2001-02-26 - 8:44pm

Who's Who Cheat Sheet
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On the internal soundtrack: "Sunshine of Your Love", Cream

Well, I think I know what gun I want to get. The caliber, anyway. I might try something in-between first, but I think I want a .22 pistol.

On Saturday, we went to a nearby shooting range with Brent, Stacey, and Kelsey. They had a .22 pistol there, which I rented, and I was ecstatic at how easy it was to use. It's quieter with a lot less kick than the big 9mm I was using in Florida. I feel much more comfortable using it (no cringing) and can aim pretty well with it too.

Brent wanted his wife to at least be familiar with guns even if she chose not to use them. This was their first trip to a range together since there are no public ranges close to their home.

She was surprised to find that she liked shooting. Her reaction was similar to mine -- it took some time to stop freaking out over the "I could kill someone with this" thing and get used to shooting as a last-resort self-defense thing and in a recreational sense.

It sounds crazy, I suppose, if you're overly focused on guns as an instrument for killing things, to consider them recreational. But it really is a fun thing to do, try to hold your hand steady and hit the target. Like playing darts, I suppose. People do archery as an Olympic sport, even though bows and arrows were also invented to kill things.

The range is a small mom-and-pop type operation in the basement of a house now zoned commercial. The two guys running it were extremely friendly and nice and I had a good time chatting with them while it was my turn to stay with Kelsey (she stayed behind glass in an observation area). They gave me a flier to take home. Apparently Friday night is Ladies' Night and I can shoot for half price. Whoohoo! When MIL is here we'll have to take her down there.

Last Sunday of every month is "Plinkers Day", wherein you can shoot -- I just love this -- pots, pans, and glass. Junk. Now that will be fun.

They had one lane with two bowling pins, each hanging from a rope, one at the 25-foot mark and the other at the 50-foot mark. Poindexter managed to miss the 50-ft pin and hit the rope instead, so the pin fell on the floor. I was amused. He apologized to the managers, who grinned and said, "No problem, it happens." The managers then proceeded to go try to shoot down the 25-ft pin. They never did manage to do it while we were there.

Kelsey was funny. She's very big on rules -- she's six -- and is something of a self-appointed enforcer.

At the range, Poindexter stayed with Kelsey while the rest of us got set up in our lanes. The two manager guys were sitting there smoking cigarettes. Kelsey kept looking from something on the wall back to the manager guys, whipping her head back and forth like she was watching a tennis match.

Poindexter took a look on the wall, and saw the "No Smoking" sign. He laughed, and told the managers, "You're in trouble now." One of them replied, "That's just to keep the fire marshal happy. I've never seen a cigarette set off a box of ammo."

I don't know what sort of example we're setting for Kelsey here.

The next day, Stacey and I were watching some godawful stupid Lifetime movie (now THERE are some train wreck situations) and Kelsey asked why the lady was in jail.

Stacey: She did a bad thing.
Evelynne: That's good, very specific. Make it sound like she can go to jail for not cleaning her room.
Stacey: Okay, she's in jail 'cause she killed somebody.
Kelsey: She must not have thought before she acted. My teacher says, "Think before you act, and don't act before you think." The boys at school never think before they act.

Those boys, you know.

I may have mentioned this earlier, but I want to reiterate so you understand something else later in this entry:

My mother-in-law is the neatest, cleanest woman I have ever met. She loves bleach. She bleaches everything. When she has houseguests, she gives the house what I would call a spring cleaning (which I never actually do). You get the idea.

OTOH, I probably traumatized Brent and Stacey because I freaked out when they tracked mud in the living room (we have easily-scratched hardwood floors) and on the carpeted stairs when they arrived on Friday. I was a No-Shoes Nazi for the rest of the weekend.

The way guns figure in my dreams is beginning to change. Used to be, I would get shot in my dreams. Sometimes at an ATM, often Columbine-style in a school. Lately, I'm the one with the gun. Sometimes it's a positive experience, sometimes it's not.

Two nights ago, I dreamt that Alec Baldwin (?? Don't ask me) was keeping me captive in my own house. I grabbed my .22 pistol, shot him in the leg while he was standing at the stove, and escaped. Yay me.

Last night, I dreamt that while sleepwalking, I shot my MIL's .38 (the one she keeps, loaded, under her bed). Thankfully, I shot her carpet, not a person.

While I was extremely upset that I was using a gun while sleepwalking -- responsible gun users are quite fanatical* about that "responsible" aspect -- the BIG trauma was:

"There's a hole and a bunch of black marks in her carpet. MIL's going to kill me for wrecking her carpet. Maybe she won't be too mad if I pay to have it replaced and also deal with making sure it gets done properly."

Poindexter told her about the dream when she called him this morning. She was amused.

*For example, when people are carrying an unloaded gun around, they always, always, ALWAYS point it at the floor. You never, ever point a gun anywhere near people, ever. Even if it isn't loaded. You always behave as though it is.

Speaking of MIL, Poindexter says he was discussing my experiences with the .22 pistol with her and now she wants to go gun shopping and get herself one. Her .38 was hurting her hand. Her arthritis can't take it anymore, I guess.

They discussed the idea that if you're using a gun for self-defense, you want to be extremely comfortable with it. In addition, you can shoot multiple rounds very quickly with the .22 because they're so small. Interesting point. By the time you can get one round off with a bigger caliber, if you miss, it might be too late.

I think about the self-defense thing a lot. MIL got in the habit of having a gun because they lived in a very isolated area and she spent a fair amount of time alone there. Now that she's in "civilization", I think she keeps the gun more out of habit than necessity, although she does have scammers dropping by on a regular basis.

Given the places I currently frequent, the chances of me ever needing to use a gun are incredibly tiny. I know this. If we move to Philly, this might change somewhat, but not much. I guess I feel that if I have that one chance in a million to save my or someone else's life, I want to be able to do it.

If I were mugged, I would give up my money and credit cards immediately without using any gun I was carrying, because the money is far less important to me than possibly getting into a fatal exchange of gunfire. This is NOT about being the vigilante from Death Wish, it's about saving my life when there is absolutely no other alternative.

If I were going to carry a gun on my person, I would take a rigorous self-defense class of some sort. The kind where they put you into stressful situations so you can see how you would react under pressure.

If I can't keep my cool in those situations, I won't be carrying a gun. I'll stick to Plinkers Day, thanks.

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