and wear the meaty rack as an evening gown. Lucky for all, I have no idea how to assemble a meat dress and no shoes to match.


Before searing, season the meat generously with salt and pepper or any preferred meat seasoning. We used Grill Mates Montreal Steak seasoning.


After searing, throw those meaty bones into the crackpot and cover them in crack sauce, also known as Sweet Baby Rays. I love Sweet Baby Ray’s almost as much as I love auto correct, except more. If I could bathe in Sweet Baby Ray’s, I would. Set your crackpot to 8 hours (on low) and let it work it’s magic.


These crackpot robs slathered in crackpot sauce are nothing short of crack itself. You will want more and more, and when you realize there are none left you WILL have a child-like tantrum. Unfortunately, they were made on New Years Eve and I was too drunk to remember to take a photo of the finished product. In fact, there is a chance that my child-like tantrum had more to do with the alcohol then the robs…Happy 2014 Everyone!

Chicken Soup for the Passive Aggressive Person’s Soul

Every day for the past eight years I have had the same conversation with my husband. It goes a little like this:

“Want _______ for dinner?”

“No, not really.”

No matter what meal is inserted into this daily conversation, “No” is always his response. He has not yet figured out that this question is completely rhetorical and what I’m really saying is, “This is what your having for dinner…and YA GONNA LIKE IT!”

Nevertheless, we have this discussion every day and today was no different. Around two o’clock I asked him, “Do you want chicken soup for dinner?”, and he responded with his usual reply of a prompt and definitive “No”. So I countered this with my usual response of ignoring his response and went to work on the soup.


I used a recipe that was featured in Better Homes and Gardens in December 2012. Did I mention that I hoard magazines? Well, suprise! I hoard magazines! Add that to my list of desirable personality traits. Anyway The actual name of this recipe is Chicken Pot Pie Soup but in our house we call it a Bowl O’Passive Aggression.


I followed this recipe almost exactly. The key word being almost. I had used the last of my chili powder on the damn , so I had to improvise a little. I did a quick google search for “chili powder substitutes” and found that cumin mixed with oregano makes a similar flavor. This was a great solution! I have cumin and oreg…? Shit, I didn’t have oregano either (womp, womp). So I improvised some more and decided that italian seasoning would work just fine. Oregano-Italian Seasoning. Tom8o-Tomotto. Same-Same.


This soup really bit me in the ass because I didn’t enjoy the curry flavor too much BUT my husband La-oved it! He was oooohing and aaaaahing. It was great. This sweet victory was enough to satisfy my hunger… No, not really, I’m starving.

Lasagna Iwannaeatya Pan

There’s nothing that turns me on more than durable cookware. A deep dish that can handle lots of heat and hard banging is the key to my heart. Just thinking about all the potential banging makes me sweat a little.
I must have mentioned this once or twice before, because this year I received 3 different lasagna pans for Christmas. I love them all, but i must admit that I have a favorite and her name is Lasagna Iwannaeatya Pan. This purple, diamond studded beauty is two legs short of walking the runway with Ru Paul.


With the strength of a man and the fashion sense of a woman, Lasagna Iwannaeatya Pan is the apple of my eye and the drag queen of my cabinet. This sexy bitch is my new arm candy (Sorry, husband! ), and I can’t wait to show her ass the pleasures of a moist casserole.

Anybody know the number for the TLC show “Strange Sex”? I’m feeling qualified.

If you are interested in purchasing a sexy bitch of your own then check out 🙂

Thank you, Yahoo

Yesterday, I was searching the word parmigian and up popped the header, “I ate her out, she tasted like parmigian cheese, help!! Should I ” Naturally, I was intrigued. What was the end of that sentence? I needed to know, and I needed to know NOW. Shaking with excitement, I clicked on the link. My eyes widened as a read each line and at that moment I knew what I had to do.


First of all, a cheesy smelling vagina is NOT a good thing, my friend. I suggest you start applying some Monistat for men before you develop your own cheesy funk.

Secondly, you clearly only have two options here: tell her that her puzzy stinks of parmesan OR keep your mouth shut and ride out the smelly vagina train as long as it will last. Let’s review the consequences of each:

Option One: Telling her that her puzzy smells may result in:
– Her seeking treatment for the obvious infection that is gnawing at her labia. Unfortunately for you, treatment of this smelly va-jay-jay will turn the scent off. On the brightside, you be able to eat a bowl of spaghetti without getting a hard-on.
– She may actually appreciate your love of her scent and stop showering to make it smell more. This may or may not work in your favor.

Option Two: Riding the smelly vagina train may result in:
– Her infection worsening, which could cause the production of actual cheese.
– The Worsening of your own condition, Spaghetti Erectile Syndrome (SES).

It’s pretty clear that the best option is to go ahead and tell her about the parmesan scent that is lingering between her legs. If your girlfriend rejects you for spilling your heart, don’t fret. There are plenty of fish in the Craigslist sea and I’m sure at least one of them smells of cheese. I beg of you, please keep on asking Yahoo questions. We, the public, can help you make these tough life decisions, and more importantly, we want to help.

Mall Madness

Mall food courts are awesome. These cheap versions of Epcot offer a (sort-of) culturally diverse dining experience for those on a budget. In one sitting you can have a sushi roll from Japan, an egg roll from China, and a chicken roll from Italy. So many countries with so many rolls. How can you go wrong, right? Some how the Arnot Mall got this great American pleasure (and obesity enabler) SO wrong. I’m sure Super China, the star of the Arnot Mall food court, was a hopping place in 1995 but it has worn out its welcome. The man who took my order had some food left on his face from an earlier meal. This should have been enough to turn me away,  but it did not.


There is a silver lining to this story! The Arnot mall has prepared for the potential food poisoning deaths of Super China by adding the Granite Art store to it’s thrilling selection of retailers. In this store you can pick out and design your own headstone. What a unique asset to a shopping mall! I’m sure all of the parents bringing their small children to take pictures with Santa want to make a pit stop to pick out a headstone and explain death to their kids. Bravo, Arnot. This is fucking brilliant.


In conclusion, the Arnot Mall sucks but is super convenient if you need to purchase a sweater and a headstone for your pet.

Open Mic at Quays Pub: Astoria

I am obsessed with open mic nights. So when my friend invited me to open mic night at Quays Pub I jumped at the opportunity. Typically, I prefer to go by myself and fool people into thinking I’m a talent scout by sitting in a corner and taking notes, but I figured going with a group would be just as fun.

The crowds of young, drunk people usually drive out bar flies on open mic nights. Lucky for us, the bar flies of Quays Pub stuck around and performed. Among the stars was a toothless Paul Shaffer doppelganger and a singer whose drunken croons ranged from Billy Joel to ACDC.


I got so caught up in open mic night that I totally forgot to tell you about Quays Pub. Bad, Sally! I have lived in Astoria for 5 years and have never heard of Quays Pub. I am really upset about this. Why, world?! Why have you been keeping Quays Pub from me?! This cozy bar has tin tile ceilings, a faux library and smiling (Irish!) bartenders. It’s just perfect for an after work drink, or in my case, an after no work drink.

The Dirty Mind of a Bored Cook

While sifting through my Betty Crocker cookbook, a guilty pleasure of mine, I started to have some dirty thoughts about these so-called recipes. Each one is a cheap porno flick waiting to happen!

Take the snickerdoodles, for example:

Heat your oven to 400 degrees and make sure it’s hot because that’s what mama likes. Take a hard, wooden spoon and mix together 1 1/2 cups sugar, margarine, shortening and eggs. mix it hard, real hard. What’s that? You’re all wet? Well, here come your friends to make it all better. Welcome to the party flour, cream of tartar (he’s naughty), baking soda and salt. Once the party gets started there should be nothing but wet balls. Roll these balls around in your hands and cover them in cinnamon and sugar. Bake these balls until they are nice and firm. Let cool and eat like this:

Okay! Okay! So I added the last part but you have to admit that it is pretty easy to relate to the wet mess waiting for the dry ingredients to get to the party. Come on! We’ve all been there! No? Okay, so maybe it’s only me then.