Sass & Bite

"If you want to tell people the truth, make them laugh, otherwise they'll kill you" Oscar Wilde

Month: May, 2014

PSA: Instagram Breaks are Good for Your Mental Health but Terrible for Your Overall Outlook on Humanity

So I’m writing what is, by my modest calculation, my 863rd cover letter. And it’s difficult. And boring. And I wish I could just write an offer for sexual favors in exchange for a job under my contact info heading and leave it at that.

But alas, my attorneys have assured me that would be unwise. So I took a brief recess to check up with everyone on Instagram.

I fondly laughed at the Flashback Friday to when Gucci Mane told the judge “Bitch I might be” when asked if he was guilty.
Jealously “liked” my friend’s photo outside the Sydney Opera House.
Made a mental note to check out the restaurant where someone tagged a really, really, ridiculously good-looking meal.
Pretty standard stuff.

And then. As I was scrolling past this lady’s photo of her new baby in his bedroom — because I’m generally not all that interested in strangers’ babies on the internet, you’ll probably be relieved to learn — I noticed one of the comments from a helpful Samaritan:

“Ah how cute! But you probably didn’t know that you shouldn’t have plants in you’re bedroom, it sucks up all the oxygen that you’re body need when you sleeping![sic]” (*Followed by a plant and green heart emojis).

I copied that exactly. That is what it says. To the letter.

And then, a few comments down, after a couple deadpan comments from people with a better grasp of science and also basic common sense, she got some backup:

“That is the first think I noticed too, Plants don’t belong in the bedroom. Your baby is adorable”[sic].

So I laughed, because honestly, it’s pretty funny. I don’t even have any snappy commentary, it’s just amusing.

Except then I realized they’re allowed to vote and also reproduce : (


Apparently Vegan Buffalo Wings are a Thing

I don’t want to live in a world where vegan buffalo things exist.

And count as someone’s “guilty pleasure”.

Shout-Out to Sunglasses

Nothing like killing a bottle of tequila and a gallon jug of cheap wine between three people to remind you that you’re no spring chicken anymore. As I sit here praying for a swift death, rockin’ my largest pair of shades to protect against the glare of my computer screen, I’m reminded what a blessing my aviators are. So here’s to sunglasses, for easing our hangovers, making us look dramatic or mysterious, and letting us covertly stare at the people around us.

*Ed. note: I’m not a complete derelict, this was supposed to post on Sunday. Disclaimer, I’m not hungover on a Tuesday. This isn’t college. 578727cd0f84758ceb2211b9d057a3cb 95ea1d8b7fac036abbb51237dd57e4bd 311f4fc25ac71ca68cf519451efd5fb1 0b5c1743133631cfe9420ddf6b43ff01 5684196264a18ae72055c1b5d2e130e7 84b6cafc831e959bdaeb034c9ab7fb5e 827c9f9b8ed27d02c0f9ba18b712976e tumblr_m95cfo5dDf1qfrtudo1_500 f6c74c79c98495f29c2dc7cfe327521e 03c8e6cceda91ac9600721e37826e84c 2c1a47cee1c0911cff6cff1a3074e26a b213a2e052dd1dedb0e71391a3771763 0084d928e9710c116b9fe37ab4870c76 ecd4e977580f63356d3436101be80877 d9987445d9d4f769b83b536f534eea34 c465225518963a2a9a27081469ddb898

Things my Mom was Right About

So Mother’s Day is this Sunday. I have a little something for mother, who is extremely difficult to buy gifts for, and obviously we’ll be doing nice things for her on Sunday, probably involving food and flowers. But perhaps my greatest gift to her will be admitting that perhaps, over the course of my life, there have been a handful of times she was right about stuff.

Things My Mom was Right About:

1. Your face really will stick that way.

2. Anything worth doing is worth doing well.

3. I wasn’t dying of flesh-eating bacteria.

4. My childhood dalliance with dark lipliner and light lipstick is best not spoken of.

5. Dish soap removes most stains from clothing.

6. I wasn’t dying of botulism.

7. Not enough real food makes me terrible to be around.

8. Clean as you go.

9. It wasn’t a tumor.

10. Abercrombie & Fitch is a terrible company and they’re best avoided.

11. Clean out your car while you’re waiting for the tank to fill at the gas station.

12. I wasn’t dying of Toxic Shock Syndrome.


Happy Mother’s Day!

Thai (Vaguely) Chopped Salad


One of my culinary pastimes is creating salad versions of other foods I like. Do I sound like a diet-fixated Housewife contestant with too much time on her hands? Possibly, but screw you, salads are great. And because I’m all about looks, I like that they’re attractive.  At least until I start enthusiastically shoveling them in my mouth.


I should say, salads with a lot of stuff in them are great. Substance. Anyway, a few weeks ago I was craving spicy peanut sauce — not an actual dish, mind you, just the sauce — and decided to get my fix through my other craving, for a salad. Behold, this pretty thing.


I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you’re capable of the putting-the-salad-together part without too much guidance. I’ve been losing a lot of faith in humanity recently, but I’m holding out on this one. Guidelines follow, as well as a rough recipe for peanut sauce.



Napa cabbage, chopped
Bean sprouts, ends trimmed
Whole carrots, skins removed and then peeled or finely sliced
Cucumbers, finely sliced or chopped
Shredded chicken
Green onion, diced
Cilantro, chopped

Get everything into more or less bite-sized form and combine in a bowl.

Peanut Sauce

*Based on my friend’s mom’s Vietnamese recipe, which I don’t know how different it is from Thai and I don’t really care because it was good, so there. And because I can’t leave things alone, I threw some other stuff in there. See the end of the previous sentence if you have an objection to this.

1 tsp. hoisin sauce
2 tbls. smooth peanut butter
1/2 tsp. sesame oil
splash of orange juice
clove of garlic, crushed or minced
Sriracha to taste

Warm the hoisin and peanut butter gently over low heat, then stir in everything else. Put on top of salad. Consume.

Also, those measurements are almost entirely bullshit. I just mixed stuff until I had the right ratio. I know I’m annoying, I’ll do better next time. Until then, just play around until you get it right.

Drunk at the School Carnival: How Being Accosted in a Bathroom by a Drunken Carnie Basically Sums Up My Life at this Point

Like my uncanny ability to always choose the worst chocolate from the box, or the most expensive item in any array of objects, my ability to attract the crazies is just a defining part of me. And not in the Jack Keroac sense either. Luckily, I appreciate the color (and often the smell) they add to my life.

On Saturday night I reunited with some grade school chums at our annual school carnival, which I can pretty much guarantee is the bougiest, most impressive school carnival you’ll ever see, thanks to a high concentration of Showbiz parents and a healthy amount of show-off tendencies. Anyway, now that we’re old enough to descend upon the margarita and beer booths for something other than asking our parents for ride ticket money, we decided to spend our Saturday night getting drunk, jamming to a live performance of 90’s hits by Sugar Ray, and stalking our old classmates and teachers. Because obviously.

But that’s not the point. That’s just gravy. The point is that as I was waiting in line for the bathroom, perfectly composed and minding my own business, I thought of a funny incident — and by incident, I mean the fact that at one point our school janitor used to mop the bathroom floors with toilet water — and smiled to myself. This was my first mistake, and I should know better than to take off my bitchface around strangers, cause it never ends well, but whatever.

The middle-aged, tore-up-looking bleached blonde woman, who was clearly inebriated and almost definitely a carnie, turned around from the mirror where she had been vaguely examining/admiring herself witnessed this. So she turned around and kindly (I think) said (slurred), “you ok?”.
To which I smiled (I’m a friendly drunk), and said yes.
To which she helpfully replied, “’cause you look pretty drunk. And not ok. Kgnjnv.”
“Nope, I’m golden. Pinky promise”.
Then she smiled (if a smile could slur, this would be it) and walked (shambled) out, probably to operate heavy machinery filled with children.

I shrugged and said, half to myself and half to the 15 year old girl and her friend standing next to me, “she’s not wrong”.
To which she said “what? Did you say that’s your mom?” (Um, offensive, in retrospect)
“No, I said she’s not wrong”
“. . . So you are drunk?”
I was only mildly buzzed, but I just smiled and winked at her.

But she didn’t care and gave her friend a look, cause they’re 15 and too cool and I’m old and weird and drunk at a school carnival.

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