I'm Thinking I Need A Shotgun

Utah is one of those groovy states where anyone can carry a gun. And you can get a great bargain at a pawnshop. Isn't that nice? I've had a little ladylike Browning automatic. It was a sweet little gun. I only used it once to get rid of an unwanted suitor. I didn't even have to shoot him. I just pointed it at his face and told him to get lost. He damn near crapped his pants. And I loved the fact that he was the guy who talked me into buying it, because he thought I needed protection. Yeah, protection from him.

I've fired almost every kind of gun that was around when I was growing up. I used to hunt rats at the dump when I was a little girl. The gun I learned to handle was a Luger. My father brought it back for my mother when he came home from soldiering in WWII. He was also the kind of man a woman needed protection from. When we ran, she took her gun. So when I was eight my new daddy took me to the dump in Willimina, Oregon to shoot rats. He thought a well rounded child should be able to handle a gun. I was a good shot. No fancy two handed bullshit for this little gunslinger. I stood square shouldered, left arm lose and relaxed, right arm extended, head turned to sight down the outstretched right arm and bam. Dead rat. I should have swung it that quarter arc and killed the rat leaning against the station wagon, puffing on his Camel and holding his beer bottle in his right hand. But I missed that opportunity.

I hunted all through my childhood and into my teens with my dad and grandfather. We hunted doves, and pheasant. We went to the gun club and shot skeet. We hunted porcupines at night at my grandfather's cabin, finding the game with a flashlight and then shooting them out of trees or as they waddled across a trail. It was another opportunity I missed to kill those two bastards.

I never bragged about my experience with guns. But when I started dating, guys always wanted to impress me with their macho shooting skill. I might pretend they needed to show me how to hold a rifle. I might miss the first couple of cans or bottles, and they would show me how good they were, how easy it was. Then I would take the rifle and wait while the young man so intent on teaching me his game, would set up the targets again, and when he got back out of range and almost to my side, I would take out every target before he could turn around and look. It was a jaw dropping experience for the young man who seldom asked me to go shooting with him again. I hunted rabbits alone. I was a right little savage.

Once I started taking acid and smoking pot I lost my taste for guns. I mellowed out. I was a fashion model and traveled where ever I wanted, staying long enough in one fashion capital or another to get an agent and make some money and then I was off again. It was an easy life. A young beauty is welcome anywhere. And oddly men always wanted to protect me. That is until I started marrying them. Strange how quickly a man who professes to love you can turn into an abusive prick once he thinks he owns you. I finally gave up on men who claimed to love me, and decided I preferred the occasional friend and a solitary life.

Today my old friend came over to bring me his home made corn bread. I peeled a chilled cantaloupe and sliced it and we shared a lovely lunch. We talked about politics like we always do, and the subject of the Supreme Court came up. We both hate that prick Antonin Gregory Scolia, the gangster of the current court. I also loathe Clarence Thomas, but he is merely an angry, vengeful man--not very smart and not terribly dangerous. But Scolia is a Cheney type gansta. It got us talking about the new ruling concerning gun laws, and got me to thinking I've always wanted a shotgun. It's the only gun I'd really want these days. I think there is nothing more chilling than the sound of a pump on a shotgun. That sound of someone getting ready to do some real damage. And I would imagine a woman with a shotgun could scare the crap out of any intruder. It's everyone's right to own and carry a gun in Utah. And I'm nothing if not a good citizen. And who knows when some asshole might decide to ignore the beware of dog signs and intrude on my privacy.

I'm Sorry

I'm not sleeping well and woke up inexplicably at 3 AM and decided to read a blog or two looking for inspiration. I read Liberality's post from yesterday and was amazed and delighted. I started scrolling backwards reading what she's been up to and was further amazed. Other people have real lives. Fancy that. I know Dcup has a huge real life and I've never been able to figure out how she does it. Not only do you guys have spouses, and kids, and jobs (and in Libs case, school) and write, you actually vacuum. Then you go visiting and say funny, smart things, like the perfect party guest. I've almost always been the wallflower at the party. So I'm in awe. The only party I've been throwing lately has been the most disgusting of all parties--the pity party. Well, I'm finally disgusted enough with myself to give it up. I'm calling my shrink today and telling her this latest drug change isn't working. I'd rather be fat than dull. Hell, I rather be dead than dull.

I owe my administrator a huge apology. No one has done more to help me master a few of the fundamentals of computing. His patience is astounding. He has been generous and for the most part very kind. Besides all of that I really like him. He's given me the world, and I've acted like a petulant child at a tiny bit of criticism. Yes, I am ashamed of myself. He has asked me to leave him out of my card game. And I will, once I state publicly what an ass I've been. I'm thin skinned beyond belief. I hate whiners and I'm a huge whiner. This leads to self-loathing. Duh. Circular and stupid. I'm climbing out of the hamster wheel and will attempt to peer out the window now and then.

Yesterday I got a lot of very good advise from the women who know when someone needs an intervention.