You can't cook them.

I got called a feminist a few times this year.

In college the girl in charge of the Bethel Feminists Forum (I attended once, because they had a clothing swap. Never again.) didn't shave her legs or under her arms, and wore no makeup. In my mind, she was the poster child for feminism.

So when someone called me a feminist this year, my instant reaction was, "Impossible. I shave."

I was raised by a mom who was in the process of earning three masters degrees. She didn't do a lot of cooking when I was growing up, but she did teach me the importance of working your tail off. She also instilled in me a love for art, and taught me that you don't always have to do things the way other people do them. My sister, Erin, cooked a lot, but she was a big snob in the kitchen and she always made me sit a safe distance away from any utensils. I learned to embrace this.

This means I have no idea how to cook steak or fry chicken, but I can name every artist from the Impressionist Era. I can play instruments (not particularly well), I can edit your essay, I can make pots out of clay, I can paint and draw and I love to write--but ask me to cook dinner for you and I will have a full-blown panic attack. Or I won't panic at all, but I also won't pay attention, and I'll end up burning everything.

I used to think that this was all well and good in a sort of romantic, artsy, bohemian way. 

But now, I spend a lot of nights staring into my refrigerator, wondering what the crap I'm going to eat, and remembering that in order to cook anything at all, I probably should have bought more than a box of oatmeal, some peanut butter, and grapes.

Not like those things don't get you far...

So I think this year I should probably get a few culinary basics down. I should also spray paint half of my furniture and paint my cabinets and start painting pictures again...and play my guitar more so I can suck less at that...And write a book. A whole book. I want to write a book.

But yes. Cooking.

It's on my to do list.