Man, I don’t want to sound like, um, EVERY JERKFACE ON THE PLANET, but I’ve got a new years resolution. And this time? I’m keeping it. I didn’t even make it for myself. Instead, Chris and I agreed that we would each come up with a resolution for each other each year. It’s actually a flawless plan.
Rather than in August screaming at your significant other, “I swear, if you don’t start unrolling your filthy fucking socks before putting them in the hamper, I’m going to kill you by stuffing between 4 and 7 of them down your throat while you sleep” or “I don’t care if it’s the middle of December and all you’re wearing for the next 6 months is Ugg boots and leggings, if you don’t shave your legs on an every-other-day basis, I’m going to go to the supermarket, pretend I don’t know what a daikon radish is, and sleep with the first saddo housewife who tries to help me.”
Rather than either of those things, you just save up and say it on December 31st! After a shameful number of appletinis at the neighbor’s NYE party, you sit down, stare lovingly (wobblingly) into one another’s eyes, and say, “honey, this year your new years resolution is to be sexy, silky, smooth, even in winter.” Or “honey, this year your new years resolution is to help me help you by unrolling your socks before putting them in the hamper.” And then you go participate in the kind of slurred, passionate lovemaking that usually involves waking up the next morning, noticing you’re not wearing underpants, and then dry heaving in relief when you see that it’s your legally-attached spouse sleeping next to you. Phew. Dodged a bullet this year!
Anyway, my resolution is to devote an hour a day to the blog. I’ve neglected it since I fwooshed out a tiny human, and it’s inexcusable. After all, I have a large dog who can watch the baby, and my husband has promised to give me additional blog time each night. Some of that will be cooking, some photographing, some reading, some schilling for other blogs. I accept that. But a goodly portion will be actually WRITING blogs. For you. To read.
And I’ve already invested sums of money that I don’t even feel comfortable discussing with my therapist buying new, extremely cool equipment and cookbooks. Think Science. The kind with a capital S. I have liquid nitrogen on my desk right now, for example. Yep. A teeny dewar of it just hanging out near my laptop and glass of wine, waiting to explode my face off. At first I thought it was a blow torch, but then my husband informed me that he had brought me a present of explosive, dangerous chemical element because he luuuuuuurves me. Aren’t I lucky? I’m assuming he’s recently increased my life insurance policy.
But that’s for tomorrow. Tonight I’m the captain of the making it happen machine. Several recipes, several experiments, and a fair amount of boozing will take place tonight. Then tomorrow, I can post pictures of what’s happened, give you some pretty fantastic recipes, and tell you a story about what happens when a steer and his weiner fall in love. Yeah. Cliff-hanger, beeotches.