Friday, March 20, 2015

the seven types of bitches you run into at the club.

1 the bitch whose feet are fucking killing her. THANK YOU, BASED GOD, FOR OLD NAVY ACTIVE COMPRESSION PANTS. i decided a long time ago that i would just patiently wait for high-waisted underpants and threadbare cardigans to come in style, and until they do i'm not really gonna try that goddamn hard. i never want to go anywhere or do anything, but it's kind of hard to be a person if you don't. i just want to eat ribs in my jammies and text my vote for that one girl on the voice 137 times, not spend my rent money on tequila and cabs while wearing uncomfortable shoes and pants that dig into my soft meat. which is why i fucking don't anymore. i went to the club this past weekend and, you know what? SHIT AIN'T CHANGED. dudes will still elbow you in the jaw to beat you to the 1/2 inch of empty space at the bar into which they must wedge themselves to order a drink, and ladies are still tiptoeing through the used condoms and discarded needles in too-small fake louboutins. not me, though. fuck a stiletto. i wear crocs and compression stockings because i'm one of those people who is good at learning from the mistakes of others. that's why i wear my pajamas to the disco, because i like to let my shit hang. my discomfort has never been appropriately rewarded. every fish i've ever dragged out of the sea was caught tangled up in a pair of support hose, because my ankles are swollen. BUT MY FEET FEEL FUCKING AMAZING.

2 the bitch who really did come for the food. this is me, at your company party: hovering suspiciously close to the crab dip with my belt unbuckled, nibbling directly from the assorted snack trays while trying to avoid getting locked into an excruciating conversation with someone boring. the nightlife landscape is changing: no longer are you forced to leave the party spot to hit up the tamale cart or dank shawarma hole to soak up all those appletinis you let someone's recently-widowed dad buy for you! never again will you have to eat a bowl of rice, six fig newtons, and half a peanut butter sandwich while doing your makeup trying to fill up your stomach before pouring a bunch of overpriced beers into it! i don't know how it is where you live, but chicago is fucking full of these places all of a sudden, and it's the goddamn best. especially if you're one of those people who like to look occupied so no one in the bar will suspect how lonely and terrible she is in real life. CAN'T TELL THAT THESE FEELINGS ARE SAD IF I'M BUSY EATING THEM CAN YOU, BRO. um, what. anyway, food is good. shit what am i even talking about anymore.


4 the zooey deschanel bitch. i do not believe in whimsical humans. bjork? whimsical human. amelie? whimsical fictional human. YOU in a too-small cupcake printed modcloth dress and messy pigtails turning cartwheels in the middle of a disco? ANNOYING REGULAR PERSON WHO HAS WATCHED 500 DAYS OF SUMMER TOO MANY GODDAMN TIMES. you've seen her: the bitch with a live bird in her purse who skips through restaurants and signs for the fed ex delivery with a teeny little adorable heart. or the one with an entire potted plant in her hair doing public cartwheels with her shoes off while hurling confetti at passing cars. the baby voices and the ladybug cupcakes and the getting glitter all over the place: EXHAUSTING. and they're everywhere. k and i were at 3 dots a few months ago and, after approximately 37 banana daiquiris and a bunch of shrimp, i decided i had to pee aka vomit. and the one thing standing between me and the safety and comfort of a tiki-themed bathroom was an asshole with pastel fairy wings affixed to her back. and she was doing this arm-waving dance with her eyes closed that made it nearly impossible to get around her without accidentally getting an eye clawed out. she was whirling and swirling to a beat i couldn't hear; when i went left she swerved left, and when i tried right she pirouetted right. listen, i don't give a fuck if you want to wear pinafores with puppies printed on them. i really don't. but i for real peed a little bit in my one good pair of outside pants because a chick with white people dreads was pretending to be some sort of wood nymph in the middle of a goddamn disco. and i'm mad about it. everything is goddamned terrible.

5 the bitch who throws up. speaking of, i have vomited in so many amazing places! this is the unfortunate byproduct of all of those newfangled hotspots what with all of their complicated craft cocktails and elaborately-styled appetizers: hey bro, how the fuck am i supposed to resist both and plate of deviled eggs and a drink with no fewer than seventeen handpicked, locally sourced ingredients!? I AM ONLY HUMAN, OKAY. so let me get that venison hot dog with the asian pickled slaw on top and three, no i mean four, roman holidays. and yes i will take that shot of patron greg just bought for the table, thank you very much. what was that? you want me to dance real fucking hard and potentially dislocate a hip because this bearded hipster DJ in a librarian sweater just put "murder she wrote" on to be ironical? DON'T MIND IF I DO. nah, i don't need a water, just hand me that half-empty champagne flute i'm not really sure belongs to me. hold up they have ice cream brownie m&m caramel doughnut profiterole snickers cake here!? JAM.

6 the bitch who is spoiling for a fight. i have been in two bar fights in my life. #1 like the champion i am, i ripped my shirt off hulk hogan style over my rippling chest and muscular abs before proceeding to break the jaws of every single motherfucker in the room without so much as smudging my eyeliner. #2 SEE NUMBER ONE.
just kidding, my dude. the first time i wanted to show how tough i was by breaking a bottle of corona on the edge of the bar and threatening to stab this bitch who had just rudely yanked my friend from the adjacent barstool by her ponytail with the jagged remains, but what really happened was i busted that shit, sprayed my friend and only ally in the face with flying shrapnel and lukewarm beer, then opened my bloody hand to find a giant shard of glass embedded squarely in the middle of my palm. horrified by the sight of my life line cut neatly in half and the alcohol-thinned blood pooling rapidly around the wound, i put my head down on the bar while my girl tried to use her car key to dislodge it. the second attempt my homie and i were executing a perfectly synchronized reenactment of the kid and play dance from the first house party movie and i'm not even really sure how things devolved, but one of us might have ended the night trying to catch a cab with a black eye and someone else's shirt on. ahem.

7 the bitch who gave birth to you. hells yeah, baby: KAREN FINALLY GOT A MOTHERFUCKING DIVORCE.


Thursday, March 5, 2015

how to survive the death of a friendship.

it's like taking a motherfucking bullet. worse than the cancellation of your favorite tv show, worse than a heart-shattering romantical breakup, kicking your icecreamcryingpajamafriend to the curb (or finding yourself choking on gutter water because she's sick of you and your shit) is the most painful thing a girl could ever go through, and i'm an orphan who has tried to remove her own skin tags with dental floss. i know from severe emotional and physical pain. and i know what you're thinking, "WHO WOULD EVER WANT TO STOP BEING YOUR FRIEND, SAM" and the answer is: three or four dummies i had to search through my gmail contacts to delete because i got hacked and the thought of spamming that one jerkface with phony weight loss URLs and uncashed nigerian royalty checks was motherfucking excruciating. i couldn't let her know that my password choice was weak, I AM TRYING TO BE THE WINNER OF THIS BREAKUP. because i'm petty.

i'm not even really sure that "getting over it" is something i'm even good at yet. my friendships are too goddamn important for me to just shrug and walk away and erase them from my mind forever. i'm proud to say that despite my shitty disposition i haven't lost very many friends, so i haven't had a lot of practice going through these motions and turning up cured and happy on the other side. frankly, i might be kind of crappy at this. and i don't know whether or not it's healthy to be good at it? i've gotten over romantic relationships in the time it takes to get that tricky plastic ring off the lid of a pint of ben and jerry's, but i still wake up in the middle of the night haunted by that one person who doesn't speak to me any more because of the thing i didn't mean to do but couldn't convince him of otherwise. I AM STILL VERY SORRY, STEVE.

a couple days ago i was scrolling through the cemetery that is my linkedin profile when a skeleton clawed its way out of the shallow grave i'd buried it in and was like, "CONGRATULATE ME ON MY PROMOTION, YOU BITCH." first of all, what is linkedin really for. i've been at the same job for almost thirteen years and all my motherfucking endorsements are the same as your 8th grade sister's: "good at social media!" "knows how to make columns in microsoft excel!!" (kind of) "can make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich while texting!!!" i only have that shit so i can look at all the lies bitches i went to high school with are telling. anyway, i was surprised that the skeleton hadn't wiped me clean from all of her internet platforms. that asshole must really want me to know that red lobster has no glass ceiling. "good for you, whore," i mumbled to myself as my mouse hovered over the remove connection button. and then i felt sad.

sometimes the shit is a relief, like when those convenience friendships you make on the job where you hope that bitch quits or gets fired before you have to figure out how to tactfully leave her off the invite list for your baby shower dissipate when she suddenly has to move out of state. and other times it feels fucking amazing, like when you get to charge a particularly egregious bitch to the game in a spectacular goddamned way after she's wronged you. but mostly it's just HELLA AWKWARD, like when you ghost after an unresolved text fight or block a bitch on facebook while hoping that she knows you get custody of that brunch spot with those bourbon drinks.

you could think about apologizing, but i don't. because forgiveness is a slippery slope into indentured servitude and man fuck that. if you fucked up, say sorry like you mean it and hope for the best. just be ready for her to tell you to hit the goddamn bricks. and if she does? pack your shit and get the fuck out. but if she toys with you and makes you beg while she "thinks about it" and you dangle at the end of her rope you gotta bail on that, too. remember that one dude you took back after he fucked your sister and stole thirty bucks out of your pants in the middle of the night? for the next [insert laughably short amount of time here] it took him to fuck up again, i know what you did: BROUGHT THAT SHIT UP EVERY CHANCE YOU GODDAMN GOT. that's what i would do.
bruh: "i can't pay for dinner."
sam: "but remember that time you cheated?"
bruh: "i'm too tired to bang you." 
sam: "but remember that time you cheated?"
bruh: "i'll take the garbage out tomorrow." 
sam: "but remember that time you cheated?"
bruh: "i'm sorry, boo. i cheated again." 

not me, homie. i refuse to spend friendship 2.0 curtsying and paying for all the snacks. either we retreat to our respective corners to lick our wounds for a week then forget all about it, or we set it on fire and move on. i'm for real trying to have my life be like steel magnolias, but people are shit and life is terrible and sometimes it just doesn't work out the way i want it to. here's how i cope:

1 you get one day to be the heidi montag to her lauren conrad. this is hard with ladyfriends since, because they aren't shitty, emotionally reckless dudes, i tend to be more generous with the benefit of the doubt when they do some greasy shit to me. i'm more likely to torment myself for hours on end wondering what i did wrong and how i could've made it better. when i get dumped by a dude it's like, "okay: small dick, didn't go to high school, one of his car doors is a different color than the others, made fun of me for trying to get into green juice, couldn't pronounce nuclear, always snickered when he referred to wednesday as 'humpday,' balding." but with my homies it's like, "um...enviable lipstick collection, killer taste in music, always knows the best happy hour on any given night, SOMEONE PLEASE TELL ME WHAT I DID TO FUCK THIS RELATIONSHIP UP." 

usually it's nothing. you've grown apart, you're making different choices, you're team adam and she's team christina, WHATEVER. even if you did something horrible and malicious how long do you have to beat yourself up for? i say one goddamned day. then you gotta let it go. she's 50 cent, you're young buck, life goes on.

2 don't talk public shit about her to your mutual friends. your tried and true soldiers? BY ALL MEANS, especially if you can devise some sort of litmus test to ensure that they are actually on your side. you don't need any double agents snitching on your hurt feelings. you're trying to look like a g. that one bitch you know just asked you to lunch to try to get you to skulldrag your old roommate so she could post everything you say on twitter? you better stop by the corner store on your way to brunch and grab a new york times or something. you are going to need some current events, sister. you gotta have those cat reflexes ready to deflect even the most innocent-seeming name drop or personal inquiry. it's a trap, b. DO NOT ENGAGE.
her: "hey, did you hear [evil bitchface from hell] got engaged to that ugly guy?"
your ass: "hey, did you hear what benjamin netanyahu said yesterday?"
AWKWARD PAUSE. then start digging in your salad like there's buried treasure at the bottom of it because you don't know shit about world politics. but that bitch doesn't read! eventually she'll get the hint and bring the conversation back around gel manicures or bruno mars or whatever it is young people talk about and then you dudes are all good.

3 unfollow her insta. in twenty years i'ma read this old shit and be like, "unfollow her what the what!?" while adjusting my moon goggles, but until then SORRY BITCH BUT I MUST REMOVE YOU FROM MY NEWSFEED. here are two things that you won't anticipate happening but totally will: 1 the sight of her face is going to make you want to throw up every fucking time you see it and 2 even the smallest of her life's accomplishments will mock you endlessly until some dummy you went to high school with starts reposting that privacy warning that rears its ugly head and clogs up the newsfeed every few months. just block her already. her poorly-lit selfies are of no interest to you anymore.

4 call that one broad you've been meaning to chill with. i am not an "other fish in the sea" type of person. like, if your romantical partner tells you to kick rocks in a real bogus way, i'm the one you want to call to 1 wingman a bad choice for your vagina down at the local watering hole or 2 strip the gears on that motherfucker's car and put dog shit in his mailbox. want a pep talk about how your soulmate is still out there? you probably have a mom for that. need help faking a pregnancy and tricking dude out of a few bucks? i'm already in an uber, sister. BE THERE IN TEN. so i'm not going to lie to you and tell you there's another rainbow out there with with your next best friend sitting underneath it. because there probably isn't. plus you're feeling all touchy and betrayed anyway, and who needs empty platitudes when there are skinny girl pina coladas to be consumed? which is why you should holler at that one broad who keeps instant messaging you on facebook to make plans. stop ignoring her, she could be just the distraction you need. ol' girl was pretty cool in high school, right? from what you can remember!? she never hit on your boyfriend and she let you cheat off her biology final in sophomore year, why not buy her a beer and project all of your newfound rage and insecurity onto her! relationships have been built on less, trust me.

5 juice that lemon. the beautifullest thing about friendships past is that you know all about how silly motherfuckers are in real life, and those are stories you can use to entertain yourself once they've shown you the goddamned door and you're alone in your crib crocheting an afghan out of cat hair while watching every episode of girlfriends you can find on netflix. the hardest thing about being a good friend, for me, is biting my tongue while my friends do and say the stupidest shit ever. have you ever had to keep a straight face while pretending the woman across the table from you is a smart, rational human being as she describes why the items she found while digging through her boyfriend's trash have led her to believe he's cheating on her with a co-worker? no!? WELL I FUCKING HAVE. i basically had to superglue my eyes to keep them from rolling into the back of my head. i've also sat in a car outside an empty apartment building with binoculars trying to catch a friend's cheating lover, because it's what one does when one is a good friend. (turns out we were on the wrong street but whatever.) everyone is dumb and terrible. what was desperate and sad a few years ago is now a hilarious story to tell at cocktail parties. thank you, ex-BFF! at the time i didn't judge that gay man you were talking about getting engaged to, madam, but now that you've dismissed me and i'm the life of the party BAHAHAHAHAHAHA THAT DUDE HAD A BOYFRIEND.

6 be cute at all times and never go to any places you might run into that bitch. a dude is not going to notice your recent experimentation with turquoise eyeliner and harem pants, friend. but you know who will? the one woman in town who has seen your natural hair color. and, unfortunately for you, YOU GUYS AREN'T SPEAKING ANYMORE. remember what i said about custody of brunch? unless you can be sure she will never crave that brisket hash ever again, find a new goddamn spot. 99% of the time i'm sure that your cruel god hates my guts, except for that 1% of the time little baby jesus spends protecting me from running into any of my enemies in awkward public spaces. even though chicago is the largest incestuous small town on the map, i have been fortunate to never have been stuck on a subway car or at a sporting event with anyone i had to pretend not to notice. that shit is exhausting. which is why this frienddeath is the perfect opportunity for you to get out and see some new shit. take that new haircut to a neighborhood you know that bitch would never go to. oh, you're into orange lipstick now? GOOD, why not show it off at the cupcake emporium (that's a thing, right young people?) or at the reggae spot? take this opportunity to explore new surroundings and play with your look and maybe even reinvent your goddamned self, all while trolling for a new best friend who accepts your newfound interest in art and won't remind you every five minutes of that time you peed yourself in the fourth grade.

7 it's okay to be sad sometimes. even years later. a song will come on the radio or something hilarious will happen and you're going to pause mid-text and feel like shit for thirty seconds. it sucks, man. thank god you now have cool hair.

Wednesday, March 4, 2015

easy human meals to make in your tiny joke kitchen.

yesterday morning i had a lunchable for breakfast. don’t worry, it was the bologna and cheese kind so it was v v healthy. here’s the thing, though: I REALLY LIKE TO COOK. the problem is that 1 cooking for myself is kind of boring and 2 it kind of sucks when you threaten to knock mixing bowls and shit off the counters of your miniscule galley kitchen every time you turn a goddamned hip. i used to housesit all the time for wealthy people and their snooty purebred dogs and the best part of that life, hands down, was spending a week or two in a big ass top chef kitchen. i’m talking: gleaming pasta makers, towering walk-in pantries, every tool to be found in the sur la table catalog. it was like living in a tv show, but without a red-faced british dude yelling about what a donkey i am because i accidentally double-dipped my tasting spoon. (lol "accidentally.") THIS IS MY WEALTH OF COUNTER SPACE, Y'ALL. well, half of it. the other half is across from it and has a dish drain and all my tax documents and shit i gotta return to zappos and boxes from nutrisystem piled on top of it. i don't have room to make a goddamned thing. except for a mess.

i keep trying, though. ugh it’s still kind of the beginning of a new year, which means we all gotta pretend we care about ourselves until it’s warm enough to wear a bathing suit in public then realize it’s not worth it anyway and go back to eating cheetos for dinner because fuck it. and nothing goes with a brand new maybe this is the year i get skinny gym membership like trying to cook your own balanced meals. at the end of every december i start feeling bad about having spent the eleven months prior getting 99% of my calories from carbohydrates, and this guilt propels me into relatively-healthy eating for at least the first three months of the year. but 1 i'm kind of lazy 2 i hate grocery shopping and 3 i work all the goddamn time and just want to watch tv with my water-logged ankles propped up on a wedge pillow when i get home, not burn calories chopping vegetables for a wholesome dinner. but in case i drop dead i want whoever finds my body to know that sometimes i go to whole foods. i mean, they'll have to kick a lot of dusty slim-fast boxes out of the way first, but once they do? EXEMPLAR OF HEALTH.

so every now and again some humorless drone is all WHY YOU AIN'T GOT NO FOOD ON A BLOG ABOUT BITCHES EATING and i'm like, uh well i sometimes do? but it's more about the jokes and stuff? and then we stand around awkwardly shifting feet without making eye contact while trying to figure out a way to gracefully end this painful interaction, after which i go crawl into a guilty little hole to rethink my life choices. so this is a post about food. all made in my tiny-ass kitchen while i texted fools and kept leaving the room to watch tv.

nutritious, grownup ramen-type bowl.

cooking oriental foods is always terrifying to me because, other than a couple raggedy old packets of soy sauce left over from delicious takeout meals, i don't keep a lot of asian spices and shit around the casa. occasionally i'll buy calrose rice in case i throw together a ghetto stir fry or whatever, but i don't regularly have turmeric or kaffir leaves just lying around in case i all of a sudden become inspired. i have a general idea of how much basil is too much basil or when to lay off the cumin, but i don't really know shit about star anise. (wtf is that even.) this noodle pot is an easy way to feel learned and cultured without the danger of seriously fucking your tastebuds up if you measure incorrectly or fall asleep while the shit is cooking.

you need:
miso paste
tom yum paste
chili paste
solid chicken bouillon paste
soy sauce
noodles of your choosing (i use medium-sized flat noodles)
assorted vegetables (i used pre-cut trader joe’s broccoli carrot slaw and pea shoots because i’m fucking careless and don't want shaved-off bits of my fingertips in my broth. you could also use shelled edamame, napa cabbage, baby corn, spinach, or whatever you have the patience for.)
tiny frozen shrimp (or: cooked shredded chicken, cooked sliced sausage, fried tofu, whatevs)

here's what to do with it:

bring some water to a boil in a both a saucepan and a kettle.
while you wait, scoop a teaspoon of each of the pastes+bouillon+soy sauce+sriracha into a little bowl, add a splash of hot water and mix it together with a little whisk.
the pot noodles i use cook in two minutes, so i drop them into the water once it's boiling, hover impatiently while shifting anxiously from foot to foot, then dump them out under cold water and drain them. once they're mostly dry i put the noodles in a mason jar BECAUSE I AM ADORABLE, add my defrosted shrimp (to defrost: rinse under cold water until rubbery then pat dry), pour over the paste/soy sauce mix, and top with vegetables. then i pour water from the kettle i set to boil at the beginning of this whole thing (remember that?) over all of it, stir a couple times, then let it sit for a few minutes with the lid on before maxing all the noodles and meat then getting mad at myself when all i have left is salty broth and bits of cabbage.

egg muffins.

i don't always love eggs? but they're cheap and they last for-fucking-ever and you can't make cookie dough to eat straight from the mixing bowl without them, so i always have a couple hanging out in the back of my refrigerator. breakfast for me is always the hardest because i need to leave my crib at 645, IN THE FUCKING MORNING, and i can barely get a stretch and a shower in between the alarm clock and the train which means i definitely am not cooking shit before work. i envy you coffee and newspaper in the comfort of your own home people. the last time i ate breakfast in my own crib was never. when i still had the taurus i was that bitch trying to smash a bowl of milk and cereal at every red light, but now with no ride i have to, like, be prepared. or spend $17 every day at starbucks.

so these aren't really muffins as much as they are portable egg clumps with cheese and shit in them, but they are easy and delicious and you make them in a muffin tin so whatever. i just throw in whatever old meats, cheeses, and vegetables i have dying a slow death in my produce drawer, then bake and freeze them. and since you make a bunch in advance you have ready to go breakfast options all week.

you need:

assorted chopped vegetables. i am partial to: spinach, onions, bell peppers, mushrooms, asparagus, zucchini, corn, green onions, and broccoli. but for real you can use whatever tastes good to you.
chopped tomatoes
grated or crumbled cheese, whatever you got
green chilies or jalapenos
fresh coriander, whatever herbal shit you're into
you can add chicken or other lean meats or tofu
6 eggs beaten with 2 tbsp milk, black pepper to taste

here's what to do with it:

preheat the oven to 400 and grease your goddamned muffin tin. (i use pam, the coconut oil kind) add vegetables of your choice along with cheese (if you choose, and why wouldn't you?) to each cup, then pour the beaten egg mixture into each cup.

place the muffin pan on the center rack of the oven and bake for 20-25 minutes or until muffins are light brown, puffy, and the eggs are set. let those bitches cool for a few minutes before removing from the pan. loosen gently with a butter knife if they seem to be sticking. eat immediately or let cool completely before storing them in plastic bag in refrigerator or freezer. they can be reheated in the oven or microwave and eaten in the shower while trying to catch another depressing weather report on the morning news. or so i've heard.

curried tofu.
i adapted this one from the homie martha stewart. i don't like to cook a lot of meat at home because it's messy and a ton of work, also because achieving the perfect sear on an expensive cut of grass-fed beef is not what i want to come home and do on a random fucking wednesday. there are basically fifty-eight minutes between the time i peel off my eight layers of winter outwear and the time empire starts, and i refuse to spend a single one of them tying up a fucking chicken.

you need:
1 container (14 ounces) firm or extra-firm tofu, drained
2 tablespoons vegetable oil
1 small onion, halved and thinly sliced
1 tablespoon curry powder
coarse salt and ground pepper
4 garlic cloves, minced
1/2 cup lite coconut milk
1 box (10 ounces) frozen green beans, defrosted
4 plum tomatoes, halved lengthwise and cut crosswise into 1/2-inch pieces (3 cups)
cooked calrose rice, for serving (optional)

here's what to do with it:
halve tofu horizontally; then crosswise. (GOD I HATE GEOMETRY; also, you should have 4 equal squares). cut each square diagonally into 2 triangles. arrange tofu in one layer on a baking sheet lined with 3 layers of paper towels; cover with three more layers. place another baking sheet and a bottle of wine or something heavy on top. let tofu drain until towels are soaked, about 20 minutes. so this part is kind of irritating on paper but it really isn't as hard as it looks. you can slice your onions and mince your garlic while the tofu is draining to save time.

heat 1 tablespoon of oil in a large nonstick skillet over medium-high heat. add tofu and cook, turning once, until golden-brown, maybe 10 minutes. remove from pan to a plate then reduce heat to medium. add remaining tablespoon oil, onion, and curry powder. season generously with salt and pepper. cook, stirring frequently, until onion is soft, about 5 minutes. add garlic; cook until fragrant, about 1 minute.

reduce heat to medium-low. add coconut milk and 1/2 cup water; bring to a gentle simmer. return tofu to skillet. add green beans and tomatoes, cover, and cook until tender, about 4 minutes. serve over rice if desired. (true story: i always desire the rice.)

sausage and kale stew.
soup is kind of depressing to me. like if i order a cheeseburger at a restaurant and my companion across the table orders a bowl of soup for dinner it's like, "bro...? are you sick or something? should we leave? why aren't you getting any goddamned food!?" and then you gotta sit there and watch that motherfucker eat SOUP, one of the least appealing to foods to watch being consumed. insult to injury: pretending that that gross, wet slurping isn't killing you a little bit on the inside. especially since most soups taste like the flu. but at home you can make stew, which is the perfect remedy to both bullshit ass weather and the gaping hole of starvation left in your gut when you try to pass off soup as a real goddamned meal.

you need:
1 tablespoon olive oil 
1 12-ounce package fully cooked chicken sausage links, sliced 
2 cloves garlic, thinly sliced 
1 19-ounce can cannellini beans, rinsed 
1 box of low-sodium chicken broth 
1 14.5-ounce can diced tomatoes 
1 bunch kale leaves, torn into 2-inch pieces 
kosher salt and black pepper

here's what you do with it:
heat the oil in a large pot over medium heat. add the sausage and cook, stirring once, until browned, 2 to 3 minutes. stir in the garlic and cook for 2 more minutes. try not to eat handfuls of sausage directly from the pot.

add the beans, broth, and tomatoes (including the liquid) and bring to a boil. then lower the heat and add the kale and ¼ teaspoon each salt and pepper. simmer, stirring occasionally, until wilted, 2 to 3 minutes. THEN IT'S DONE. super quick, right? i like to eat mine in a bowl the size of a cauldron with a heap of shaved parmesan on top, but i am a human with minimal self-control. seriously, every time i make this i can barely get it all cooked before i start "tasting" the hell out of it. eat yours how you see fit. i wouldn't judge you if you just got in bed with the pot.

i get rul tired of people talking to me about water. snoozapalooza. it's boring and it tastes like crushed dreams, but bitches is always trying to tell me about their supple, luminous skin and hydrated muscles and healthy kidneys. YAWN. but i will drink it if there's vegetables and fancy grass floating in the shit. bottle of evian? no thank you. glass of filthy tap water with a withered sprig of mint and half of a decrepit old lime? JESUS GOD MORE PLEASE. every time i take a sip of water my dry ass hair whispers "thank you" while praying for rain, yet i only drink it because michelle obama told me to. and even then there better be some dandelions floating in it.

here are some delicious flavor combinations you can try, according to people who get paid to think about that kind of thing:
strawberry, basil, and lemon.
blackberry and sage.
pineapple orange and mint.
grapefruit and rosemary.
pear and ginger.

i am on day three of the 96oz of water a day challenge. i cannot stop peeing. my skin looks the goddamned same.