I feel the need to catch everyone up because recently people have started sincerely asking me what’s new and if I’m happy and that makes me feel like obviously I am not writing about my life on the internet enough.
Just to get you up to speed, the soup I made was Orangette’s broccoli soup. It was very good. Well, I think so. I made it and Dustin was very enthusiastic about it but I found myself just sort of shrugging, then remembering that I don’t really “get” soup. You just sit there eating this puree of things that is basically just a very fancy warm liquid, which, sure, I love liquid as much as the next person but it doesn’t really beat out food on my list of things to put in my body (it’s a short list, that one. I won’t go into the rest of it here).
Anyway so I did sit there wishing I was eating the actual food (broccoli, leeks, butter) itself but still eating many bowls of it. And it was indeed better the next day (womp womp, SOUUUUUP, better the next day! ugh, shut up I hate that). A few days later I even got a phone call that basically went like, “Guess how much of the soup I just ate?” “How much?” (there was like, a quart of soup left) “ALL OF IT.” He requested that we put this soup in our vows, and we don’t even have vows. That is our only vow: to make this soup. At least one more time. So I guess it was a success in that regard. Do you like liquid broccoli? Well do I have a soup for you! (It’s actually very good soup.)
A week or so later, because I have misplaced ambition, I made the 44-clove garlic soup. Now THIS soup I can get behind. Mostly because 44 cloves of garlic cannot really be eaten without being put through the souping process. You roast half of the garlic (roasted garlic: the best thing. And yes I deeply resented having to put that amazing roasted garlic in a damn bucket of liquid) and then peel the other half, which is a perfect opportunity to do the two bowl magic trick! We did it and it worked and our hearts were filled with a joy known only to people who have better lives! After you let it cook in broth for awhile and then PUREE it like it’s really ill-advised baby food, it tastes unlike anything that really exists! Well, that and garlic. It is creamy without having much cream. It’s not even that garlicky! Your coworkers will ask what is in your soup and you will say, “44 cloves of garlic,” and smile knowing you are about to blow their motherfucking minds. It’s a conversation starter, this soup. And for that, I will abide it.
It bears mentioning, however, that I did feel a little “crazy, maybe in a good way” after I ate this soup. My heart was beating fast? I googled “garlic overdose” and there were many results? Mostly from people like me writing into insane forums? But I did not die.
Soup aside, things are good. Great, even. I feel like we are really beating this winter thing. Like maybe we have evolved past it (by ruining the planet). But also a part of me feels guilty and is waiting for the other shoe to drop. Like maybe this means winter will come in March and stay til June? I’m scared. Happy but scared.
I also have a false sense of confidence lately that this year is the year that I have mastered winter. Mostly because winter has meant 44 degrees. These are my new winter Things that I am using as a defense against seasonal affective disorder:
- Clementines. Literally 5 a day.
- Wool socks. Why did it take me so long? WHYYYYY?
- Buying flowers (see above). This was my new year’s resolution. I know. My ambition truly knows no bounds.
- I dunno, soup?
Really just, “clementines,” though. Fuck these root vegetables. Go back where you came from (the ground). We went to the farmer’s market today and I thought it would be great and we’d get some kind of Life merit badge for just even being there at this point but THERE WASN’T EVEN CELERIAC. Fuck everything.
Oh, and if you see my theme — ha. I just accidentally deleted everything and now it’s some insane one from like 2004 (2004 in Tumblr years is like, ‘09).
WHAT ELSE?
Philadelphia was fun! It was a trip that gave you that trip feeling you wish all trips gave you (and this point I am just saying “trip” again to fuck with you), where it falls outside of good or bad and just felt necessary and right and new. I want to ride a train again soon. 
This sign made me so excited. It’s so perfect.
I wanted to go back to school. My stomach jumped peering in classroom windows. We sat with Arielle and had tea. I was sure no one would come. Who did we know there? We made that book so long ago. But the first person who came was a backer, a stranger, who never actually got her book in the mail (oy, oy, oy) but who was still so great. And there were dozens (I mean, at least two dozen? Probably) of people there. And we had this little outline of what we wanted to say and got through it so quickly and there we were, 10 minutes in to our 60 minute talk. We flailed in a way we reassured ourselves after wasn’t completely perceptible but could have been. But there was much to talk about. And Melissa is going to keep doing great things with this thing we started, and I feel good about it. I want to cheer from the sidelines but I can’t help getting all caught up again, talking about this thing that practically consumed our lives for a year.
Afterward college-aged ladies came up to us declaring their nervousness, and their awkwardness, and I got to declare it back, and sign their books, not knowing what to write or if I should sign my last name? That felt odd. We ate crackers and I asked some girls if it would be awkward to eat a deviled egg and I think we all agreed that yes, the eating of deviled eggs in mixed company was an inherently self-effacing experience but completely worth it. Then one girl asked me for relationship advice. Sex advice even? I had had enough wine to actually answer. When I called my boyfriend after I told him about this and he found it quite hilarious. He asked if I could give him sex advice some time. Sure, I said. Then Melissa and I stayed up late talking and ate clementines in the morning and I went straight back to work, feeling new.
The sun sets 1 minute later every day, you know. At least according to this calendar I stare at when I am feeling hopeless. We are making it! On March 11th the sun won’t set til 7pm. FYI.
