Okay, I'm not really writing about other people's appearance. I'm going to talk about my own. That's alright, right? I guess what choice do you have other than read about it or not.
Today I decided to go all out and do the whole song and dance. This includes washing and conditioning with drug store shampoo and conditioner. I know, my hairdresser friends, buildup.... Then I moused, texture sprayed and blow dried with a round brush. The round brush is about the fanciest thing in my hair styling regimen. I don't own a curling iron. I have a flat iron, but I am disaster on wheels with that thing. I ditched the curling iron years ago. If I'm disaster on wheels with the flat iron, I'm disaster with a side of atomic bomb with a curling iron. Somehow, I end up with it backwards... Or upside down... I'm not sure what I do wrong, but I end up with crimps instead of curls... My second styling tool is my beloved backcombing brush. If I were writing this post twenty years ago, I'd be calling it a ratting brush. Some days I give my hair a little bump behind my side part and other days I go full on-just-short-of-helmet hair. Lots of volume, lots of aerosol hairspray (aerosol is key to big hair.)
Today I went with a little bump because my outfit wasn't all that fancy. When my best laid efforts were finished, my expression was one of consternation. Not from the finished shape and style, but because the color. I hate my hair color. I hate the phrase dirty blonde, but I must face it. After not seeing a stylist since the end of last April, that's what color my hair is... Yuck. I just have a hard time paying the money and blocking out two hours of my time to achieve the glorious shiny blonde I lean towards when I do get my hair done. Basically, I'm cheap and lazy when it comes to my hair.
So, with the hair done, it's contact time and makeup. I am often too lazy to put my contacts in everyday. Although I prefer my look sans glasses, contacts can be an ordeal all in itself when you don't use them everyday. I figured if I did full-on hair, may as well go for broke and pop the peepers onto my eyeballs. I only had to take the right one out once today to spray some extra debris off to give me a comfortable fit.
On to makeup. I'm pretty much a minimalist when it comes to makeup. When I look closely in the mirror at my thirty-two year old face, I could probably do well with some pore reducers, creams and foundation or powder. But I'm terrible at blending, choosing color and quite frankly, all that makes my face feel funny. If I were famous or my blog had a huge following, I bet I could say how much I love Bare Minerals and magically, I would have boxes and boxes of the product at my doorstep simply by mentioning it :) Since this hasn't or won't happen, I forgo the foundation. I don't do lipstick either. That makes my lips feel funnier than any kind of powder/cream/ liquid on my skin. Plus, I'd never remember to reapply, so the point would be moot by the time my lips saw natural daylight. So, by "putting of my makeup" I basically mean a good amount of eyeliner, eyeshadow (two shades most of the time, three if I'm feeling fancy) and many swipes of mascara.
Any skills I've mastered by applying these three products and really any hair coiffuring skills, I've learned from my younger sister, Melissa, during our yearly vacations to our Grandparent's house in Arkansas. And since we haven't been there in 4 years, that is the last time I've updated any kind of technique concerning hair or makeup. Sad? Maybe. I don't think I'm too far out of any kind of style, though. Blah hair color and neutral tone makeup is pretty, well, neutral.
Overall the finished, full effort still looks pretty darn okay and really after the 15 minutes it takes me to do all of this that it just took me 45 minutes to describe, my day goes on and I really never give my appearance another thought.
Now that I'm feeling completely vain and bored with my own topic, I'll bid you adieu.
Thursday, February 28, 2013
Wednesday, February 27, 2013
Blog vs Blog
I'm enjoying this writing/blogging thing. Question is, is anyone enjoying the reading part of it? Well, guessing from my vastly dwindling page visits, I'm not sure.... But I'm going to continue on regardless.
I've done some writing/pseudo-blogging in the past. Nothing published or scholarly, by no means. It's actually been my husband's Carepage as I've chronicled most of his, along with our family's, journey since his diagnosis of cancer in 2010. That has a good following. In fact, as the page's administrator, I'm privy to the people who follow my postings, their email addresses (which has come in handy when I want to extend a personal thank you,) when the last time they visited the page and how many total times they have logged in. I love that feature! It not only gives me something to do during long clinic and hospital visits, but it feeds some kind of deeply hidden vouyeristic feeling I get when I'm the only one that can see these details.
Now, this blog gives me information on those viewing it. But it isn't nearly as fascinating. As a matter of fact, it's random and boring and probably only exiting to... I'm just not sure who... Seriously? I'm don't know the names of those who read this. BUT, I am told how many people read each post in a day and collectively. I am told what country readers are from. I am told how many times I check my own blog(that's embarrassingly high), I am told how readers connect to my blog wether it be direct web address or more than likely through a Facebook link, lastly, I am told what operating system and device people use when they read the blog. For reals? Why would I or anyone else care if their blog is read on an iPod, droid phone or PC???? Quite frankly, it's creepier to have that information collected about a reader than me seeing how often certain people check in with the Carepage.
Why, Google? (Google is the blog host.) Why do you collect this obscure (at least to me) information? Creeper computer geeks. That's my best guess.
Oh, and just in case you caught me on the readers from Facebook links, I am not the one posting the links as I can proudly (albeit, sadly) say, "My name is Sarah. I am a Facebook-holic and it has been 14 days since I've last been on Facebook."
At the end of the day, I've got a lot to say and I like the writing part of blogging. I don't like the absence of comments and flow of conversation that I am accustomed to while on Facebook. Perhaps once Easter is here, I can get the best of all worlds-Facebook, blogging and the continued closeness to my faith that I've been able to achieve while NOT on Facebook. I hope I'll remember to Facebook a little less and pray a lot more once I'm back to the world of status updates and newsfeeds!
I've done some writing/pseudo-blogging in the past. Nothing published or scholarly, by no means. It's actually been my husband's Carepage as I've chronicled most of his, along with our family's, journey since his diagnosis of cancer in 2010. That has a good following. In fact, as the page's administrator, I'm privy to the people who follow my postings, their email addresses (which has come in handy when I want to extend a personal thank you,) when the last time they visited the page and how many total times they have logged in. I love that feature! It not only gives me something to do during long clinic and hospital visits, but it feeds some kind of deeply hidden vouyeristic feeling I get when I'm the only one that can see these details.
Now, this blog gives me information on those viewing it. But it isn't nearly as fascinating. As a matter of fact, it's random and boring and probably only exiting to... I'm just not sure who... Seriously? I'm don't know the names of those who read this. BUT, I am told how many people read each post in a day and collectively. I am told what country readers are from. I am told how many times I check my own blog(that's embarrassingly high), I am told how readers connect to my blog wether it be direct web address or more than likely through a Facebook link, lastly, I am told what operating system and device people use when they read the blog. For reals? Why would I or anyone else care if their blog is read on an iPod, droid phone or PC???? Quite frankly, it's creepier to have that information collected about a reader than me seeing how often certain people check in with the Carepage.
Why, Google? (Google is the blog host.) Why do you collect this obscure (at least to me) information? Creeper computer geeks. That's my best guess.
Oh, and just in case you caught me on the readers from Facebook links, I am not the one posting the links as I can proudly (albeit, sadly) say, "My name is Sarah. I am a Facebook-holic and it has been 14 days since I've last been on Facebook."
At the end of the day, I've got a lot to say and I like the writing part of blogging. I don't like the absence of comments and flow of conversation that I am accustomed to while on Facebook. Perhaps once Easter is here, I can get the best of all worlds-Facebook, blogging and the continued closeness to my faith that I've been able to achieve while NOT on Facebook. I hope I'll remember to Facebook a little less and pray a lot more once I'm back to the world of status updates and newsfeeds!
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
Repo Games
I've been watching Repo Games on Spike all afternoon. I love this show. Why? Because even though I am not at the top of the scholarly totem pole, I am a freakin' genius compared to some of these people.
If you've never seen the show, basically between two hosts (one of whom is Josh Lewis, Wisconsin native and cousin of my friend, Beka) they load up cars about to be repoed then the delinquent owners have a chance to not only keep their vehicles , but have them paid off IF (the big word is IF) they can correctly answer 3 out of 5 trivia questions.
Sounds easy enough, right? Wrong. Sometimes I wonder how people get through school and not know some of these answers. Here are a few examples of questions asked-
What coonskin cap wearing American did Wayne depict the movie 'The Alamo'?
What language is the letter S represented as dot dot dot?
What is the least amount of coins you can use to make 76 cents?
What is the name of Cher's daughter who had gender change surgery?
If you worked 24/7, how many hours would you work in a week?
(No calculators)
So, if your car was up for repo, would you have gotten your back?
Oh, I should give you the answers so you may score yourselves-
Davie Crockett
Morse Code
Three (half dollar, quarter, penny)
Chelsea Bono
168
Just so y'all know, I won my car. I win almost all the cars. I really like trivia. We've watched four straight hours and Paul has accused me of cheating more than once. I don't cheat. I just know stuff. Lots of it.
Most of the questions are pop culture/entertainment, history, geography, some math, and in your face the answer is in the question categories. Most of the "contestants" are people you'd expect to pass in the grocery store or at the gas station on a daily basis. Your average lower middle class to poverty level of all ages, ethnicities, cognitive and psychological, along with chemically enhanced individuals. It's really easy to make a knee jerk prejudiced assessment of them. If you haven't seen the show, try to catch it sometime and see how you rate. You know, just in case you're behind on a few car payments :)
If you've never seen the show, basically between two hosts (one of whom is Josh Lewis, Wisconsin native and cousin of my friend, Beka) they load up cars about to be repoed then the delinquent owners have a chance to not only keep their vehicles , but have them paid off IF (the big word is IF) they can correctly answer 3 out of 5 trivia questions.
Sounds easy enough, right? Wrong. Sometimes I wonder how people get through school and not know some of these answers. Here are a few examples of questions asked-
What coonskin cap wearing American did Wayne depict the movie 'The Alamo'?
What language is the letter S represented as dot dot dot?
What is the least amount of coins you can use to make 76 cents?
What is the name of Cher's daughter who had gender change surgery?
If you worked 24/7, how many hours would you work in a week?
(No calculators)
So, if your car was up for repo, would you have gotten your back?
Oh, I should give you the answers so you may score yourselves-
Davie Crockett
Morse Code
Three (half dollar, quarter, penny)
Chelsea Bono
168
Just so y'all know, I won my car. I win almost all the cars. I really like trivia. We've watched four straight hours and Paul has accused me of cheating more than once. I don't cheat. I just know stuff. Lots of it.
Most of the questions are pop culture/entertainment, history, geography, some math, and in your face the answer is in the question categories. Most of the "contestants" are people you'd expect to pass in the grocery store or at the gas station on a daily basis. Your average lower middle class to poverty level of all ages, ethnicities, cognitive and psychological, along with chemically enhanced individuals. It's really easy to make a knee jerk prejudiced assessment of them. If you haven't seen the show, try to catch it sometime and see how you rate. You know, just in case you're behind on a few car payments :)
Monday, February 25, 2013
Living a Redneck Life
I'll admit it. I'm probably a Redneck. I wouldn't say I'm a down home redneck or backwoods redneck, BUT a redneck regardless.
Remember when Jeff Foxworthy was the premier comedian of the decade? Yeah well, there were way too many instances that could easily be related to my little corner of the world called Pleasant Grove. People have cars in their yards. (I said yards, not driveways.) Running ones, broken ones, ones without tires, partial ones, ones with bullet holes...
People in my corner of the world own pets. Lots of them. Mostly of the barking persuasion. Big barking ones, yipping ones, coon hunting ones, little itty bitty tea cup sized ones.
People own guns. Lots of them. We collect them because we can, buy them from one another when its purpose has been served and we shoot all kinds of things.
We own toys. Not Matchbox cars and Barbie dolls, but snowmobiles, dirt bikes, four wheelers, boats, golf carts, Harleys, campers. There is even a drivable picnic table in my back yard. It was a redneck weekend project of epic proportions. Don't even get me started on the massive LP tank turned cookers/smokers that have been birthed in this place.
We hunt. We fish.
The best stories are ones when friends and family join together to drink and be merry. Wether it be in someone's shop while they're working on a vehicle, someone's house while they're renovating, a yard for in celebration of a birthday or life event or a garage just to commune after the work day, there's usually a story. Do you know I have actually witnessed a physical fight over Fords vs Chevys? I am not shxtting you. It happened. For a few years, family and neighbors put together "Pleasant Grove Days." This was not a celebration that was set forth in front of town hall or had any kind of officiality. Someone put a beer banner up in a yard and it just happened. We had a parade and everything.
All my memories of these times and the people who have helped make them, I hold dear. Of course they scream, in big neon letters possibly hung on some deer antlers, "R-E-D-N-E-C-K"
but it's my redneck life and I'm lovin' it :)
Remember when Jeff Foxworthy was the premier comedian of the decade? Yeah well, there were way too many instances that could easily be related to my little corner of the world called Pleasant Grove. People have cars in their yards. (I said yards, not driveways.) Running ones, broken ones, ones without tires, partial ones, ones with bullet holes...
People in my corner of the world own pets. Lots of them. Mostly of the barking persuasion. Big barking ones, yipping ones, coon hunting ones, little itty bitty tea cup sized ones.
People own guns. Lots of them. We collect them because we can, buy them from one another when its purpose has been served and we shoot all kinds of things.
We own toys. Not Matchbox cars and Barbie dolls, but snowmobiles, dirt bikes, four wheelers, boats, golf carts, Harleys, campers. There is even a drivable picnic table in my back yard. It was a redneck weekend project of epic proportions. Don't even get me started on the massive LP tank turned cookers/smokers that have been birthed in this place.
We hunt. We fish.
The best stories are ones when friends and family join together to drink and be merry. Wether it be in someone's shop while they're working on a vehicle, someone's house while they're renovating, a yard for in celebration of a birthday or life event or a garage just to commune after the work day, there's usually a story. Do you know I have actually witnessed a physical fight over Fords vs Chevys? I am not shxtting you. It happened. For a few years, family and neighbors put together "Pleasant Grove Days." This was not a celebration that was set forth in front of town hall or had any kind of officiality. Someone put a beer banner up in a yard and it just happened. We had a parade and everything.
All my memories of these times and the people who have helped make them, I hold dear. Of course they scream, in big neon letters possibly hung on some deer antlers, "R-E-D-N-E-C-K"
but it's my redneck life and I'm lovin' it :)
Sunday, February 24, 2013
Baptism
Today our oldest son, Justin, became a Godfather to our great-nephew, Brock. I can still remember the day Justin was baptized, looking so tiny and dapper in his little white baptismal outfit. Now he's outgrown both Paul and I, standing at a hulking 6 foot with size 16 shoes. And obviously of fine upstanding character since he was chosen as an important figure in Brock's life. I am so proud that our children, not just Justin, are seen as kind and considerate people. Friends, family, neighbors and teachers have taken the time to compliment the virtues that my children exude in their everyday lives. There are no finer compliments, especially when we don't always feel like our parenting skills are as good as they could be.
I bet you're wondering how a 14 year old is supposed to impact such a young one into a spiritual life... Well, he won't always be 14. This is something I had to remind myself of. If Justin continues to be the compassionate person he is, when Brock is to the age when he notices how a person should treat others, I hope he looks to his cousin Justin.
Justin also wanted to know what his being Godfather meant other than getting the little tyke gifts at Christmas and his birthday. I told him first of all, your biggest responsibility, along with the rest of the church congregation, is to make sure that Brock knows he is a child of God. Or as Justin had to clarify with Brock's dad during the sermon, since God is our shepherd, we are in fact, His sheep. I guess by this experience, we have not only started on Brock's spiritual cornerstone, we added a few bricks to Justin's own foundation.
Then Justin had to commercialize it all by asking if he got a long haired cat to stroke as he refutes propositions from an office chair...
Congratulations and Blessings to Kayla, Mike and Brock, along with Amy, Justin, and our families for this day!
I bet you're wondering how a 14 year old is supposed to impact such a young one into a spiritual life... Well, he won't always be 14. This is something I had to remind myself of. If Justin continues to be the compassionate person he is, when Brock is to the age when he notices how a person should treat others, I hope he looks to his cousin Justin.
Justin also wanted to know what his being Godfather meant other than getting the little tyke gifts at Christmas and his birthday. I told him first of all, your biggest responsibility, along with the rest of the church congregation, is to make sure that Brock knows he is a child of God. Or as Justin had to clarify with Brock's dad during the sermon, since God is our shepherd, we are in fact, His sheep. I guess by this experience, we have not only started on Brock's spiritual cornerstone, we added a few bricks to Justin's own foundation.
Then Justin had to commercialize it all by asking if he got a long haired cat to stroke as he refutes propositions from an office chair...
Congratulations and Blessings to Kayla, Mike and Brock, along with Amy, Justin, and our families for this day!
Saturday, February 23, 2013
My Love/Hate Relationship with Jeans
Jeans. We all own them, wear them, dig through our dressers for the ones we actually like...
And how is this? How can we own an average of seven pairs (Surely my research cannot be accurate.. Only seven pairs per American on average? My family must own enough jeans to account for all of Pleasant Grove's population.) Thinking of all these jeans, how many pairs do you own that you love?
Me? None. I only love my trailer park pants. Definition- What my husband so lovingly calls my vast collection of yoga pants. I have a few pairs of jeans I kinda love. My Long and Lean style Gap jeans are nice. They're well constructed, they taper nicely so my longer than average legs look even longer and well, leaner. Best of all, according to the wonderful people at Gap, I wear a size 6! I will happily play into that delusion when I put on my favorite jeans. These are the pair I dig through my drawers to find, kindly pushing aside the one with "issues."
Let's talk about jeans with "issues." I can't account for all issues because different body types have different denim needs. These are my three big hangups-
Length- As I mentioned, my legs are longer than average though I'm only 5'6" Average or regular length make me feel like an awkward big bird figure whose pants just never quite rest on that sweet spot on my shoes rather just suspend in midair waiting to drape on something.
Rise- There is so much wrong with super low rise jeans. So much. Even if one is beautifully toned and tanned through the midsection (which I am not), the presence of crack is inevitable. If I can't bend, squat or sit down in a chair without the light of day bestowing upon my bum, I'm not wearing them. Okay... Maybe on laundry day when trailer park pants are not an option and I'm feeling a bit confident and I'm not planning any fast moves or strenuous activity, I'll wear the crack jeans. Then I wonder all that day why I still own them because I hate them. Then they get washed, folded and put back in my dresser. And the vicious cycle starts again. Maybe I keep them to feel as if I'm doing my part in keeping the national average afloat....Not really, I'm just lazy.
Color/Rinse-I prefer dark jeans. I just do. While all my darker blue jeans have options of distressing and rinse, my children's donotsomuch.... Kids jeans have nice options. It's so stinkin' cute when there is a teeny tiny pair that look like they've been worn in all the right places, but I won't pay forty bucks for teeny tiny pants. I just won't. So pretty much my kids look like they wear the same jeans over and over because in keeping with the cheapness that is me, the jeans I buy them come in light and dark. No fancy distressing and whisping. They're okay with that. Color is a whole other thing. Being a child from the eighties, I just can't bring myself to warp back to colored jeans. Also, I'm not that trendy. And again, I'm cheap. If I can't wear those jeans three years from now, I'm not buying them. Not to mention..my husband would make fun of me, so much fun of me, if I wore purple jeans.
Well, I have decided I've grown bored with this subject and truthfully, Sarah Jr (aka Ella) is having quite the little (HUGE) meltdown in the living room right now in which my role as "Mother," I must go investigate......*sigh*
And how is this? How can we own an average of seven pairs (Surely my research cannot be accurate.. Only seven pairs per American on average? My family must own enough jeans to account for all of Pleasant Grove's population.) Thinking of all these jeans, how many pairs do you own that you love?
Me? None. I only love my trailer park pants. Definition- What my husband so lovingly calls my vast collection of yoga pants. I have a few pairs of jeans I kinda love. My Long and Lean style Gap jeans are nice. They're well constructed, they taper nicely so my longer than average legs look even longer and well, leaner. Best of all, according to the wonderful people at Gap, I wear a size 6! I will happily play into that delusion when I put on my favorite jeans. These are the pair I dig through my drawers to find, kindly pushing aside the one with "issues."
Let's talk about jeans with "issues." I can't account for all issues because different body types have different denim needs. These are my three big hangups-
Length- As I mentioned, my legs are longer than average though I'm only 5'6" Average or regular length make me feel like an awkward big bird figure whose pants just never quite rest on that sweet spot on my shoes rather just suspend in midair waiting to drape on something.
Rise- There is so much wrong with super low rise jeans. So much. Even if one is beautifully toned and tanned through the midsection (which I am not), the presence of crack is inevitable. If I can't bend, squat or sit down in a chair without the light of day bestowing upon my bum, I'm not wearing them. Okay... Maybe on laundry day when trailer park pants are not an option and I'm feeling a bit confident and I'm not planning any fast moves or strenuous activity, I'll wear the crack jeans. Then I wonder all that day why I still own them because I hate them. Then they get washed, folded and put back in my dresser. And the vicious cycle starts again. Maybe I keep them to feel as if I'm doing my part in keeping the national average afloat....Not really, I'm just lazy.
Color/Rinse-I prefer dark jeans. I just do. While all my darker blue jeans have options of distressing and rinse, my children's donotsomuch.... Kids jeans have nice options. It's so stinkin' cute when there is a teeny tiny pair that look like they've been worn in all the right places, but I won't pay forty bucks for teeny tiny pants. I just won't. So pretty much my kids look like they wear the same jeans over and over because in keeping with the cheapness that is me, the jeans I buy them come in light and dark. No fancy distressing and whisping. They're okay with that. Color is a whole other thing. Being a child from the eighties, I just can't bring myself to warp back to colored jeans. Also, I'm not that trendy. And again, I'm cheap. If I can't wear those jeans three years from now, I'm not buying them. Not to mention..my husband would make fun of me, so much fun of me, if I wore purple jeans.
Well, I have decided I've grown bored with this subject and truthfully, Sarah Jr (aka Ella) is having quite the little (HUGE) meltdown in the living room right now in which my role as "Mother," I must go investigate......*sigh*
Friday, February 22, 2013
Boy Jobs
So, I have a "boy" job. I literally show up at a job site and people stare, laugh or question my ability to do the work. My official title is Owner of Pit Stop Portable Outhouses. Call them crappers, shxtters, ports-potties, biffies, what have you. There are a million names. The official industry term is portable restrooms. Not to toot my own horn, but I take care of almost every aspect of the business. I take the reservations, I drive the truck, deliver, pump the tanks, clean the units and every dirty detail that 'clean' entails.
I'm not sure if my job description is truly what my point of this post is. Although, someday I may devote a post to my not-so-shining moments in the portable sanitation industry.
I find that I'm faced with a bit of gender inequality even with those who know and love me :) When I show up to make a delivery, big burly men wielding beer cans ask me if I need help or just start shoving on the sides if the outhouse, effectively ruining the mechanics in which I wrangle them to their spot. When I have a bigger event and enlist help from family or neighbors, customers automatically approach the male I've hired and address them. (It really gets my brother-in-law when I insist on driving and he's left to the copilot position.) With that being said, I have to admit, I'm not Wonder Woman, I can't do it all even if I can in my own mind. I would not be able to back up a trailer to save my life. And, if I have to be completely honest, my heart soars when my boy help loads up the big handicap outhouse without me. As much as I've mastered the regular sized units, that handicap is a beast.
This whole subject gets me thinking of girls who do jobs typically considered to be a man's job. I'm not the only woman in my sanitation certification classes. I seem to be to only one wearing makeup and not wearing camo, but there's other women just the same. So what other jobs are there that you see a girl doing a boy job? My sister in law hangs, tapes, muds, and sands drywall. She does a heck of a job. The lady up the road owns and farms a buttload of acreage. I happen to know four ladies who drive a mean dump truck and a have a really good friend who has been the dispatcher for a large construction corporation for the last few years. I wish i could think of more off hand, but sadly, I can't. I guess we're a rare breed.
On another note, there's the "boy" jobs a lot of have to do out of necessity because our husbands just don't do it as fast as we feel it needs to be done. Guaranteed, we begrudgingly attempt the task in the first place. Then, we spend two to three times as long doing it because let's face it, our husbands have more experience with their little toys, I'm mean tools. That's if we're using the correct gadget in the first place. And simply, as a general rule of gender and physicality, we're just not as strong. That fact RIGHT THERE sets me off more than anything while I'm playing the 'man' at home. Example- Our toilet leaks. Because I have birthed 4 children, it happens I have changed a toilet or six in my lifetime. I hate the job, but I can do it. I do a lot, like a seriously lot, of creative and unladylike swearing while doing boy jobs like that. For serious, changing a toilet IS and and should only be a boy job. Toilets are heavy and the floor bolts are a sunuvabitch. See? Just thinking about it makes me spew inappropriate words. Insert your own list of crappy list of stuff your husband SHOULD do but DOESN'T. (shoveling, checking the oil, windshield wiper replacement, checking the level of the LP gas...)
I guess I should just be thankful and praise God that I'm able bodied enough to perform these tasks, that I have a loving husband that provides so much more in my life than a non leaky toilet and a home in which contains so many blessings.
I'm not sure if my job description is truly what my point of this post is. Although, someday I may devote a post to my not-so-shining moments in the portable sanitation industry.
I find that I'm faced with a bit of gender inequality even with those who know and love me :) When I show up to make a delivery, big burly men wielding beer cans ask me if I need help or just start shoving on the sides if the outhouse, effectively ruining the mechanics in which I wrangle them to their spot. When I have a bigger event and enlist help from family or neighbors, customers automatically approach the male I've hired and address them. (It really gets my brother-in-law when I insist on driving and he's left to the copilot position.) With that being said, I have to admit, I'm not Wonder Woman, I can't do it all even if I can in my own mind. I would not be able to back up a trailer to save my life. And, if I have to be completely honest, my heart soars when my boy help loads up the big handicap outhouse without me. As much as I've mastered the regular sized units, that handicap is a beast.
This whole subject gets me thinking of girls who do jobs typically considered to be a man's job. I'm not the only woman in my sanitation certification classes. I seem to be to only one wearing makeup and not wearing camo, but there's other women just the same. So what other jobs are there that you see a girl doing a boy job? My sister in law hangs, tapes, muds, and sands drywall. She does a heck of a job. The lady up the road owns and farms a buttload of acreage. I happen to know four ladies who drive a mean dump truck and a have a really good friend who has been the dispatcher for a large construction corporation for the last few years. I wish i could think of more off hand, but sadly, I can't. I guess we're a rare breed.
On another note, there's the "boy" jobs a lot of have to do out of necessity because our husbands just don't do it as fast as we feel it needs to be done. Guaranteed, we begrudgingly attempt the task in the first place. Then, we spend two to three times as long doing it because let's face it, our husbands have more experience with their little toys, I'm mean tools. That's if we're using the correct gadget in the first place. And simply, as a general rule of gender and physicality, we're just not as strong. That fact RIGHT THERE sets me off more than anything while I'm playing the 'man' at home. Example- Our toilet leaks. Because I have birthed 4 children, it happens I have changed a toilet or six in my lifetime. I hate the job, but I can do it. I do a lot, like a seriously lot, of creative and unladylike swearing while doing boy jobs like that. For serious, changing a toilet IS and and should only be a boy job. Toilets are heavy and the floor bolts are a sunuvabitch. See? Just thinking about it makes me spew inappropriate words. Insert your own list of crappy list of stuff your husband SHOULD do but DOESN'T. (shoveling, checking the oil, windshield wiper replacement, checking the level of the LP gas...)
I guess I should just be thankful and praise God that I'm able bodied enough to perform these tasks, that I have a loving husband that provides so much more in my life than a non leaky toilet and a home in which contains so many blessings.
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