recipe

Let’s Have a Kiki!

I will be honest… I don’t have the slightest fuck what that saying means but it has slowly yet surely become my personal tagline. It just sounds so fantastic “Lettttttt’s have a KIKI!” Totally want this engraved on my tombstone… not really, I want to be frozen #duh. Anyways, after one long ass week of playing nurse to my post-surgery mother (she had “Lasik” eye surgery #not) I felt I was entitled to a festive adult beverage. I considered tapping into her Percocet prescription but I have too much anxiety to be a pill popper. This bitch prefers to keep it kosher and just stick to the “happy juice” AKA vodka. Since my mother has decided to find dual purpose with her recovery and further her suffrage by going on a “weight loss program” and keeping NO food in the house, ingredients were scarce. When concocting my much needed cocktail, I had to get crafty and more importantly get sipping ASAP. I created this drink using pretty basic/random ingredients and was delighted with one raging liver boner. This drink is figure friendly, delicious, pretty and very festive. One sip and you’ll be feeling KIKI-licious.

  • INGREDIENTS
  • one lime juiced
  • 1/4 tsp of agave nectar
  • 1 shot of vodka/tequila/nail polish remover (whatever you’re into)
  • 1 fresh watermelon popsicle (or frozen watermelon chunks)
  • 5 basil leaves (mint would be delish also)

Ribbet collage

 

Muddle limes, basil, watermelon and agave nectar in cocktail shaker. Add alcohol, shake and sip responsibly… or irresponsibly. We won’t judge.

Bitch Throws a Dinner Party

I watch enough Real Housewives to know how to throw a proper dinner party. As much as I’d love to hire Kevin Lee to make everything “shi shi shi” I will have to be  my own transgender Asian homosexual party planner. Naturally my theme developed from an accessory, some cute Moroccan napkins I found and some fabulous new gold charger plates (you know you’re an adult when you have charger plates). Another adult move, I even made a fucking mocktail. It’s like I don’t know who I am anymore – I mean we all know I’m not a huge fan of sobriety but I digress. I wanted my first dinner party to reflect not only my effortless domesticity but also what kind of woman I am. Deceivingly fancy, warm and … easy. I decided to delight my patrons with a Mediterranean menu because I am a selfish whore (JK – on the whore bit) and I could make everything ahead of time so I was still able to mingle and socialize.

Menu

CUCUMBER MINT FAUXJITO (which I subsequently added vodka too – a mocktail only gets you so far)
MY WORLD FAMOUS LAMB MEATBALLS W/TZATZIKI SAUCE
GREEK FETA, OLIVES, HUMMUS AND PITA BREAD

—-

SHIRAZI SALAD
BASMATI RICE WITH HERBS
ROASTED EGGPLANT WITH MINT AND FETA
“SAFFRON” CHICKEN WITH OLIVES/THYME

And nothing for dessert… I don’t fucking bake. Ice cream anyone?

Dinner was a hit (I think) and I feel like I have reached a new level of womanhood… kinda. #hostesswiththemostest Presentation1

Bitch Bible Must Haves

You may sit and ponder the principles of being a glorified Haute Mess™. Beyond the strict moral code that comes with being a Haute Mess (yeah right) I have curated a list of possessions every aspiring lad or lassie should have on the road to acquire a Haute Mess Life.

Ribbet collage1Ribbet collage2

Leather Pants – Consider this the pant of choice for all Haute Messes. Wear them with a plain t shirt, wear them with a sequin top, wear them with nipple tassels- WHATEVER. I am a firm believer in year round leather. Sure if it’s summer you will be schvitzing your metaphoric balls off but at least you’ll be burning calories and still look haute as fuck #silverlining.

A Cocktail Shaker – Firstly, I would like to go on the record and say I hate the word cocktail (and not for it’s obvious cock word play). This isn’t fucking 1934, can’t we just call them drinks? Adult Beverages? Happy juice? Okay I’m done. It isn’t breaking news that I am one high maintenance biatch when it comes to my happy juice. I don’t drink to get drunk. I drink to celebrate, relax  or to mourn Real Housewives lay-offs (I’m talkin to you Taylor Armstrong) duh. Needless to say, when I choose to indulge you best be trippin thinking I’m going to sip on some Smirnoff mixed with Safeway brand soda in a fucking red cup. No girl, no. The only hard liquor drink I partake in is a dirty martini in proper glassware and that shit better be jigged.  #hautemessnecessity

Robe– Robes are to Jackie Schimmel, what salt is to the ocean. I LIVE in robes. I have my après shower robe, my getting ready robe, my cooking robe, my television watching robe, my sexy robe and my letting myself go robe. I like to imagine I came out of the birth canal in a chenille robe. Actually, one of my pastimes is stealing robes from nice hotels “Don’t you get charged?” Um ya, if you’re an ignoramus. No man, relative or friend can give you the warmth and comfort of a good robe. You can quote me on that.

Princess Shoes – Cinderella, Dorothy and Lady Carrie Bradshaw all had their signature shoes. Every haute mess should have hers too. Whether or not they are impractical, make your feet bleed or are worth more than your car, a special pair of shoes will always make you feel special (in a cherished way, not in a short bus way). I have a few pair of princess shoes that highlight different points in my life and even though I rarely wear them, seeing them glisten in their display case warms my insides. Sometimes when I feel like total ass I put them on with my pajamas and they remind me of our love and how I delusionally feel I deserve them (and so do you).

A “World Famous” Dish – My mother has never liked to cook. We used to eat out 85% of the time and whenever my mother would delight us with a home cooked meal it was always “world famous”. Even if she buys it from a local restaurant and claims it as her own it still gets the title. Kind of genius. I have said multiple times, being a haute mess is about working it. Working what your great at, good at and really suck at. People who take themselves too seriously to try new things bore me. Eat the snail, cut some bangs, sing some karaoke and lighten up. Whether you love to cook or only use your stove to store sweaters, you only need one (or a few) specialties to solidify your domesticity (bite me Feminists of LA). The key is to learn, master and promote one world famous dish to the point of no return (my  current “world famous” meal is my lamb/feta meatballs with tzatziki). It could be your mother’s kugle, Ina Garten’s pound cake (that bitch luhhs cake) or some bruschetta you found on pinterest. Fuck you don’t even have to make it, just put it on a platter and add some garnish and voilà it’s “World Famous”.