Easy Refrigerator Dill Pickles

Eleven years ago you could find me at a college theater party sharing a peach-flavored Arbor Mist with one of my best friends. Yes, directly out of the bottle. You might ask, what is the difference between a normal college party and a “college theater party”? Good question. I would have to say that since the people in attendance are theater students, can most likely cry on command, and have a flare for the dramatic, things can get intense. Also, there are usually two to five dudes that have ponytails (or if you’re lucky, a rat-tail)  un-ironically. Someone is drunkenly doing a monologue on the patio. Almost always someone is either wearing suspenders or a raccoon tail that is pinned onto the back of their pants. It’s a scene. I was there. It was confusing.

Ten years ago you could find me sobbing uncontrollably on the couch of my single-lady apartment. I was watching the last episode of Sex in the City and unashamedly splitting a whole rotisserie chicken with my cat. I wish I could say this is the only time that happened, but I would be lying to you. When you’re nineteen years old and live alone and have a lot of feelings, sometimes you just need someone to help you binge eat a whole chicken. You don’t discriminate if that someone has a lot of grey fur and two sets of paws. […]

Cherry Tomato & Goat Cheese Galette {Gluten-Free}

I know, I know. Here I go about tomatoes again. But, OMG…

You guys. I totally didn’t kill my tomatoes this year.

This is BIG news. As someone who is enthusiastic about growing things, it can be slightly disheartening when I kill my succulents. Correct. I have killed various cacti in my gardening career. Don’t even get me started with my various vegetable growing flops. It’s a sad scene.

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Simple Heirloom Tomato & Burrata Salad | An Ode To Summer

How much have I talked about summer lately? A lot. Are you all hoping I shut my face soon? We get it, Gina. It’s hot. You aren’t wearing pants. It’s time for cocktails. The produce is amaze. We get it. Just stop. #WishICould

So, yeah. All of those things. But… TOMATOES, amiright? I mean, look at them. Just add them into the summer celebration! Is there a tomato dance? I’m sure we can figure one out. Maybe a jazz square on bottom with a raise the roof on top? My dance library is limited. Let me know if you come up with something more exciting. The more shoulder action the better. If you want to add in a shimmy, I won’t get upset.

Tomatoes are totally the apples of summer (they aren’t, but it’s Monday and my analogies are lazy at best). They are sweet, juicy and plentiful. They come in every color and variety, and markets are exploding with them. Just ask my husband how crazy and muppet-like my face looks at a summer farmers market. You would think I’m a six-year-old at Christmas. I had a very similar expression on my face in 1989 when I ripped the Santa Clause paper off a Barbie Dream House. Excitement + Bliss + OMG-DAD-PUT-THIS-TOGETHER-BEFORE-I-LOSE-MY-MIND-AHHHHHHH-OMG! Except, with tomatoes it is Excitement + Bliss + OMG-PETE-LET-ME-BUY-THESE-BEFORE-I-LOSE-MY-MIND-I’M-GOING-TO-PUT-THEM-IN-A-SALAD-AND-MAYBE-EAT-ONE-IN-THE-CAR-ON-THE-WAY-HOOOOOME-AHHHHHH-OMG! […]

Papaya Sunrise Green Smoothie

I officially don’t own flip flops.

This is a big deal. I live in California. It’s like a state requirement. At any moment the California police are probably going to walk into my house and take me away. I’ll be forced to explain to them that it’s not my fault that I am wearing shoes and socks in 90 degree heat. I will sell out the dog and explain that she has officially chewed up every pair of (expensive) flip flops that I own.  They will arrest both of us. We will end up in the same Women’s Correctional Facility. Emma will make my life hell and I will be labeled a “snitch” for ratting her out. She will chew up all of my bath slippers and I will be forced to shower without flip flops. I hear that’s a no go in prison. I’ve clearly been watching too much Orange is the New Black. Like, whoa. Prison tangent. Normal for a Tuesday.

My point is (if there is one), it totally sucks to wake up on a Monday morning and discover that both your Reef sandals and your husbands Rainbow sandals have been reduced to leathery spit balls. At the rate we are going, I will be shoeless by August. I will be relegated to digging in my closet to find the one pair of forgotten shoes that I can strap onto my feet. Is it going to be my ugg-style cat boots (highly misguided fashion choice) or will it be the slightly furry Birkenstock clogs that I obtained for free by Christmas caroling at the Birkenstock factory in 2001? Both choices sound pretty solid. Help.

One day, in my teaching years, I found myself wearing the aforementioned Birkenstock clogs to class. I was informed by a six year old that it looked like I was wearing a couple of sea otters on my feet. I think I replied with a simple, “They are.”  Gotta keep ’em guessing. […]