Wednesday, December 14, 2011

Dear Future Husband: Let's make a deal

I have decided that in order to have a happy marriage, it will be important for there be some contractual agreements in place with my spouse. I know that you've got all of the "in sickness and health" jargon that's already built into the marriage vows, but I'm talking specifics here. Some of these already exist, you know what I'm talking about, those basic ground rules like...

If you pass gas in the bed I get to whack you with the pillow.
Heavy lifting will always be rewarded with a hug and a kiss.
If I find your toenail clippings anywhere but the trash, you will find your head shaved in the morning.

These are the standard, run-of-the-mill stipulations. I'm pretty sure I've seen them in every pre-nup I've ever read. The addition that I would like to make is only slightly more obliging than these.

I will delight in making you delicious food, but you must do all the dishes afterwards.

Now, you may be thinking "That sure sounds reasonable, you have yourself a deal! I already wanted to marry you and you're telling me all I need to do are the dishes?". Okay, maybe you're not thinking the second part of that. Before you are too quick to assume the "small" task I am having Future Husband agree too, allow me to illustrate.

When I cook, it's go big or go home. I don't like to cook mediocre stuff. I love to make it fancy, or at least as gourmet as my piddly (this is fake humility) cooking skills can get me. This tends to mean that an excessive amount of bowls and spoons and pots and pans and baking sheets and cutting boards and other gadgets get used. My roommates can vouch for the fact that often times our kitchen looks a little like it exploded. Even though I love to cook, addressing that massacre of dishes afterwards crushes my soul a little bit. When I'm done cooking, the kitchen (and my crushed soul) consistently look like this:
It makes me want to curl up into a ball just looking at it. When you are doing something you love it should make you happier right? Now you see where I'm going with this. There will be two things, well, three things that happen when this contract takes effect.

Number One: You get to eat delicious food, as stated in aforementioned contract. (I have references, glowing ones)

Number Two: I will be happy as a songbird. And as you know, songbirds are 87% happier than all other bird species. And as my boss's favorite mantra goes... "happy wife, happy life". Try and tell me I don't look happy:

Number Three: I will think you are the greatest thing since Google docs, which I believe to be almost as magical as unicorns. I will now utilize a graphical representation of the dishes-love relationship.
You may have noticed that the amount of love for someone washing my dishes has the potential to exceed that of Google docs. If you need to take a minute to process I understand.

So there you have it! One simple signature and two lives get exponentially better.

Another side note I'd like to make mention of- In the midst of writing this post, I was told by someone that the cupcake of mine he ate the other day was the best he'd ever had, in case you have yet to be sufficiently convinced. *wink wink, nudge nudge.

Tuesday, December 13, 2011

When I like a guy

Long story short, when I like a guy, I turn into the opposite of cool.

It's not like I have some huge bank of 'cool' to pull from in the first place, so it's really a dangerous thing when I can't access that limited vat of coolness. Let's say that you are having a conversation with AGuyILike. You are talking to him and say "Hey, remember that time Shelly said/did that funny/clever/awesome/cute thing?". No, no he doesn't. Because these are the kinds of conversations I manage to have when I like a guy:

-I really like pickles, hey let me tell you a bunch of stuff about how I like pickles.

-Did I ever tell you about the time I projectile vomited? The color was really funky...

-Gosh the beige color on these walls is just really nice, don't you think it's so nice? I think it's really nice, so beige-y, a really nice hue of beige. 

-Oh! You're studying geography? I love maps, and places... and the way places are arranged on maps.

-So I was at the grocery store the other day and I bought some milk. ... ... ... The end.

-One time I got this rash, it was so itchy, all over my arms and my face. The doctors say it's probably not contagious anymore... *touch his arm

 Wow. Just walk away...

I want to stop talking, I really do, but it's like watching a train wreck happen. There is no stopping the waterfall of awkward that falls from my mouth.

Have you heard the term "facepalm" before? Because every time I walk away from one of these moments that is what I do to myself.

I have decided that my awkward nervousness lends itself to four types of conversations:

TMI: Toooooo much information. No one needs that much detail, on anything, especially not the stomach virus you contracted in your travels to somewhere twenty minutes away.

Wildly uncomfortable: "Heh heh... sooo... ahem... yeah... so have you- oh sorry, you first, no it's okay, no really go ahead. ...oops, too late, I forgot." You can't seem to say anything without stepping on each others toes. There are things like nervous laughter, sweaty palms, and weird gestures involved (i.e. "the wink and the gun").

Nonsensical: "You've never been to the place where the walls are kind of a greenish yellowy gray with the tables and the rooster on the door and people smiling?" When you repeat what you just said in your mind and even you can't understand it, it's not a good sign. If you find that you are getting a lot of confused looks, head tilts, and "huh?"s, then you're probably using this communicative tactic.

Excessive sarcasm: "Hahaha you're so stupid, just kidding, but no really it's like I've never met anyone so dumb, hahaha, geeeez I'm just joking, don't be such a girl!". When you're ready to hit yourself in the face for being such a jerk, you are most definitely using this conversational style. I don't think any of the other three compare to this one when it comes to wishing you could stuff the words back in your mouth. Oh the regret and shame!

Below is a graphical representation of the impact of utilizing these techniques:

Dear GuyILike: If you weren't so handsome and charming I wouldn't be such bumbling fool around you. I promise you would think I am awesome, and rad, and would most definitely want to date me. But alas, I just told you about the blanket I carried around until I was eleven. *facepalm

**Disclaimer: I don't actually have any of these weird health ailments or blanket carrying habits, but equally embarrassing things have certainly been said.