How To: Get Your Winter Bod

"Hello, it's me" (fun fact: Adele also has a Dachshund),

I know it's been a while--I've been busy watching Bates Motel on Netflix, reading Amazon reviews on dog treats, etc.) I'm back though, and now that bikini season is behind us, it's time to get your winter bod on. This post is also pretty conducive to procuring the newly-popular Dad bod, if that's your cup of tea (your PSL*, if you will). I've been doing quite a bit of cooking lately (mainly picking up pies from Village Inn to appear as a real adult at holiday gatherings) to ensure that my family, friends, boyfriend, and I all secure an extra layer of fat to stay warm this winter. Paula Dean has nothing on me. Let's pause for a moment to chat about her Dancing with the Stars debut--solid effort but really pretty horrible...cringing at times. This would be an appropriate time to share that my cheer coach always put me in the back row during the dancing sections of our routines, so perhaps I should pipe down. That's unlikely, though. Especially since I have two recipes to share. These recipes do not involve kale, quinoa, or chia seeds, so no need to read further if that's what you're looking for. The only two things you'll need to do in order to prepare for these recipes is wash your hands--maybe get a mani so you can admire your nails while cooking--and change into your leggings/stretchy pants.

*Pumpkin spice latte

Buffalo Chicken Dip

• About 3 chicken breasts (good time for this saying: it's a tit bit nipply, breast go turn up the hooters)
• 1 8-oz. block of sharp cheddar cheese
• 1 8-oz. block of Pepper Jack cheese
• 2 8-oz. packages of cream cheese
• 1/4-1/2 cup Frank's RedHot sauce
• 1 8-oz. bottle of ranch dressing
• 1 box of crackers (I use Ritz b/c I'm a basic b*tch)

I boiled my chicken in water to cook it, and then shredded it into small pieces. Side note: my dad would've fainted if he had seen my cutlery skills, but I still have all my fingers so I'm not worried about it. All the ingredients (except the crackers, obviously) were then mixed together and I let it melt and simmer on the stove top for a while**. Serve/eat with the crackers.

**An hour or so, if I remember correctly. Which I don't, because I was two and half glasses of Chardonnay deep.

Mistakes to avoid (that I learned whilst making this dip):

1. If you're wondering why the water isn't boiling despite about 30 minutes passing, ensure that you have the pot on the actual burner you turned on. That'll definitely help.
2. Try not to confuse the kitchen timer with the "cook time" button on the microwave. Seems like a simple concept, but I set the microwave for 20 minutes rather than the timer. My roommate, Shelby (shoutout to Shelby and her fine rear end, go Farmers insurance), happened to walk into the kitchen for a glass of water (Coors Light) and found the entire microwave engulfed in flames because all the little crumbs we rarely (never) clean out were apparently flammable. Washing your microwave plate occasionally would be a good preventive measure, too.  
3. Cut the cheese (save the toot jokes, we're not 13-year old boys, not amused) into cubes. It turns out that cubes of cheese melt much quicker and nicer than a solid brick of cheese. 

White Chicken Chili

• About 3 chicken breasts 
• 3 15-oz. cans Great Northern beans, drained
• 1 32-oz. box of chicken broth
• 1 medium-sized jar of salsa
• 1 8-oz. block of Pepper Jack cheese
• 4 oz. of cheddar cheese
• 2 teaspoons ground cumin

I did the same thing with the chicken for this recipe as I did for the Buffalo Chicken Dip, so do that. Next, combine all ingredients in a pot on the stove, and once the cheese is melted (it'll just disappear like ninja calories), let the chili simmer for 2-3 hours.  

One final note on food safety: chicken is not like a petite filet or a burger. Chicken should not be even the slightest bit pink; you cannot have medium-rare chicken. You'll get sick, very sick. The kind of sick that would discourage your winter layers/bods. In fact, I believe it is Salmonella that you could come down with...and it must be a different strain of Salmonella than cookie dough Salmonella, because you know how you can lick beaters that have recently mixed raw cookie dough (made with eggs) and usually nothing bad happens? Well, with chicken, a Salmonella warning is not just like the casual note on the cookie dough package that everyone ignores. It's not like the tags on pillows that threaten you with jail time if you rip them off--I always rip them off and here I am, still on my couch in my apartment. It's not like when your dental hygienist strongly suggests you floss more often. Bottomline: fully cook chicken. Just burn it if you have to.

Either of the above recipes will have your tummy happy and buttons popping off your jeans in no time--so hop to it. They're seriously delicious. In fact, make this for a guy and you're basically guaranteed a proposal (with the exact ring you pinned on Pinterest). Well, maybe not a proposal, but at least a text back. Make this for your Mom, tell her to put her feet up (bonus point: serve it with a napkin--moms like that sh*t), and she'll have a shiny Audi parked out front for you Christmas morning. Probably not an Audi, but you might get some socks and undies in your stocking! Socks and undies as stocking stuffers are actually so underrated; more undergarments = less laundry necessary = less detergent needed = more money to spend on vodka sodas and Michael Kors wedges. You're welcome.

Every Blonde Needs a 'Burnett' Best Friend. And a Great Dad Doesn't Hurt.

Hey girls (I have a small inkling that most guys probably aren't too interested in a blog named "The Sassy Blonde" so only our gender is being addressed),

Well, it's about time.  It took me quite a while to decide what I wanted to write about in my first ever blog post (ohh emmm geee), which really is no surprise, considering that choosing a nail polish color can make me anxious (I have to arrive 15-20 minutes prior to my appointment to debate between OPI's Bubble Bath and Essie's Fiji).

I thought, should I do a typical, yet possibly helpful, introduction?  Should I write something 'sassy'?  Do I start off with a product review or hair tutorial?  I didn't know where to begin...obviously.  But then, I started thinking about why I wanted a blog in the first place: I love to talk, which often translates into a passion for writing.  In fact, I wanted to be an English major in college, but my Dad nixed that idea (mostly just because he could...or because he thought I would be an engineer, even though all breeds of math nauseate me), along with my beauty school idea, and eventually I became a psychology major after a rocky relationship with chemistry and a strong, steady relationship with Burnett's...sorry, Dad.

Anyway, blogging seems like a fabulous outlet to put my (never-ending) thoughts on (electronic) paper simply so that one day I might look back and know where I was and what was on my mind at this point in my life.  That future girl will probably laugh at this current girl, kind of like my day girl rolls her eyes A LOT at my Saturday night girl (thinking, girlfriend you are too old to leave your phone in an Uber), but I'm okay with that.  As for readers, maybe I won't have any or maybe I will have a few religious followers; either way, that isn't the point of this blog, at least not right now. But, if by chance you are reading this, I'm glad you're here. :-)

If you're still with me, future self included, let me give you a little update.  After school, I moved into my parents' basement (literally), started working, and have been on cruise control since; I loved that.  Changes of any sort rattle me, and I adore routine/knowing what to expect...boring, I know (ask my coworkers, I eat the same thing for lunch daily).  However, a big change is taking place in my life; I call it shouting (to nobody in particular), "I'M AN ADULT HOME OWNER", and my Dad calls it "renting a small apartment, getting a (that's singular) bill in my name, and spending less money on manicures (same amount on Burnett's 'doe')".

After signing a lease this past Saturday, I posted a cute little Instagram announcing my big day, and went out that night to celebrate.  Then, Sunday came along with reality, followed by Monday and some worries, and finally Tuesday brought full-on stressed, panic mode (interesting how nobody posts this part on Insta...cue Kim Kardashian cry face, except I don't think she posted that herself).  This is a big change, and there are some actual responsibilities coming my way, but also a lot of fun up ahead (note: do not dance on IKEA tables...ugh, cheap ish).  Somewhere in the midst of the chaos, I realized: I'm ready.  And the person I contribute most of my preparedness to, is none other than my Dad. I certainly want to credit my Mom, and as the Grinch would say, MYSHELF, too, but my Dad has without a doubt taught me many of the most important things I know.  (Maybe my mom will have a post dedicated to her later on, and then again maybe not, because life's not fair and I'm the type of person who doesn't want their future child playing on the soccer team where everyone gets a trophy.)  Without further ado, here's what I have to thank my dad for:

1. Budgeting.  I hate that word.  Well, I used to; now I just dislike it.  As much fun as it would be to haphazardly spend money and avoid my financial realities, life is smoother if I don't.  (Small anecdote: my friend P and I used to lay in bed in college after a night out and play a fun game she called, "Let's Check My Bank Account".  Needless to say, the outcome of the game always led to more drinking or turning on Enya to induce a deep sleep.)  But, since this is not college, I'm not at a sleepover, and I can't get rid of ALL my problems with booze, it's a good idea to "spend wisely", to quote my Dad.  (Anecdote #2: In high school, or maybe I was a senior in college...moot point, I once told him I needed a new, Lululemon workout top, to which he replied, "Okay, Mar, just try to spend wisely."  ONE DOES NOT SIMPLY SPEND WISELY IN LULULEMON.)  End of story.

2. Standards (as in, "on the inside", since my Dad has never said much/anything at all about what makes a guy cute...LOL).  If you know me well, or perhaps even if you've just seen me in the Walrus, you might know that I can be a small handful (read: a bonafide psychopath...kidding), whether I'm sober, tipsy, or even just hungry (read: hangry). That's not to say that 98% of the time I'm not a good person (okay, 86%), but I do have my moments.  And through personal experience and living in a sorority house with a ton of other girls, I have seen "having moments" make guys run for the hills.  But who has always stuck around when I'm having a moment?  My good old Dad.  He sort of has to, since I'm technically his own kin, but it sets a good example of what kind of guy you should end up with (or at least the kind I hope to find): the patient kind, the kind who takes you home and tucks you in next to a glass of water when you've had too much to drink rather than getting upset with you, the kind who calls you out and let's you know what's not okay with him, but likes you just the same, the kind who might not talk to you during the football game, but is willing to communicate with you in an adult manner at a different time.  (Anecdote again: Right before I turned 21, we had a Date Dash at a pretty fun bar called Absinthe, but all the underage kids had to stay downstairs while the cool, of-age kids got to party upstairs.  WTF.  I had done a little pre-gaming, which I suspect is the reason I found myself in a bathroom stall whimpering on the phone to my Dad about everything being his fault for "making me born too late in time".  Anyway, my Dad calmly explained that I needed to get over it.  Kind of like the time my high school boyfriend dumped me and he said, "Well, did you maybe see this coming a little bit?")  Point is: honesty is also good, with gentle delivery.  So, for now my BAE is actually a girl named Kim Crawford Sauvignon Blanc, but the Emmett to my Elle is on his way, so long as I stick to what my Dad has taught me.  And kick rocks, Werners of the world.

(Now that I think of it, my mom has taught me some pretty different things about standards, so maybe she'll get her own post after all.  My mom, Pam, is the type of woman who nearly jumped out of the car but made a safer escape once the car was at a complete stop, and actually did walk home on Mother's Day, because my Dad irritated her.  She is bullshit-free zone...and I would never act like that ;-). )

I only made it through two of the things I intended to share, but with it now being 10:09 p.m., this post will have to be continued; it's past my bedtime.  On second thought, the other things he has taught me are boring...we're talking the difference between windshield wiper fluid and antifreeze.  But, if the (somewhat) sarcastic Burnett's references weren't too much for you, I will see y'all next time.  (Yes, now that I'm a blogger, I can say "y'all".  But I still don't want to talk about Pinterest, because I have yet to fully grasp how it works.  And the one time I tried something off of Pinterest--putting coconut oil in my hair to make it "strong and shiny", I looked like a greasy transient for a week and ruined my pillow cases.)