Tuesday, March 2, 2010

Lessons Learned at The Range

This blog brought to you by the National Rifle Association. Grrr.

I was still in the office even though I’m famous for saying I’m leaving in ten minutes. Translation (I have two more meetings I forgot about or didn’t accept on my calendar and there is one more person sitting at my desk spilling their life story even though I’ve clearly done the ‘I’m standing up to leave move’ three times.) That translation. It means, I’m stuck even though the one place I want to be is with you.

Yes, you. Well, with the two of you. Meaning with Kristy and Amit. They are my engineering friends and if you didn’t know EVERYONE should have engineering friends. They are logical in ways you are not, you crazy almost psychotic artist types and the balance of having an engineer in your life will keep you out of jail.

I need to be kept out of jail. I’m running low on bail money these days.

And my engineer, ya engineer, THE engineer, Will, that is. Well, he’s engaged and that means that I need new engineers in my life. So, Amit and Kristy are not substitutes. They are the real thing. Good people. Funny. Sarcastic. Dry as hell humor which is a prerequisite for an engineer and this, a rarity, they are cool.

A cool engineer. Two cool engineers. I might as well have won the lottery. Hell, this is better than winning the lottery cause nowadays if you win the lottery your best friend kills you and buries you in cement and being buried in cement really sucks.


So, it’s raining dogs and cats like Will says and I finish my meetings and it’s Friday night and Amit wants to go to the shooting range. The range? Shooting? I’m not sure what you call it but he wants to use a gun and point it a pretend people. Paper people. People without lower limbs. Just thinking about it I’m wondering if this is such a good idea.

Lessons Learned at The Range.

1. Funny to you isn’t funny to them.
The guy behind the counter doesn’t like terrorist jokes when you are holding a gun. He also doesn’t like those jokes when you are buying bullets. Just stay away from terrorist humor all together if you are near firearms and keep telling everyone you’re from Afghanistan, Amit from India.

2. Rules are for a reason.
I’m not big on following directions. I don’t like people telling me what to do. You know that by now. Point the gun towards the target, not towards the bench. Put the safety on; don’t point it at Amit’s ass. Blah, blah, blah.

3. Aim for the heart, not just the head.
I learned this late in the evening and really, learned it late in life. With shooting, it’s two shots to the chest (heart) and one to the head. Not so much with me. I put up my target and went straight for the poor guy’s brain and made mush out of it. I’m a damn good shot. Oh, I do that all the time. And I’m so good with the heart. And know how to make that all mush, too but I see that brain and immediately start taking shots at it. I can’t help it. The brain turns me on. And the heart, well, it scares me a little bit. No, a lotta bit. I’m a better shot at the brain and it takes more time for me to aim at the heart, I mean the chest. I’m learning though. It’s that whole following the rules thing and everything.

4. We can be strong and sensual.
We were mid shooting and my Droid rang. I have a Droid. (insert pause for jealousy and angry banter with Ipod owners over who has the best apps) So, I can’t hear a thing because of my “don’t blow out your eardrum” headphones that are not terribly cute in pictures. I take a moment in the car to listen to the message and it’s Him. You know, Him. The guy I’m dating. The one that is not an engineer but still would keep me out of jail. And he says, “Just checking on my pistol packin’ princess. Hope you’re being careful.” It was his best protective voice. He has a great protective voice. Darling women, it’s okay to shoot and to be sensual. To fight and to fear. To be both a pistol, I mean to have one, and to be a princess.

5. Are you an Uzi or a revolver in love?
Are you closing your eyes and blindly shooting to see what you hit? Little too premiddleage for that, aren’t we? Hold your revolver, take a breath, plant your feet, steady your vision and aim.

A little of the head. A lot of the heart.

Much love and ammunition,

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