now you've gone and made me feel badly

I'm all like, "You know...I really should take some time to update for the dozens and dozens (two dozens) of people who still check in with me" instead of, I don't know, getting drunk and celebrating the end of my 6 days, 12.5 hours per day work week. My exhausting, dirty work week. That you totally can't relate to because you're simply not as BAD ASS as I am.

So there.

On the job site there are two porta-potty closets. I hate those and cannot stand them, but with the equivilent of Lake Michigan in Gatorade I drink per day sometimes I have to. But I got crafty - the last time Pete came out to clean them (poor Pete - he takes a lot of shit from a lot of people...feel free to use that joke for all of your own porta-potty occassions) I put signs on the front - one said "ladies" and the other said "men".

I'm the only lady on the job site so for two days I had a nice, shit-free place to do my business. But someone must have asked the boss about it and he must have told them that the signs didn't matter or something, because when I happily jaunted to the closet today the toilet was filled with so much shit that I'm sure these guys must have brought some from home. And maybe asked their friends to bring some, too. It was terrible. It was also, I am told, a "really great prank".

I pee in the field now, and I ain't laughing. But payback's a bitch.

(Ladies, this is what guys think is a really funny thing to do. I don't yet understand the ways of their people, or why it's funny to fart in the enclosed cab of a tractor right before I'm supposed to climb in, but it must be because they were cracking up.)

I wiped my mouth on the inside of my shirt when I was eating. This is standard procedure on the job site, because the inside of your shirt is the only thing that stays clean on your body. However, I did it at the dinner table. I need to watch that.

I ran into an old friend who didn't seem surprised that I'm in construction. He said, "I figured you'd end up doing something really fucking weird like that." I told him, "I'm doing it because if movies have taught me anything, it's that everything works out for the cute girl who does manual labor." And it's true - I'm just waiting for it to happen. In the meantime, I was served with two documents citing the United States of America versus me in a court proceeding, so things don't look so totally swell yet, but they will.

All of the United States versus little old me. Guam and the Virgin Islands are suspiciously silent in this matter. I may file my own suit, me versus the United States of America except for New Hampshire because New Hampshire has never harmed anyone.

But fucking Kansas? I'm going to frame Kansas' nutsack when I'm finished ripping it off. Man, do I hate Kansas.

Now I'm off to pick the mud boogers from my nose. Yes, I just said "mud boogers" because that's what they're called.

do i have it in me?

I think not.

Long, long story very, very short: I'm busy.

Huh HA!

Betcha didn't see that one coming, did you?

But yeah, I'm busy. Busy on MACHINES.

I'm union. Sorry: UNION.

Haven't gotten my card yet, but then again, I haven't paid my dues yet, either.

This is my machine. There are many like it but this one is mine:



Okay, so technically that's not my machine, but that's the fella I'm really good at running. The tire is taller than I am.

I'm on a job now making a bridge. A BRIDGE. Over a RIVER. That your CAR may POTENTIALLY DRIVER OVER SOME DAY SHOULD YOU FIND THE NEED TO GO FROM ILLINOIS TO IOWA or VICE VERSA. I'm talking pure Mississip, yo.

I'm not running that machine there on this job, but I want to be.

I'm now very thin, very buff and very, very tan. How tan? "Did this mole change shape?" tan. Yeah, that tan.

I'm feeling very good. There is Zen in dirt.

You'd be surprised.

I'm going to finish my beer and go to bed.

AT NINE O'CLOCK.

I've never worked harder in my life and cannot remember when I've been happier about that fact.

Scrape on, moron.