DIYdiva | Loose Screws

People look at me–more often than not–with their eyes wide open and their eyebrows raised so high that they’re in danger of disappearing off the back of their heads. Usually after I say something like “we’re building our house, by ourselves” or “we live in a 400 sq ft garage” or “I have donkeys and I love them.” Or “you see this drill? Do. Not. Touch. This. Drill. Should the worst happen and I cut off a finger and bleed to death in my garage, bury me with this drill.” But sometimes it’s just because I go out in public with my long-john clad butt hanging out of my work jeans in the middle of winter. This is serious mess-makin’ kids, it ain’t no beauty contest.

The Tool Addict

It’s hard for me to understand why you might think I’ve got a couple of loose screws rattling around up there. Or not.

Things I can tell you for sure about myself: I’m short, crazy, at my most comfortable in workboots and MysteryMan’s my John Deere hat. It’s safe to say I’m plowing through my thirtieth year with nail-guns blazing, and sawdust flying .

I’m not a carpenter or tiler or advice-giver by profession– even though I’m well on my way to being a licensed contractor. (What do they hand these things out to just anybody?) I’ve got an MBA, a degree in Communications, and an Actual Real Job that requires regular showering and talking like I’m not a truck driver. And while that’s all fun and corporate, I’d be fairly content to hang out in my shop all day starting new projects and making really big messes.

It’s safe to say this kind of behavior has been going on for as long as I’ve been mobile enough to find things to make messes out of. My badass-hatchet-wielding mother encouraged this “creativity” in my formative years and still can’t figure out why as a full-fledged adult I don’t make my bed and do the dishes every day like a good girl. She also used to cut my bangs starting at the very top of my head and all the way back to my ears. Flattering, Mom. Thanks.

Let’s just say the DIY bug bit me early, and there’s been no turning back. The men in my life used to spend a lot of time telling me I was upsetting the balance of the universe by using power tools and was surely going to cut off a finger some day if I didn’t knock it off, and who would marry me then, hmmm? Now they just ask if they can borrow my tools.

Second to inhaling sawdust and proving all of those wonderful guys wrong when they tell me I can’t do stuff, my favorite thing is inspiring other people to believe that no matter how big the project, or which way your skin is stretched, you absolutely can do anything you put your mind too.

You hear that? Yes. You. Can.

I don’t care if it’s running a marathon, changing a faucet, or building a whole dang house. I believe the only thing that limits us is that little voice inside that tells us we “can’t.” I use a drill to shut that voice up. Hey, to each her own.

The Man of Mystery

Speaking of one of those wonderful guys in my life, I building a house in the country with this one. He’s my sidekick, my partner in crime, the love of my life, and, some days, the person I’m most likely to throw a hammer at.

One of his favorite things is for me to write about him on this website. Right after 1.) pretending this website doesn’t exist, and 2.) rolling his eyes at me.

Luckily he’s got a fabulous sense of humor, and a mile-wide streak of patience. We like to poke fun of each other and our relationship, and I like to do both of those things all over the Internet. Hey, cutesy-cutesy works for some people… regularly trying to poke eachothers eyeballs out with shims works for us.

Okay, for the sake of our relationship and future-eyesight we declared a moratorium on DIYing any project together that required shims.