Daddy's little...Girl?

I've been in a funk lately. It's a combination of not having a steady challenge at work and not having a recent adventure (preferably of the International Trip kind) and in general just not knowing where my life is going. I finally reached the point where I think I'd like to "settle down" and get married (better late than never, right Mom and Dad??) but if you've seen any of my DC Dating posts, you can imagine why that hasn't happened yet...

So I've been thinking of crazy things. Like looking into the military reserves.

And that's only crazy because I'm a huge committment-phobe (see marriage talk above). And I can't say I'm totally seriously considering the reserves, but some days I do feel kind of serious and this isn't the first time I've looked into it. I always go through phases where I feel like I'm meant for something more challenging than a desk job. Something that not everyone is cut out for, or that is maybe slightly dangerous, or intense and secretive, or .... I don't know, something where I need a weapon! (Here's why that is funny: because the last time I shot a pistol I was sweating so badly from nerves that the gun nearly slid out of my hands when I pulled the trigger -- then a shell came up and HIT ME IN THE FACE, which you can imagine didn't help matters...)

And although I do typically thrive under pressure and love a challenge, I'm also very girly/giggly/southern-belle-like too so the only job that really seems to fit is that of a Charlie's Angel. And, I don't know if you know this, but they aren't real.


Le Sigh.

So instead I'm probably destined to a life at a desk job. Although I am grateful I've had some fun opportunities along the way like working in disaster response or that one time I got to walk over a Top Secret document to the "Sit Room" (the Situation Room in the bottom of the West Wing where all the cool stuff happens in movies and there are no windows and there are clocks on the wall with all the different time zones... You know the one.) And I'm grateful I have volunteer opportunities like construction work with Habitat for Humanity or volunteering at the military hospital here. But this whole "I need to get my hands dirty" obsession remains. And it's always been there.

I joke that I was my dad's "little boy" growing up. My sister never wanted anything to do with dirt, or rough-housing, or...the outside world.

She and my mom are much more Hotel People where me and my dad are more Tent People.

So I was always the one who would go on snowmobile trips, or 4-wheeling trips, or fishing, or play in my dad's dirty warehouse or try to drive a Forklift, etc.

...Or drive the riding lawn mower....up a tree. (Yes. That happened when I was little and there is embarrassing photographic proof at my parents' house. All the neighbors came out. And I'm pretty sure I cried.)

Come to think of it, just last year I also shredded a garden hose while mowing the lawn at my parents'. My dad had LITERALLY just said it was basically impossible to tear the hose up if I drove over it the right way... and I immediately drove over it the wrong way apparently. Huh. Perhaps I'm not the Lawn Mowing type afterall...I'm totally still doing it though because dad has the cool industrial mower that you steer with Levers. I heart it.

Anyway, I was the one who rode a little motorcycle around our back yard before I could drive a car and then I was the one to CHOOSE A MUSCLE CAR when I COULD drive.

And often my girly side would war with my tomboy side, like when I went on an All Male 4-wheeling trip in the hills of Tennessee that involved a giant rocky up-hill climb on which I ended up SINGING to myself IN MY HELMUT to keep from freaking the crap out and stopping halfway up (which could've caused me to flip over backwards down the rocks. So, a little important not to do that). When I finally got to the top, all blanched and sweaty, the guys CLAPPED for me.

But most of the time, I enjoyed the boy stuff. Like when my 4-wheeler started sinking into a giant mud hole so I FLOORED it, spraying mud skyhigh behind me - and all over myself - and I didn't let off the throttle until I finally came out on the other side. To which my dad wore an expression of shock and pure admiration and said "I did NOT know how I'd get that out if you let off so I'm so glad you stayed with it!"

Side note: My front axle once broke on a ride and my dad then drove my 4-wheeler off the mountain ON THREE WHEELS. Needless to say, he's my hero so I like to impress him whenever I can.

So maybe wanting to amuse my dad is part of the reason I continued to want to do "tough girl" things. But more so I just like a challenge. I feel like certain people are cut out to be pressed and certain people don't enjoy that at all. I like it, so I always wonder if I'm wasting that ...skill?...by not doing something less safe.

Like should I be doing humanitarian aid work in a war zone somewhere? Or building mud huts full time in Ethiopia? Female Secret Service Agent? (Come on, I pull off the vest, minus the I'm About To Giggle smirk, right? *this was taken on my first POTUS (President Of The United States) Advance job...when I was warned never to date an agent. Stealing their UNIFORM, on the other hand, was totally permitted.*)



If anyone is recruiting for Charlie's Angel type occupations, I'm all (sparkly earring-clad) ears!