2001-03-21 - 11:27 a.m.

Who's Who Cheat Sheet
Who I Read

On the internal soundtrack: Duran Duran's "Save a Prayer".

So, I am having too much fun these days and am not getting much done in the way of journal entries.

On Monday we were supposed to go pick up our guns (the ones we ordered a week ago Saturday) and then go to the range. Poindexter called the gun shop, and the guy there couldn't find them. Poindexter was exasperated -- he figured they HAD to be there, they just couldn't find them -- but no luck.

He was right, of course. Yesterday morning he called and the owner was there, and the guns had been put in the wrong place. How annoying. Making us wait an extra day! Dammit! We ended up having to rearrange our plans a lot.

They couldn't find the owner's manual that went with my gun. What a pain. This is not the most organized shop, apparently. He told me he'd mail it to me. He better. Justin has a sort of alternate version of my pistol, but he can't figure out how to open it so I can clean it properly, which bothers me.

Anyway. It's a great little pistol. I like it a lot. I did really well at the range. Poindexter is happy with his Glock too. Justin rented some kind of Israeli gun which was very accurate and easy to use as well.

Justin stood around yammering with one the range guys for a good half hour. All that testosterone. Lots of dull talk about barrel sizes and such.

The two guys who work there are somewhat opposites, temperamentally. The one Justin was talking to is kind of hyper, bouncing around and talking a mile a minute.

The other one is very laid back with a southern drawl. Very southern in general. He calls women "sweetie" the way people from up in Bawlmer call everyone "hon". He told me that some women who come by the range take great offense to this. He related a conversation he had once:

Range Guy: What can I do for you, sweetie?
Woman: [Stiffening] What did you say?
Range Guy: I said, what can I do for you, sweetie?
Woman: [Angrily] You don't call me sweetie. Only my husband calls me sweetie.
Range Guy: [Dryly] I can see why.

At this point the woman pretty much blew up at him. I think she even left.

Get a grip. Folks in the south tend to use endearments like that. As long as someone doesn't TREAT me in a condescending manner -- telling me I'm too delicate and/or stupid to handle a firearm might make me mad -- there's nothing wrong with some guy calling me "dear" or "sweetheart" or "sweetie" in a general kind of way like people use "dude". I had a biology teacher once who did that. Far as I remember, he never seemed to treat me any differently from anyone else so I didn't let it get to me.

I suppose the offense comes from the fact that people who are condescending toward females might tend to use endearments like that. But I'm not a fan of snap judgements in general. There are too many variables you don't know about. Better to wait it out and have a really good reason for blowing up at someone.

On our way out for our firearm fun, I stopped to look at how my bulbs were progressing. Justin must have noticed me doing this, because I did the same thing when we got back, and he said,

"They're exactly the same as the last time you looked at them!"

So I like looking at my bulbs! I blew him a raspberry.

OK, so, remember I said I was having dinner with a girl from high school that I hadn't seen in 10 years or so. We had a GREAT time. Yammered nonstop for about three hours straight. She's had a fascinating time since leaving high school -- running literally all over the world.

There was lots to catch up on, of course, and then it turns out that whatever made us friends back then -- openness, honesty, curiosity, thinking about the way the world works -- is something that is still there today. We got off on tangents beyond just catching up, which was nice.

It keeps surprising me to find that out, but I suppose it shouldn't. I had my eye on Poindexter when I was 16, so I must have known something back then.

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