Less than a week after I graduated from college in San Diego, I was on my way to Seattle. I had no job. No apartment. And no money. But thanks to my dad, who drove a Ryder truck through three states while I slept off a semester long hangover, I DID have a "Do It Herself Toolkit."
I'm sure in his mind, while he stood in the Target or Sears aisle, he was thinking of nothing but support for his 22 year old daughter who had just graduated college and was moving into her first apartment ... alone. It was a practical gift from my engineering father that no doubt, was supposed to encourage me to use needle nose pliers for whatever needle nose pliers are used for instead of calling him in a panic when I couldn't figure out how to ... good GAH, I don't even know what ... something that requires tools.
However, to me, it SCREAMED a sort of "I have not been listening to you AT ALL for the last four years as you have just started figuring out not only who you are as a person, but as a woman, so let me get you this condescending GIRLY tool kit instead of JUST A NORMAL toolkit to remind you that you are just a twee little girl trying to make it in a grown up world. GOOD LUCK, Princess."
I smiled meekly, thanked him profusely saying 'Ohmahgah! This is the BEST. GIFT. EVER! Before promptly dropping him off and picking up Spleen, my college roommate, at the Seattle airport a few days later. She hung out with me for a couple of weeks while I set up my new place. The MOMENT I moved in, the Do It Herself Toolkit was buried under a mass of "You Go Girl!" moving guides, Cosmo magazines and most likely, many, many bottles of Berringer White Zin. You know, ADULT stuff.
As I moved apartments (and states!) over the next 7 years, I'd pack up the Do It Herself Toolkit, each time shaking my head before throwing it into a box and shoving it into the moving van. It was something I couldn't bring myself to use or throw away.
Fast forward to today.
At 34, I think I've done pretty well on my own. I've moved by myself to two different cities where I haven't known a soul and created a life for myself in each. I bought myself a car and a house with my own money (well and the BANK'S money, but whatevs). I have a retirement account, a savings account and donate time and money to charitable organizations, bars and ethnic restaurants regularly.
I am proud of the life I've created.
But SSG is FAR from perfect. And she does hold A LOT of shame over a dirty little secret.
A dirty little secret she's been wondering if she should tell you.
Should she?
No?
Okay, cool bye!
Ok, ok ...
Come closer.
Keep this just between us?
Don't hate me.
Promise?
Here goes ...
I haven't recycled since I bought my house.
Four years ago.
(SSG stops, drops and rolls from the wrath of the judgey Northwest and EVERYONE now going GREEN and OHMAHGAH, blame GLOBAL WARMING ON THAT GIRL RIGHT THERE. It is ALL HER FAULT. Are you there Al Gore? It's me, evil SSG, rain forest killer.)
And while I'm confessing ...
SSG also hasn't painted, hung any pictures or changed any of the gazillions of light bulbs that need replacing in her ceiling because SSG doesn't have a ladder or know what kind of light bulbs to get and is afraid if she tries to hang things she'll blow past the drywall and be able to wave hi to her neighbors through the new hole in both of their houses.
She HEARS crazy stories about people installing tile and wood floors and switching out fixtures and hanging shelves or adding on 800 square foot mother in law additions BY THEMSELVES and SSG is ALWAYS a captive audience, shaking her head and agreeing, usually with a variation of: "YES, I've been meaning to DO THAT TOO." All the while thinking ... "Hmm, can that be done with my 'Do It Herself Toolkit?'"
So I have relayed this amusing little antidote a few times over the last couple of years and each time people kind of giggle and say "we THOUGHT about replacing your hall lights while you were away, but didn't know if we should."
Or "when people KNOW you and how warm, fun and GORGEOUS you are (ok, SSG might have added that last bit ... okay all of those bits) and then they see your house and how bare it is, the two just don't seem to fit together."
Or this, that just happened yesterday: "OH. MY. HOLY. HELL. You DON'T RECYCLE? Who handles your trash service I'm calling them for you right now. 'Hi Waste Management. I need to have recycling bins delivered to this address. It's under the name of SSG. I know I'm a guy and obviously not SSG but she has been too LAME to call you and tell you she doesn't have recycling bins even though she's paid for the service for the last four years. I know! Thank you. SSG, you'll have your bins next week. And WHY does this trash bill have GLITTER on it?"
SSG: (Ignores the glitter comment--she took her garbage bill to a rave maybe? A gay bar? She really has no idea.) Okay, you just made that look SO easy!
And NO JOKE, the same day that work BFF pulled a knife out of his pocket on demand (WHY am I the only one who thinks this is CRAZY?) one of the other guys busted out a pair of needle nose pliers to fix not one, but THREE staplers I've jammed at the office and have had stuck in a stapler graveyard on my desk.
WHEN DID EVERYONE START CARRYING TOOLS?
Tomorrow's To Do List: Determine if purse can fit entire contents of 'Do It Herself Toolkit'
And WORLD? SSG is recycling! Or TOTALLY will be ... in five days when her recycle bins arrive.
