Enough with the melodrama, already.

Alright. Enough is enough. I am a funny girl and I really feel like being funny for a change.

So, topic today is a list of what makes me a stunning Yooper Girl:


1. In the past three weeks, I have amassed what can only be referred to as a 'shit-load' of firewood. I have decided, given gas prices, the state of my home, and the fact that I can have a Two Dog Night* anytime I choose, I'm gonna go ahead and move into the converted-garage-of-a-back-room in my house for the winter. I mean, aside from the leaky roof, the cement floor, and the fact that it's usually the dog's playroom, it's in fine shape. Additionally, there's plenty of space and I can heat the whole thing for about 10 smallish-logs a day. I currently have about two to three weeks worth of firewood, so that gives me two to three weeks to amass the other three months I should need. My favorite uncle, Al, has logged off the bass wood on his property and has offered me 'the tops' and use of his chainsaw to clear the brush.
Two things about this: one, I don't know anything about the various breeds and varietals of wood and its by-products. I know that heavy wood burns hotter because it is more dense and that lighter wood is good for starting fires. I know this because it is logical, not because I attended any seminars or anything. Bass wood (or is it just basswood?) is very fucking heavy. It is so heavy that a branch that is as tall as I am is almost impossible for me to carry. And after carrying, like TWENTY of them out of the wilderness and putting them into the back of my big sapphy Ford Ranger, I am tired. Until now, I have been hand selecting the more carry-able logs and then driving them home, plopping them up on my big sapphy chop saw, and having my bladed way with them. Now, these big bass/wood logs have to be lifted and cut in half first, since there is no conceivable way to hold on to the end, run the saw, and ensure the resulting 8 inch segment does not crush my dainty foot. So, chop in half, move blade quickly so the log does not knock it off the worktable in it's rush to the floor after being cleft in twain, simultaneously move dainty foot in a ladylike manner, catch the piece I'm holding, and hope for the best. I'm sure it looks absolutely hilarious, but I have thus far employed this method to create a very pretty wood stack in that room. Dare I say, I'm proud of myself for it.
Two, the chainsaw. While I have never discussed it in mixed company, my recent escapades with creative home heating have led me to wonder just how many of my lady friends would feel comfortable with/admit to being proficient in chainsaw technique and etiquette. "Ooh, Ladies. This wine is delicious. Say, are you a Stihl girl or do you prefer the more commercial Husqvarna line? And where do you prefer your chain tensioner set?" I am somewhat..nay, quite...confident that I am alone in this skillset amongst my peers. Being as I can no longer fit the remaining woodland detritus in the back of said Ford, I have to attack it in its native environs with a chainsaw. So, this coming weekend, I can be found in the backwoods of Hannahville, wearing big steel-toed boots, layered waffleknits and flannels, big-ass work gloves, a jaunty cap of some sort, and perhaps even safety goggles. I will wield the chainsaw through countless brush piles and haul the segmented product from the wilderness to my home, where it will provide me a necessity for the winter months. My nose will run, I will pee in the leaves, and the fresh air will clear my lungs.
I know it sounds kind of goofy. I mean, I could always turn up the thermostat instead of doing all this stuff. But for some reason, WORKING to provide myself heat, preparing myself and my home for the inevitable, and making solid plans for the future makes me feel shocking self-reliant and is boosting my confidence like I never imagined, though I must add here that wearing that uniform of stereotypical lesbian flair kind of knocks my confidence back some. Would a man look at that and say, "Damn! There is a woman who can provide and take care of her own needs. I should look into that", or would he rather say, "That dyke sure can work a saw!"?


2. The making of soup. As I mentioned previously, before I got my funny back, I have been cooking like a mf of late. Soup is the greatest thing ever. You can't really eff it up much, but properly done, it is a thing of beauty, and the longer it sits, the better it gets. I generally prefer a 'garbage' approach to soup-making, throwing in this and that, what's in the fridge and what's on sale, until you get a big, hot bowl of produce and grains. No two bowls are the same, ever. Not that soup is a uniquely U.P. thing, but something about our weather and the frugality of it makes me feel proprietary towards soup in general.


3. Scarves. I'm collecting them. I've realized that wearing a scarf makes me feel better, even when I am not feeling badly. It's practical in so many ways. A fresh scarf makes yesterday's shirt new and clean. It makes hickeys practically imperceptible. It really ties the room together, so to speak. Your fully warmed vocal chords are always primed for yelling at your slack-ass co-workers. And you can wear one all day, keeping your neck protected from vampires and viruses, and no one thinks twice about indoor outerwear. So, if you're looking to give me a gift for any reason, I would like a scarf.


4. Persistence. I am getting up everyday. I am coming to work. I survive it, and then I go home.


5. I am starting to consider taking a husband for strictly utilitarian purposes. At the rate I'm going, someone's gonna have to gut the fish and mend up my showshoes. And give me silky longjohns for Christmas.


6. I am indulging loudness within myself. Seriously. I'm as loud as I can be as often as possible. My laughing is hearty, my doors are slammed, everyone knows what I'm listening to, and it's a good time to shout Liberal propaganda from a rooftop microphone. I will be heard right now, for some reason.


I guess, since it looks like I'll be staying a while longer, I'm embracing my roots and celebrating that from which I came. It's not so bad, to be honest, and I don't know which of those revelations surprises me more.







*http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Three_Dog_Night