Cooking, and other life skills

I had an epiphany this week. It hit while I was making ratatouille: “By Jove,” I said, sauteing diced eggplant, “I do believe I deserve a wife who can cook.”  I’d never really thought about this before. A wife who can cook and clean and do laundry? I want me one of those!

Only twice have girlfriends ever cooked for me. One microwaved a bowl of Campbell’s soup when I was sick. The other cooked chicken (not chicken with vegetables and a starch, just chicken). Not that I’m keeping score or anything. I only realized this when my friend told me stories about food she’d made her boyfriend. It was like she was talking about her recent trip to Mars. This exists? I can get a woman who will cook for me?

Already I hear the feminists’ battle cry: “Male chauvinist! If you want some food, go make it yourself!” And actually, I do. I’ve been cooking since I was 7. I’ve been doing my own laundry, mending, and ironing since I was 8. As second of ten kids, I’ve changed more diapers than the average American woman. I’ve made more dinners for more girls than I can remember. And we’re not talking chili mac. So go ahead. Call me a chauvinist. See if I care.

Everyone talks about those pathetic single guys who still live at home, waiting for mommy to cook dinner and wash their laundry for them. Or the college guys who eat cold cereal 7 days per week and wield Febreeze as if it replaced a washing machine. Seriously, are you even potty trained? It’s time to put on your big boy pants and become an adult.

But it’s like we’re not allowed to talk about the girls who live approximately the same lifestyle.

An ex-girlfriend of mine didn’t know how to wash laundry. Like, she wasn’t even sure which bottle was soap. So we had a laundry date, and I taught her the basics. But then her mom found out. Holy Fourth of July! The woman threw a fit. Wouldn’t talk to her daughter, slamming doors, the whole kabootle. Turns out her mom had done laundry for all the other kids, all through college. They would tote 6 weeks of dirty laundry home to have mom wash it. And that’s how mom liked it. Really, I’m not kidding.

But if you’re planning on living like an independent adult, if you’re planning on getting married, if you’re hoping to make babies…don’t you think you should get some adult/marriage/baby-feeding skills? Two generations ago, this wasn’t considered optional. Why are we different? If you can’t clean up after yourself, make your own food, and spend less than you earn, why should we pretend you’re part of the adult club?

The essence of chauvinism is expecting someone else do for you what you wouldn’t do for yourself. But I gladly cook for myself and others. And this week I realized I want a woman who can do the same. I’m not looking for a servant, just an equal partner.

All this brings me to a realization about my mom: She taught me reading, writing, my colors, my numbers, how to cook, follow instructions, clean up after myself, wash laundry, manage a budget, shop for food, be angry and then forgive, tend a garden, mow the lawn, sanitize a toilet, change a diaper, wash glass without leaving streaks. And when I was still too childish to do it all myself, she stepped in and was quietly the mommy who cooks, folds, and cleans for her boy. Really, it’s because of her that I have the skills and experience to claim my spot at the adult table. It’s because of her that I can honestly say, I deserve a partner with life skills.

Because there’s something golden about what my mom did for me, and I want my kids to have that.

Why did it take me so long to realize I want a girl who can cook?

A black belt in Creepy

Okay, so I’ve already talked about Creepy as an art form. I’ve stalked people for jokes, made fun of my friends’ creepers, and even accidentally picked up my roommate’s stalker. (Talk about awkward.) But THIS guy has a black belt in Creepy:

Wow. Let’s analyze his technique, shall we?

• Shirtless. Because everything is more creepy when you’re unclad.
• Rocking. Nothing complements nauseating affirmations of love like vertigo.
• Posting it on YouTube. Because if it was going to be creepy in private, it will be better after all of her friends have seen it too.
• Smarmy grin, as at 0:12. His delivery is impeccable, with the slightly raised eyebrow, eyelids at half-mast, one half of his face turned up, vomit covering my screen. This boy has skills.
• Demeaning pet names. Did anyone else catch that one time he called her “baby girl?”
• Cliché love volumizers. Love magically becomes better if you have as much of it as you have of a pile of sand. ‘Cause that makes sense.
• Groty hair. Shirtless made you touchable. Unwashed hair gives texture to the image.
• Homelessness. Anybody notice that he only has one shirt in the closet? That’s because he’s a squatter in an abandoned building. If you smile at him nice enough, he’ll drag you back to his lair.
• Promises to “see you tomorrow.” Because who wouldn’t want to be reminded that you’re stuck with your creeper, each day, every day, all day?

The only thing that could possibly make this creepier is if he IS Briona, and he’s making the video for himself.

Briona, you lucky dog, you’re a world-class creeper.

140 Characters

I hate Twitter. It’s not that I mind all the Twits with their memes and trends and links. I don’t even mind people pretending to “follow” someone in hopes that one more person will get updates on their bladder infection. What I hate is the 140 character limit.

The entire Twitterverse revolves around this limitation. #tags, @people, URLs, everything is shoehorned into140 characters. Worst of all, it works. You can see everything quickly, run through a dozen updates in a minute, easy. It’s so good that people have come to expect it.

But HELLO! Who made the last 140 character contribution to humanity? Can you imagine restricting Robert Frost to 140 characters?

Two roads
and I
looked down one
Then took the other,
Because it was grassy.
I doubted I’d come back.
Two roads diverged and I
took one.
#goodpoem

What if Lincoln had been forced to deliver the Gettysburg Address in 140 characters?

Years ago men were equal. Now we war.
Brave men have power.
The world will forget us. We have freedom of, by, for the people.
#empancipateme!

If Lincoln had given that speech, Virginia would still be a slave state. The extra 1,300 characters weren’t wasted.

The thing that truly astonishes me is just how offensive people manage to be in under 140 characters:

@sarahlynn: I would put you in rehab to help you with your eating disorder . </3

People ACTUALLY tweet this stuff! Don’t you think your friend will be a little mad if they see it? It gets better when they respond:

gf got a puppy. #hate puppies. They turn into dogs. Now marrying her means marrying the dog too. Why am I in this relationship?

@sugadaddy: OMW, Larry are you breaking up with me? Over Twitter?

I’m amused. Is anyone else amused? But if Twitter has this big of an impact on your, you’re using it wrong.

The world is about living a life, not tweeting about it.

Setting people up

I have a great idea. You should do this and tell me how it turns out.

I hate it when someone asks me to set them up on a date. It’s worse than being asked to go on a pity date, because if it doesn’t go well, now you have two people annoyed with you. Why are you asking me to do your job for you? Man up and go ask someone out. I’m not your eHarmony.

Next time a dude asks me to set him up on a date, I’m going to set him up with my grandmother.

Shave the ‘Stache

I can no longer shackle myself with silence. The indignity of the injustice you’re inflicting on an innocent world is too much, and I cannot bear it with decorum any longer. And so in the name of humanity and for the love of all things beautiful, I demand that you shave your stupid mustache!

No, it isn’t sexy. No, it isn’t cute. The only thing taking a ride on your mustache is yesterday’s breakfast. It’s time to grow up, put on your big-boy pants, and shave it off! If you won’t, we will. With dull scissors. And sand paper.

Sure, every guy goes through that phase where he sports a mustache, just to demonstrate that he has sufficient testosterone to promote folical growth. This produces the nasty scraggle-stache, which is the reason you haven’t been kissed since kindergarten. Most of us outgrew the scraggle-stache in high school. If you’re only just getting your testosterone-hair, then you need to shave, times two.

Later in life, some guys grow a full-bodied ‘stache, because they think it’s funny. There’s nothing funny about it. Whether you have a Dread Pirate Roberts ‘stache or a bush growing out of your face, you just look embarrassing.

Ladies, I’m afraid you’re not off the hook on this. There is no imaginable reason why you should be sporting a mustache. If you have one, I’m terribly sorry, but for your own good it must go. Today.

A friend of mine, we’ll call him W., told me about the Mustache Girlfriend. He cared about her. She was beautiful. She was all sorts of wonderful things. Every time he went to kiss her, he said, the sight of her mustache/goatee combo would nearly make him gag. They didn’t last long.

Say what you will about Mr. W. (and that’s not short for Wickham), but he’s got a point: nobody wants to kiss the ‘stache.

In case you aren’t convinced yet, here are a few scrumptious examples of mustaches you should not have. Ever. If you wouldn’t want people taking pictures and posting them on the Internet, it shouldn’t be growing out of your face:

I don’t want to be your friend

This week, everybody has been talking about a video made at USU: Why Men and Women Can’t Be Friends. A million views in a week. Does the Llama have thoughts on the subject? Why yes, yes I do.

Let’s imagine a quintessential ”let’s be friends” situation from the male perspective (though it happens just as much in the reverse):

Guy likes pretty Girl. So he tries to curry the girl’s interest, talking to her, listening to her problems or hopes or dreams, offering encouragement and comfort, being there for her. But he instinctively knows she’s holding back. So he tries to keep it slow. She’s gradually coming around. She wouldn’t spend this kind of time if she weren’t interested. She wouldn’t touch him or smile like that if she didn’t have feelings too, right?

Girl isn’t stupid. She knows he has feelings, and she likes him–she really does–but not in “that” way. And yet, she appreciates how sensitive and patient and thoughtful he is. Nobody else listens to her the way he does, and she needs that in her life right now. She can see that he gets discourage with her sometimes, so she gives him an extra smile, an occasional fond touch (just as friends), and confides in him. Because she wants him to know how much she appreciates his friendship.

This is going to end badly. Sooner or later, his patience will run out or she will find a manflesh. Then she’ll pull the ” just friends” card as an exit strategy:

“Thank you for all that you’ve done for me. I really appreciate it, and I hope that John doesn’t come between us, that we’ll just still be friends.”

“Yeah, of course.” Translation: Yes, I’d be overjoyed to “just” be your friend. That’s exactly what I’ve always wanted. Excuse me while I go cry in the corner.

Seriously, Girl, what did you expect? You led the poor boy on, trying to reap the benefits of a relationship without paying for it. Of course he was your best friend, because he was treating you like a girlfriend. You knew exactly what was going on–and that it would never happen–but you allowed him to continue believing in an impossible future. You gave someone false hope so that they would give you what you wanted. That’s the definition of using someone. Do you think “friends” will be a great consolation prize? If you can only make friendships with people who do all the work for you, you’re a pretty cruddy friend.

Your Guy doesn’t want to be your “just” friend, and you’ve always known it. Your “friendship” up to this point has been built on an uneven foundation of mismatched hopes and desires, and you carry the blame.

It’s your move. They put their heart on the line, and you abused that. If you’re serious about a friendship, prove it. The only way forward is to kill the old friendship–along with hope and desire–and bring it back to life. You’ll have to start from scratch. Acknowledge your faults. Clarify your intentions and define the friendship. Go out of your way to make it work. Include them. Be there for them the way they were there for you before. Become reliable and stable. And don’t shrink away from them like shadows shrinks from the rising sun.

And then, with the honesty, trust, and openness between you, you can be friends. You can even be just friends.

Whether or not guys and girls can be friends isn’t dictated by laws of the Universe, it’s a reflection of you.

What She DOESN’T want for Christmas: a holiday shopping guide for bros

As Christmas approaches, I feel a sense of concern for my fellow men. Some of your are totally clueless, and if someone doesn’t set you on the strait and narrow before the 25th, you’re going to be in for a world of hurt.

I refer, of course, to your taste in Christmas gifts. Far too many of you don’t understand that girls don’t open gifts; girls interpret gifts. You might think a tauntaun sleeping bag is cool, but she’ll take one look and ask herself: “Does he  think I’m a nerd? Maybe he’s making fun of me. But I actually do think it’s funny. Maybe…maybe I am too much of a nerd…” And just like that, your gift has backfired.

Before you hunt for a gift, you need a firm grasp of what NOT to get her:

#10: Breath mints. Holy cow, please tell me you didn’t slip these into her stocking. Hopefully this is obvious, because breath mints are #10 to make you understand just how bad these other gifts really are. If you don’t know what’s wrong with breath mints, you should probably pretend you forgot Christmas. I’ve tried it both ways and trust me, it’s easier to recover from no gift at all.

#9: Caffeinated anything. Doesn’t matter if it’s funny. Doesn’t matter if you are caffeine addicts together. Doesn’t matter if it’s an inside joke. Sooner or later, she’ll look at the caffeine and wonder, “Maybe he thinks I’m not exciting…”

#8: Flowers. Bouquets are everyday gestures or for special dates. Flowers will not be accepted as a “gift” because they are part of your normal obligation to her. You might not remember agreeing to that, but you apparently did. Give her flowers on Christmas, even diamond-studded roses, and she’ll think you’re trying to not get her anything. (Even better, leave yellow flowers on her doorstep. They’ll make her cry. I dare you.)

#7: Special dates. Like flowers, she expects you to do this just because. Give her a “romantic evening for us,” and it translates to no gift at all. Even if it’s her favorite place, even if you can’t afford it, even if you try hard, you just can’t win here.

#6: Stuffed animals. Please, are we back in junior high? You’re embarrassing me, man.

#5: Clothing, especially in her size. Oh my word, getting her size right is about the worst gift imaginable. You see, women expect gift clothing to be several sizes too small and have a receipt so they can return it and buy whatever they want. When you get the right size, she’s left asking herself, “How fat does he really think I am?” Size 7 might sound small to you, but she’ll be horribly offended.

#4: Gift cards. To you, this looks the same as clothing+receipt, except that it saves her the trouble of standing in a returns line. Brilliant. But to her, it’s an admission that you couldn’t find anything she would like. Women don’t want to feel hard-to-please, even if they are.

#3: Gifts for yourself, such as perfume, framed photos of yourself, lingerie, etc. The purpose of a gift is to make her happy, not you. Learn the difference.

#2: Cosmetics, hair dye, creams, ointments, “rejuvenators,” wrinkle reducers, etc. Even if you got her something she desperately wanted, even if it was expensive, even if it looks great on her, this is a fail. Your girl might slather it on with a paint roller, but she wants you to pretend she looks that way naturally. At heart, all women are anti-cosmetics, and so they use cosmetics to try to make you believe they look that way naturally. Confusing, isn’t it? I’ll keep it simple: Pretend she doesn’t wear makeup, even if she looks like Cher.

#1: A ring. You think getting engaged will magnify your favorite holiday, but don’t. Seriously, don’t. I know, you went crazy and spent $8,000 on it, and that should count for something, but it doesn’t. Let Christmas be Christmas. You’d be better off getting her a puppy now and a RingPop next week. All my ex-wives agree.

And there you have it. Don’t send me questions about what you should get her, because I haven’t a clue. Faced with the task of buying gifts for a girl, I always find myself breaking up with her instead.

So, if you find something that works, be a pal and let the rest of us know.

What Women Really Want

A woman sent this to me as part of the Llama Christmas posting spree. I think she’s trying to tell me something. But I’m not sure what it is.

“uh huh. Wow, I can’t imagine…wait, what were you saying?”

Ken Dolls

So…my brother (one of my oldest followers…seriously, I started indoctrinating him with Gregorian “hail the Llama” chants at age 2. My mom wasn’t amused, and his primary teachers were seriously concerned about him. But that was nothing compared to the time our neighbors, the baptist minister and his wife, saw us playing “human sacrifice” in the backyard, with him dancing around, shouting “Hail the Llama!”) Anyway, um…what was I saying..?

Oh yeah. So, my brother was playing in the Barbie aisle, when he found this:

Wow. Where do I even start?

Did anyone ever notice that Ken only comes in three flavors? Tight shirt 1, tight shirt 2, and shirtless beach bum. “Check out my bazillion ab muscles.”

I’m not sure if I’m more disturbed by Ken’s wardrobe or lack of personal interests. Barbie lives the dreams of every 7 year-old, liberated feminist: ballerina princess, drug-crazed hippie, tattoo artist, Alfred Hitchcock star, single mother, morbidly obese teenager, etc. Ken never has anything better to do than accompany Barbie on her adventures, sporting matching clothes and carrying her accessories.

Generations of mixed up little girls have taken their first lessons in gender relations from Ken and Barbie. No wonder their teenage years are so hard.

You’ll never find a “Hey Barb, I’m going hunting with the guys,” Ken doll. The “No, I can’t afford it,” Ken never made it to mass production. As for the “Leaves the toilets seat up” and “works long hours” Ken dolls, well, Mattel decided they wouldn’t fit in Barbie’s Dream House.

No wonder some girls hit middle school and feel more attracted to vampires than teenage boys.

This Christmas, Give the Gift of Llama

Yesterday I discovered that I can see how long people have been following this blog. I was shocked that some of you have been following from day one. I was also surprised to find how many of you have been sharing my posts with your friends.

This being December and all, I wanted to give something back to you who have been supportive of a sarcastic, quirky blog. So I’m giving personalized blog posts to my followers as Christmas presents. Aren’t you excited? You should be. Here’s how it will work:

1. Add yourself as a follower (if you aren’t already).
2. Comment on this post or send me a message on Facebook (www.facebook.com/thedalaillama).
3. In your comment, tell me what you wish you could tell the world or your ex or whatever. Short and pithy is best. (Eg: “Tell Suzie that my boyfriend is not for sharing.”)
4. I will turn your complaint, observation, story, or secret into something memorable, like I did for M.B. a few months ago.
5. You, in turn, can post or tweet the article as if you had NOTHING to do with the content.

This is a good idea.

If you follow first, even by 10 minutes, I’ll write your article first. I’ll keep taking requests until the 24th.

Christmas love,

~the llama

PS – If you message me on Facebook, be sure to tell me the email address you used to follow The Dalai Llama blog.
PPS - If you need ideas, here are some prompts:

• What you want to tell the last guy who took you out.
• What you want to tell the guy who isn’t asking you out.
• Embarrassing moment with someone you liked.
• How you convinced your parents to stop asking about your dating life.
• Worst advice you ever got.
• Ask a nonsense question.
• Tell me why you love your fiance or spouse.
• Something you’ve always wanted to do on a date, but can’t because it’s “socially inappropriate”.
• Tell me why you’re still single or why you deserve to be married