Tuesday, April 11, 2006


You know what I don't get? While an immigration agent's wet dream has been taking place repeatedly in big cities across the United States - not a single one has been seen doing much of anything. Security guys at Wal-Mart are more attentive. Watching the news today made me so mad - it tired me out. But I will digress from voicing my opinion on the immigration debate (the operative word is ILLEGAL) for now. Instead I'll talk about my forklift story. My new job requires that I learn how to operate a fork lift so that I can load up trucks and semi's if need be. Call me old fashioned but there are some things I still classify as "manly" and other things I classify as "girly" and being around the "manly" things make me feel more "girly" and I'll admit it - I like feeling "girly". I like that I don't have a clue as to what I'm talking about when I walk into an automotive repair shop. Fix the brakes, check the oil, whatever - you're dirty I'm not, just fix it. I like passing my fishing rod over to my dad or the man next to me to take the fish off the hook because it's just too slimy for me. Clean it? I don't think so. Not without rubber gloves and some Clorox wipes - and maybe not even then. Hunting? Riight. I don't think there is anything wrong with women doing these things - I just find it sexier when a woman doesn't and lets the big rugged man do it for her. What does this have to do with a forklift? I don't know how to gracefully get on one of those things. Work a propane tank? I don't think so - if you want to keep your establishment from blowing up - don't get me near it. It felt cool to whirl around using rear steering...lift up little wooden skids with cute little boxes all stacked up on them. Better yet, to watch as the men flashed me looks of amusement as I tried to figure out how to back up and twirl around without hitting anything. I guess it's not that funny of a story...sorry to disappoint - but it's a much better read than had I spent the night ranting about the immigration debate.

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