I know a handful of things to be absolute truths. For example, kindness is better than judgment, It’s essential to stay hydrated, life is never what you think it’s going to be, it’s impossible to get Adele concert tickets without selling a kidney, and when in doubt, MAKE SOUP. Always and forever, style. Like, tattoo a steaming bowl of chicken noodle onto my biceps. Do you think I could make the noodles dance when I flex? Maybe. I will probably never find out. […]
In an effort to make fall arrive here in California, I’ve been consuming pie as if it were some sort of fork to face rain-dance.
Really, it’s just something I’m trying out for the greater good. I will eat pie for breakfast in the name of chunky sweaters, and tall boots, and the California drought. I’ll happily open my pie hole for dessert, in the hopes of bringing a changing of the leaves, crisp fall air, hot toddies, and the right to stop sweating. Please, someone… anyone… turn off my armpit glands. I know this isn’t “healthy” to do, but since it’s divine intervention I’m asking for, I figure you can find a way to divinely redesign this girl’s pits so they’re no longer weeping under the weight of pie baking in summer temperatures. Speaking of my armpits– did you all catch episode seven of The So…Let’s Hang Out Podcast? It’s a doozy. […]
A couple of weeks ago, I found myself sulking outside of a local bakery. This isn’t a gluten-free bakery, but they do make a fantastic gluten-free scone. I arrived too late in the day, and as usual, they were completely sold out. However, my wheat-eating husband bought himself some ridiculous looking apple-stuffed, almond-stuffed, hopes and dreams-stuffed croissant. I was irrationally upset about this situation. I could feel my blood pressure rising as I watched bits of pastry flake off onto his shirt, and tiny bits of apple adhere to his adorable mouth corners. All I wanted was a scone. I briefly considered not eating breakfast at all. How could I? I had been dreaming of that scone for… well, at least the last thirty minutes. I could taste the flaky bits of berry filled dough in my mind. No other breakfast would measure up. I was on a scone only hunger strike. I was quickly becoming an insane person. This happens when hunger sets in. I’m still myself, but the drama is cranked up to eleven, and the tears start to nag at my ducts, begging to be released. It’s as if I’ve melded my physical person with the frenetic emotional instability of Buster Bluth, and the overly emotive face of Oscar The Grouch. If you’re wondering, my husband really loves when this happens (he doesn’t). May I remind you that all of this is happening OVER A SCONE. Ugh. […]
Few things say “Holllliiidaaaayyyy… Cellllleeeebrrraaaaate” to me more than shoving a bunch of fruit and spices into booze to make even FANCIER booze. We’ve done it before with this Apple & Cinnamon Bourbon, with which we’ve expertly crafted these Hot Toddies. But, now we’re delving into the world of dried apricots and ginger and other spicy spices. It’s a good place to be. It’s going to make one FANCY jar of booze-juice. Like, people should be excited if you’re their secret Santa. I mean… what would you rather have? A ten dollar gift certificate to Starbucks or a nice little bottle of home-infused boozy cheer?! If you said Starbucks, I don’t hate you… but, I’m not, like, totally into you right now. We can make up later. Here, have some of my legendary peace-making Vegan Chocolate Pudding. Better? Good. Now, let’s get infusing. […]