Lucy, I'm home!

you got some 'splanin' to do!

I've been out of the loop for a while, and of course a pile of stuff has happened in the 16 months I've been away.

But a brief recap: got 'fired' from my job at the range, only to be rehired 20 minutes later to fix their computers at four times my old wage, tried to start a small business, started school with my VA benefits, got a hold on some personal problems, then the Army called and said "Hey soldier, gear up and get out to the desert!".

So I loaded up the truck and moved to Camp. Arifjan, that is. On a roll with the classic TV references tonight, apparently.

Got 6-ish more months to go out here, or thereabouts, and as nice as this place is compared to other places I've been, I'd rather be just about anywhere other than here. I work at the top, whats usually called "echelons above corps", but we call it "echelons above reality". there are so many stars and eagles walking around, most of what occurs here has little to no bearing on anything happening further north. Some of it doesn't even pertain to things possible in a normal, 4-dimensional universe. It's like a bad Dilbert cartoon, with more buzz-cuts and boots than pointy hair and ties that defy gravity.

But it's time for bed. Some time in the future ill share some anecdotes with all 3 of you that read this, but tomorrow is another day. well, its actually today, but thats neither here nor there.

Shooting Swedes

Work work work, it's all I do now. Slowing down a bit lately, so I can take a moment and delude myself into thinking that someone reads this and is entertained by it.

Met some Swedish people the other day. They came to shoot on the range I work at. They were on vacation. Had flown into Los Angeles, road tripped East along I-10, and decided to do the most Texan thing they could think of before flying home from Austin. Being suddenly forced into a situation where I am simultaneously a teacher, a subject matter expert, and an international ambassador is why I like this job, theres always a new challenge, something that can teach me and help me be a better, more versatile person.

Well, these Swedes had rented a 1911 pistol in 10mm. No big deal, right? Wrong. Normally it wouldnt be a big deal, but 10mm is ballistically closest to a hot .45, and out of the four of them, 2 were women on the more petite side. And when I say petite, I'm talking wafer thin. One a natural platinum blonde (Yeah, natural. I checked her license) The other an even more waifish redhead. They did well, considering none of them had ever fired a pistol before, and only one of the guys had fired a hunting rifle. No safety issues, and we had a good discourse on the necessity of guns in civilized society.

America has always had guns. Our right to own guns in one form or another (Whether it's pistols, machine guns, or just hunting rifles) is protected in our nation's constitution, it's a part of our national identity. Sweden doesn't have a culture like that. I'm thankful for their ability to speak English. They spoke better than many Americans, and because of that we were able to freely exchange ideas. They expressed to me their view from a society where the cultural visibility on firearms is virtually nil, and I was likewise able to share with them both the frustration of US gun laws and my love of the shooting sports.

On a somewhat unrelated note, I just typed out two entire paragraphs, but deleted them because I couldn't type them without them sounding self-inflating. But it's ok. When you have an athletic guy a full foot taller than you tell you you intimidate him, it's a bit of an ego boost.

Either way, I'm now saving for a trip. I know where I'm going when it comes time for serious wife-hunting.

I am here by the will of the people and I will not leave until I get my raincoat back!

So, it's been a few days. Sorry, been busy watching my friend suck up the internets, formulating blogs in my head that will never see fruition, and generally being too tired to lift a keyboard. (which isn't really that much of a stretch since I'm fond of 12 hour days and metal-contact keyboards)

Interesting day today. Got mooned by a female Homeland Security agent. Finally figured out why women want to lick my tattoo, and maybe found a new outlook on enlightenment.

The last week or so has been very strange. Now would be where I wax poetic about these shadowy blogs that lurk in the equally shadowy recesses of my mind, but some of them hit a little too close to home for things that I'll share with the Great Unwashed Masses (This means you! Take a goddamn shower!). Here's something I've always wondered but never bothered to find out: does the period go before or after the parentheses? Does it depend on context?

And in the spirit of Monty Python's Flying Circus, now for something completely different.

M: It's been a long time.
J: Who are you?
M: Don't recognize me? Last time you saw me was over a decade ago. I must not've been all that memorable.
J:Huh? What the fuck do you want?
M: Nothing. Not a thing anymore. Just wanted you to know I'm better than you.
J: The hell does that have to do with shit?
M: Alot, I suppose. I have a car, a house, and an honest job. I served my country. I served my family.
J: No kids?
M: No girl. Don't really need one I guess. Maybe I'm afraid it's hereditary. No point hurting someone like that.
J: Fuck you!
M: I guess if I did have one, I could still do that better than you.
J: Why did you bother coming way the hell out here anyway? Just to make fun of an old man?
M: Maybe. Maybe I just wanted to see you before you die.
J: So, want a beer?
M: No, I dont drink. I'm fighting heredity every step of the way.

And that ladies and gentlemen, is something that will never happen.

But now it's time for sleep. Theres a cop at work with a grudge and a plastic pistol. I have to take him back to school tomorrow.

Work, Lectures, and Fuck You, too

Today was kinda interesting. I realized how dangerous my job actually is. A 78 year old man nearly shot me with a .357 mag revolver. I didn't think much of it at the time, but damn it, this is America, the safety instructions are in English, and I'm not translating the safety brief into Spanish. So when I ask you to NOT re load your weapon after I unload it for you to bring to the line, don't get all offended when I put my hand on the pistol on my hip when you don't obey (or understand) the instructions of the Safety Officer when he tells you to quit pointing a freakin Dirty Harry revolver at him.

On the flip side to that, I ran into what may be the greatest demonstration of the Second Amendment today. A man walked in to shoot his brand new pistol. When i took his ID, it was one of those under 21 sideways cards. So i check the date. Here's a man who, on the day of his 21st birthday, woke up and came down to buy a pistol. Sure it was a Glock (ewww), but its like the economy car of pistols. Affordable, copious plastic, and limited styling options. I shook his hand and congratulated him.

Now right previously to all this congratulating and nearly being shot in the face, a vendor walked in. He was killing time while he waited to talk to the owner, so me and the boss shot the shit. Turns out that before he sold (OSHA approved) earmuffs, he worked for OSHA. had a couple things to say about that. Namely, how not a single one of em knew the dangers of dihydrogen monoxide. he used to give classes and lectures to inspectors, and hed always ask about it. Its incredibly prevalent all over the planet, available in the wild, though you can get much higher quality through the commecial market, and in some places, (though maybe not as pure as commerical-grade) through an underground distribution system. As soon as the vendor said "dihydrogen monoxide" I cracked up. My boss thought it was serious til I explained that it's water. He retaliated with a story about stupid inspectors forgetting that they will be shot for wandering into restricted areas of air force bases housing nukes.

The best part of the day was when I grilled the vendor on earmuffs. See, I've got funny-shaped ears or somethin, and I cant seem to find muffs that I can wear comfortably for extended periods. earplugs are ok, but with the constant in and out they do, it increases the risk of an ear infection, and the constant pressure on the ear drum can be damaging too. He said "Just a sec, I'll bring you something." He handed me some muffs that were a little larger than normal, but I tried em out for about an hour, nearly died, and said "Hey, these are great! It dosnt hurt!" He woulda let me keep em, but they were his only demo pair. Not much call for specialty things like that. not a problem to order em. and since its work related, I get em for dealer invoice!


Now I'm trying to think of some interesting observation of the human condition to put here, but I'm having a hard time coming up with something that hasn't been done to death and isn't completely inane or hypocritical. Ah well, maybe one day I'll be a sophisticated blogger who can edit and embed witty images for the perfect visual aides to a post that will make everyone go "OMG! Thats SO true, and SO funny!". Yes jon, thats a shot at you. I'm jealous. That bumper sticker thing was the shit, and Steph wouldn't let me comment. Here's my sticker though:


I thought it was hilarious, but apparently I'm only funny in my own head, and when I make Goatse jokes (DON'T google it! I beg you! if you don't know, you don't want to know!).

But hey, I'm not that big of an asshole.

"Drop 5-0, fire for effect"

Selfish

I get called that alot. Am I that misguided that what I feel I do selflessly and for others is actually self-serving manipulation? I see myself as a giving, caring person, most times doing things for my friends benefit. But maybe I've managed to delude myself into seeing it that way like the Inqusitors thought they were doing God's work.

I've got a hunch it stems from my jealousy. I really wish I could be one of those people who could say "fuck it all", but I can't manage that. I see people, my friends, co-workers, even strangers, and I want what they have. Not their things, I really could care less about a fancy car and a nice house. I want their relationships. Friendship, romance, I need these things. Its my fault I don't have them though. I'm too condescending, too much of a jerk, a consummate asshole. thats why I'm not close to anyone, not even my own family, and I have no clue how to fix it. Maybe I don't even want to fix it. As much as I desire a change, I'm entirely too apathetic to do anything about it.

So I just sit in my pot of selfishness, jealousy, and righteous indignation and stew, which just makes it that much worse. I'm constantly snapping at people, angry all the time, and I harbor a general feeling of "everyone should fuck off and die" that apparently makes me rather repellent to most people. Whatever. Fuck off and die.

Which probably isnt the best way to end one of these things, but I think it accurately conveys the thought I'm going for here.

I just don't want to be so alone anymore, and I can't seem to change that. (That's a recurring theme when I do things like this. Its a pretty big part of what goes on in my mind daily.)

a snippet, briefly

this isnt the beginning, its just what came to mind first.

A doctor's appointment in 50 minutes, fear of needles and tingling down my legs. the familiar early-morning acid churning in my stomach. I woke up in a cold sweat, forcing myself out of bed, moving before I'm really awake. My body will get there, my mind will shake off the shackles of sleep en route. It's an old trick mastered by dangerous, driven men. I'm neither of those now, only seldom driven to the metallic click of a zippo and smoke curling between my fingers.

But onward, going through the motions with my mind like a rider dead in the saddle, the horse knows what to do. Wash off the film of stale sweat and the oppressive weight of too many mistakes. They cling to me like an insulating cape of filth.

Time to go. Maybe it wont be so bad. Maybe it'll be worse. Wont know until I get there. Am I awake yet?