Macho. That is me. Me me me. I, singlehandedly and with minimal intsructions, have in fact, installed a doorknob on my bedroom door ON MY OWN.
I PICKED that sucker out of Wal-Mart, brought it home, got myself some screwdrivers and hammers and nails, a Sausalito cookie, made coffee, and settled myself to make that door bow.
This is how to do it.
One--skim the instructions, because those are for Lesser Mortals that aren't me. You know, like a guy would do.
Two--stare blankly at curiously shaped pieces of metal that eventually assemble into something like a doorknob.
Three--realize screwing directly into whatever that door is made out of is masochistic. Take thin nail from wall, put in place, hammer in. Admires ability to hammer. Tries to pull nail out. Fails. Tries again. Fails. Gets back of hammer on the job. Hammer wins--I mean, jenn wins! Yay!
Four--screw plates on with cleverly discovered powertool. Feel like hair may be growing on chest. Make note to wax.
Five--realize interior gizmo should go on first.
Six--unscrew plates, put in gizmo.
Seven--screw plates in. Do caveman dance.
Eight--put in doorknob. Twist a few times for fun. Watch it fall into two pieces. Mull the pieces. Pick them up.
Nine, ten, eleven, twelve--fight screws on doorknob. Emerge victorious. Caper and hijink.
Thirteen--wall plate. Will so not go in.
Fifteen--and still not.
Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen--struggle with screws.
Twenty--told that powerdrill is out of battery. Wait for it to charge.
Twenty-one--kidnap other person to finish screwing in thing on doorway with weird, rubber grip screwdriver, because again, not so much the masochist to do it myself. Cut more capers. Lots of them.
I feel this insane urge to drink beer, belch, and yell at the television showing some major league sporting event. Perhaps spit as well. I should spit. I should so totally spit.
Okay, that's just gross.
Bought egrerious Halloween decorations. I'm such a consumer. Bought child project stuff. Salsalito cookies. Hair care products. Going to make skirt. I think. Or at least help. Just to see if I can.
I am SO feeling it today, people.
Other Cool Things
oxoniensis has started a new community for the discussion of Smallville fanfiction at svroundtable. This sounds very interesting.
For those who wonder if we forgot, we didn't. Working three of the last five or six Saturdays has drained the hell out of me along with the overtime, and I know Celli and Tara found themselves uberly short of time over the last month because of school and work. Anyway, I've finished my first draft counting and am rechecking over the next few of days when I have time, since with any kind of luck I'll be home on time for at least a couple of days.
One of the things that struck me most is that the handouts for pregnancy are, while useful, actually not going to HELP people that really need to be helped the most.
The thing is? The only people that will see these are people who already know to come to us. They know, pregnancy is not the end of the world. They know, I can get help. They know, I can stop panicking now because this is what these people's *job* is. They will also soon know, the chick at the front desk keeps making noise about financial aid available to single parents at college and will nag until you get your application turned in and WILL hand you the website to FAFSA and tell you to go to the resource room and start getting this stuff done.
This is where I get frustrated, since Austin is liberal as hell except when it comes to kids, at which time it acts like they're incapable of breathing unassisted or *thinking* on their own, much less doing anything that could land them in difficulties OR being willing to help find options before the sitch becomes unstable.
I swear, I actually get more liberal every day, and seriously, who could have guessed *that*?
It's just--gah. I think of the teen stats on pregnancy, and the horror stories of the girls who hide their pregnancy for the entirety of it from everyone, and yes, we all know the rash of bizarrities that were brought up in the news so often a few years ago with these kids. Those are the most visible, but what worries me most are the ones that aren't visible at all. The girls who go out and have an abortion immediately because they don't know there are other options or give up for adoption immediately because they don't know they have other options, or have the child and keep it because, again, they don't know they have other options. I'm a huge advocate of choice, of informed and knowledgeable consent, to bolster your own personal beliefs. That means, they should know everything before they make a choice. Because any and all of those three can and do blow up on you one day if you don't know exactly what you want and why you're doing it, and know that the choice you made was the right one for you.
Which is why it STILL blows my mind that people protest condoms in schools, birth control information and literature, and making damned sure that the counselor has on hand all of this stuff ready to deal and willing to be completely private. Because honest to God, these people could never have been teens if they think hiding the ways to protect yourself, hiding *knowledge*, is actually a viable way of making sure kids don't have sex. I mean, absolutely shocky wondering if we're all on the same planet.
I mean, they give us drug information by the *ton*, but to me, sex ed should be prioritized, and no, I'm not saying that the entire drug thing isn't uberimportant, but think about this. Sex is easier to get than even the easiest drugs. And sex can be just as damaging, emotionally and healthwise, as any durg.
I was thinking of all the things they don't tell in high school, when you're most likely to need to know, where it's vital to know. Rape discussion--I honestly believe this should be covered, boys and girls, at least twice a year. Start it early and make absolutely sure every kid in there understands the concept of *no* and what it means. What to do after a rape. Where to go. How to do it. These--all of these things that if I had a daughter, I'd be making notes now to discuss with her when she's ready, and since I have a son, will be covered as soon as he's mature enough to understand what I want him to know.
You know, it's not like I'm becoming a--a--what's the word? Person who wants to save the world? I just want to save bits of it.
Though--I had this discussion with a friend about the possiblity of later in life opening up a battered women's shelter. Considering right now I don't have time to eat, much less mull the economics and whyfores of doing this, as frankly, I know nothing about it, it wasn't like I was planning to go out and start one myself like, tomorrow. More like, when I'm older, more experienced, have more connections, I'd like to help build another one in Austin, or try to work with people who do that sort of thing.
They acted like I said I wanted to build a warp engine. Seriously, I love them and I wasn't pissed, but I now do remember why I keep my mouth shut when I'm speculating about the future. Because honest to God, it comes back to haunt me if I sit around considering options out loud.
person: "But last year, you wanted to go to Russia!"
jenn, thinking: And so the fact that I'm not there *right now* negates this? I went to Finland when I wanted to, so when I have time, I'm going to go. Right now, I simply don't have the two weeks minimum I'd want to spend there. And you know, the entire situation there right now isn't something Nick should be taken into right this second. Since he's in *school* and all.
*grrr* I love my friends, but you know, when they tell me what they want to do? I sort of do this thing where I think, cool, and how are you going to do it? Not so much, hahaha, yo're so cute you little baby activist you.
Of course, they have this reaction when I tell them I never want to get married or even consider taking out a mortgage. They may have me on the mortgage, though my commitment-phobia rears up every time I even consider buying a house. Just scares me. Apartments are things with a built-in time limit, and I like having options. Mortgages are thirty to fifty years of commitment. I can't even commit to a breakfast cereal or a hair color. Child's the only commitment I ever really want to make in my life. Everything else, by nature, must be temporary.
Er...see, I started with a *doorknob*. Jeez, I need to go out more.
QaFicness goes slowly, slowly, slowly, but at least it's moving, which is more than I can say about anything else right now. I'm not sure how it happened that it just hit forty something pages, because the plot wasn't supposed to do that, but then again, it never does. I really need to commit to being a novelist.
*shudders* That word again.
Okay, skirt to make. Let's see if this is possible.