What's a fella to do on a Sunday with Da Wife? Go bowling? Fuck dat!
Shop for a handgun, that's what!
I've learned something in my sixteen years, six months, and 29 days of marriage: when Da Wife is happy, we're all happy.
So on our way to the Super Bowl yesterday, I make a quick detour and pulled into the local sporting goods store.
"Whutcha doin?", she asks.
"Gotta look at sumthin", I reply.
"Guns? You wanna look at guns again?", she wined.
"Yah. C'mon. Yer not gonna sit in the car, are ya?"
I want her to be a part of this decision. Yes, 95% of the reason I'd like a new handgun is to poke holes in paper targets, but it would also be used for home defense and the occasional dispatching of rogue vermin.
I was relieved to see another husband and wife combo checking out some of the selection that they have there. I think Da Wife was too. We started by looking at that lil' Ruger LCP. I didn't like it - too small - and she agreed. Looked at the Kahr 9mm. Decent price point, but awfully plain. Cheap-feeling grips, small sights. And the slide was so stiff that she couldn't pull it back. And when released, it didn't snap forward. I'm sure it was just new and stiff and full of grease, but you can't shoot what you can't load. Then came a handful of others: Ruger SC9, Walther, Taurus. Even the Glock 26 - what a top-heavy boat anchor. And speaking of boat
anchors, that Hi Point 9mm is ginormous. I'm sure it serves a purpose, like holding down extra paper targets on a windy day. Out of all of them, I was most intrigued by the Taurus PT709.
But, no decisions were made and we left with a better understanding of what DW liked. Which was "none of the above". The sub-compacts were too small. The process of loading a mag, then inserting and racking one in seemed too complex. I made excuses for her, blaming inexperience. She'd get used to it after some range time. Trust, me, you'll like it.
Bowling was out. I had guns on the brain, so we continued our shopping at another gun shop. They were busy, with the fella behind the counter calling in background checks for the two lady customers that were standing there. Another employee came over and asked if we needed any help. "Sure do", I said to the lady. I just thought she'd show us what we'd point at and that would be it. I'd wait for the guy to get off the phone to ask any questions. Surely this lady was just helping out because they were busy and the fella was the firearms expert.
I couldn't have been more wrong. She asked all the right questions. She was patient and knowledgeable. And she suggested that Da Wife look at a revolver A what? Yes, a revolver. Simple, effective, simple, compact, to the point, and simple. Easy to load, easy to clean, easy to hold. You could see how comfortable she was with it. No complex steps to remember. Just load it and go. Perfect for those days she's on the road and those long weekends sleeping in strange towns. The S&W .38 "Bodyguard" was her favorite, and that laser sight was a nice feature.
After my countless hours spent researching what I want and after all the time spent wandering thru the firearms departments at all of the sporting goods stores in the area, I've been focused on semi auto's. I like them. I like their capacity, their mechanics, their appearance. I like that you have to break them down to clean them and get inside their workings and fiddle-fuck with their guts. Racking one into the chamber is fun. Blasting off twelve (or more) rounds in succession is fun. I never even thought to look at revolvers. I thought they were bulky and
clumsy. The repetitive idea of loading a handful of rounds into a cylinder doesn't appeal to me. But there are two different mentalities at work here. I'm primarily looking for something to have fun with at the range, putting a coupla hundreds rounds thru on a good day. She's looking for something to stop the bad guys.
And hopefully it never comes to that.
The valuable lesson learned here is that different folks have different strokes. And because of that, I get to shop for even more goodies!
Friday, February 17, 2012
Thursday, February 16, 2012
To that fella that flipped me the over-exuberant bird this morning, I am sorry if you think I cut you off. I know I had enough room, but you apparently didn't think so. I hope calling me #1 made your day, because it made mine. I laughed at you. By the way, I can't read lips.
My commute is normally a relaxing 30 minute jaunt to the city. Traffic is never bad. Sometimes frustrating, but never really bad. It's usually not even memorable. But that could be attributed to me age. Da Wife and I both work in the city and share similar hours so we try to ride together when we can. And the times that she drives and I'm the passenger can be more stressful than the few times that traffic is bad. See, DW is a left lane hog. Drives me frikkin nuts. She'll pull into the hammer lane to pass a pokey, but she'll never move back to the pokey lane. I can see the zoomers stacked up behind her, the right lane is open, and she just motors along. I used to say something but now I just shut my mouth. It's not worth it. A fight never started is easily won.
Speaking of my commute, I hate minivans. Despise them. They are like rolling time bombs of inattentiveness, just waiting for that precise moment to swerve into my lane or jam on the binders for no good reason. Oh, I'm sure the reason is due to some mishap inside the minibus, but I don't care about that. Four thousand pounds of tin and plastic should be treated as such, not like a rolling kitchen or family room or bathroom.
And put down that fucking cell phone. Trust me, you are not important enough to be talking to anyone at 6:54 am. Get over yourself. Pay attention and drive.
I don't suffer from road rage. Most of this stuff is mildly irritating or I just laugh it off. One day I'll witness an accident that is a result of this carelessness and, being the good samaritan that I am, I'll pull over to help you.
And throw your phone in the weeds.
After I take your wallet.
Just kidding! It's fun to dream.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Starting this blog is proving to be difficult. It's not because of a lack of things to blog about, but one always wants a good beginning. Like "They call me Ishmael", or "It was a dark and stormy night". Unfortunately, I'm just an Average Joe wanting to vent on life's miseries and mysteries. Far from a master of classic literature....
So, let's get this party started.
I'm a forty-something that likes to write stuff down. In my head. It gets lonely in there, so I'll share the chaos with the world or the three people that will stumble across this blog while wasting their lives away in front of the computer. Like the rest of us. Again, I'm fairly normal, still having all the fingers and toes that I came into this world with. I work, I commute, I live, I complain. I breathe with my mouth closed. I walk erect. I tuck my shirt and tie my laces. My underwear resides inside of my pants.
After stumbling thru this life for some time now, I've only just begun to feel like I'm on track. Or close to being there. Or at least headed in the right direction. I dunno. But I feel more settled. More resigned to this existence. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
Don't expect much of a theme here. I'm not a writer. I'm not very witty or gifted at prose. I don't have any deep-rooted passions. My interests are varied and wide. I will write about things that amuse, befuddle, anger, stimulate, and annoy me. My grammer is bad and my spelling is not so good. Too bad for you.
So hop in, buckle up, and keep your dirty dick beaters off the radio. This could get fun.