
Well, well, well.
Here she is, referring to herself in the third person and pulling the same bullshit as always.
Continue readingWell, well, well.
Here she is, referring to herself in the third person and pulling the same bullshit as always.
Continue readingSomehow, over the span of my 15+ years calling north Jersey my home, I never watched The Sopranos.
I did that thing again where I just disappear from my blog because I lack focus and also go to the beach a lot. I guess we’ll all just have to accept that I’m a big ole flake at the end of summer. Continue reading
Listen up, y’all. I have something important to say. Just because it’s Sunday and you’re all alone, that doesn’t mean you can’t make yourself a Sunday night feast. And just because it’s 90 degrees and brutal outside, that doesn’t mean your feast can’t include a roast chicken. I won’t let any of that stop me. No way, no how. Either way I’m roasting a chicken. (You can expect this to be the title of my first memoir.)
It’s the end of summer – a glorious summer full of grilling and sand and cheese and a Vermont lake. I’m sad to see it go, but my favorite season is around the corner, so I can’t complain. Before I start eating everything pumpkin, apple cider, and maple syrup though (seriously, I’m already planning all of that out – Happy Not Even Fall Yet y’all!), I thought I’d bid the summer of 2014 adieu by making a big bowl of summer pasta for some friends.