One universal truth about the world is that not everybody is going to like you.

When I first started blogging waybackwhen it was on Xanga, and that was mostly for friends and family to stay up to date on the things I was tearing down in my brand-spakin’-new-house. And the other people that did stop by were the friendly sort of Xangans you meet there (hi Patti!) and who more often than not will invite you over to their house for a beer, even though they’ve never met you before. So when I branched out into the big, bad, world of self-hosting a website I was a little scared of the general public.

For the first few weeks I cringed any time I read new comments, expecting that chorus of naysayers were waiting to tell me YOU’RE DOING IT WRONG.

Because, let’s be honest… even if there is an instruction manual for “doing it yourself” I don’t read it, and I often don’t do things the way they probably should be done according to The Rules of The Universe (and occasionally even disregarding The Laws of Physics, just ask MysteryMan.)

My point is that for the last fifteen months, despite what many people who have stopped by here have thought, the comments I’ve received have all been fun, encouraging, helpful, and inspiring. Which makes it an absolute blast to update this site and keep in touch with the many other house and diy and everyday bloggers out there.

But for the very first time today I received one of those comments. And, first, I wanted to commemorate the occasion… because I think in the World of The Internet, getting your first hate mail is a big deal. And also… since my secret admirer didn’t leaver her real email address, I felt compelled, being the boss of this tiny little corner of the internet, to respond here.

I’ll let Rita M. tell you in her own words exactly how she feels about this site (and me personally).

(drum roll please…)

I’vebeen a general contractor for twenty five years. I’m all woman. I dont like your website because youresimply a show off. Who cares about your projects? Your a diva? With ripped jeans? You buzzed your hair? Oh wow. I served three tours in Iraq. I do this for a living. Give me a break, you pompous ass.Go play with your Fisher Price tools and for goodness sake,grow up. Youre so self obsessed. I have 17 guys on my crew and I work circles around them. Work with me for a day and your lungs would be bleeding.

(Sidebar: I have to say I really enjoyed the ”pompous ass” comment more than I should have, which made me feel kind of stuffy and British for a minute. I made MysteryMan promise to call me that– as opposed to all those other affectionate terms he uses–the next time we’re having a tiff.)

Here’s my response:

Rita,

Can I just say up front that I have more respect for women (and men) in the military than I do for almost any other profession. So even if it isn’t appreciated from someone like me, I’m thankful for your service, and could only hope there were more women like you out there representing us as a gender, and as a country. (And less of, say, women like Paris Hilton.)

I know one other woman who has also been a general contractor for near that amount of time, a handful of women truck drivers… and that about sums up my experience with women who work in construction and actually do the construction (and not the accounting). Certainly this site is full of little projects I do around around the house, but I also spent three years of my life running a plant that made concrete block, pitting myself physically against the 300-pound guys that hand-stacked block off the line. And let me be clear here, in no way did I run circles around them, but they sure did work harder when this little girl was standing next to them pulling blocks until her arms bled. I wasn’t as quick as they were, but I worked just as hard and refused to quit. So let me also say that I understand that running circles around a 17-man crew on a construction site is no small feat, and I respect that as well.

Really the only point of your comment I feel compelled to address is “diva” reference… which you might have taken literally, but is actually meant as an ironic statement. You know, because usually when you say diva people think of Gucci and Prada and high-maintenance. So my use of the term was really just meant to illustrate, hey, some of us don’t do the whole silk-and-pearls thing, but we’re still “all woman” (as you put it), and shouldn’t let ourselves be limited by the words society chooses to define us with. I choose to make my own definition of diva, and yes, it does involve ripped jeans.

I am by no means a professional, and I admit that whenever possible. (Which is why I choose “do-it-yourself diva” and not “professional construction diva”.) And, in fact… this site isn’t meant to be just about construction, but also about the other hobbies I DIY, such as cooking, photography, growing my own food, making brooms, writing, and collecting demons disguised as cats. What I think would be great is if women like you, who are professionals and do construction or something else awsome for a living, would start websites so that the rest of us want to do these things, but don’t know how or even if we can, could see how it’s done. I would love to spend a day working with you because I imagine the knowledge I would gain would be invaluable. (Seriously, if that was a real offer, send me your real email address… I’m in. But, uh, only if you promise not to hit me with a hammer.)

While it may seem like drivel, or showing off, to someone like you… the whole point of this website is to show people that journey from “big idea” to “I have no idea how the hell to do this” to “Everyone in my life is telling me I can’t do this” to “I’m going to figure out how to fucking do this” to sucking it up and getting it done… all by just a regular ol’ person (and in fact a particularly short person, if we want to be totally candid here). Because a lot of people, and women especially, get really stuck at the “I don’t know how the hell to do this” stage, when, in fact, I believe that anyone out there can do anything, (regardless of the way their skin is stretched, or how big they are, or who tells them they can’t).

One of my all-time favorite comments on this site read “…you inspired me a few months ago to stop nagging my hubby about replacing a light fixture and just do it myself! Boy, was he amazed!!” (And by the way, Kelley? You go girl! I’m proud of you because dealing with electricity is one of my least favorite things ever. Back to our regularly scheduled post though…)

Rita you are right, I very much am proud of the things I accomplish, so I do show them off, but I don’t think that’s anything that I need to apologize for.

The wonderful thing about the Internet is that it doesn’t get dropped off at your doorstep uninvited every week like those damn blue bags full of coupons, so you’re perfectly welcome never to visit this site again. But instead of that, I’d challenge you to reach out to all of the people here, including myself, who would benefit from your expertise. So I’d like to invite you to become a regular contributor on this site and share your knowledge with us. (And that goes for any other professionals out there who would like to contribute here, FYI, just send me an email.)

Thanks for taking the time to comment, even if it was a little disproportionally scathing (given the content of the site, I mean, I’m not talking about politics here.)

Kit S.

Okay, and I know the rest of you are all seriously, are you going to write a seventeen page letter every time someone sends you hate mail? And the answer is no… I’m going to refer all of their asses straight back to here.

However, I think you should all celebrate the first annual Hate the Diva Day by commenting with one thing you would like me to change about this site. Not saying I’ll do it, because I am the boss here after all, but there’s nothing I love more in the world than constructive criticism, and that is the truth. (And again, just FYI, wheter or not it’s an accurate statement “your ass is getting exponentially larger” is not constructive criticism, okay? Okay.)

Pompus ass, signing out.  

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