2001-03-24 - 10:01 p.m.

On the internal soundtrack: "The Karmic Boomerang goes Thwip-Thwip-Thwip", sung to the tune of the children's song "The Wheels on the Bus Go Round and Round". Medea thought that one up and put it into my head.

There's something oddly soothing to me about that tune, however repetitive it may be. I suppose it was designed to be that way. Kelsey likes to sing it in the car. When she was very young, around a year old, she liked a song that my Aunt Marianne used to sing to her:

Dance with the dolly with the hole in her stockin'
And her knees keep a-knockin'
And her toes keep a-rockin'
Dance with the dolly with the hole in her stockin'
Dance by the light of the moon.

When Kelsey was tired in the car and would start fussing, if we sang that to her she'd calm down.

Then there's another favorite:

Weenie weenie weenie weenie
Weenie weenie weenie weenie
I know a weenie man
He owns a weenie stand
He sells most anything from hotdogs on down
Someday I'll change his life
I'll be his weenie wife
Hot dog, I love that weenie man!

That one was my brother's favorite when he was little. We still sing it to him after "Happy Birthday" every year, too.

Anybody else ever hear either of these songs? If so, please let me know. I've never heard them anywhere else.

Aunt Marianne is really neat. Always doing crazy fun things. She trained my brother, when he was very young, to turn and give her a kiss when she whispered "psst psst" in his ear. He'll still do it if she does it to him now.

All four sisters are a lively bunch, especially when they all get together. They get together for a "sisters dinner" once a month or so. They used to listen to records together, and every now and then they'll all burst into song.

Anyway.

We did go to the range tonight -- Ladies' Night, so I shoot half price. We went for an hour, then ate dinner, then went back. The waitress at the diner had the most INCREDIBLE dimples I've ever seen. They were amazing. She had good round cheeks with just HUGE dimples. There was something almost sexy about them.

Since it was Ladies' Night, I met a few other gun-toting chicks. One of them is a liberal, a lawyer, and a lobbyist on Capitol Hill, and her husband had to drag her kicking and screaming to the range. She fell in love with it immediately and now she shoots 1500 rounds over the three weekend evenings. Pretty funny. Like MIL, she says shooting is good stress relief. Perhaps I don't currently have enough stress in my life to appreciate this right now. Or maybe she's talking about the road rage/stupid people kind of stress, which I have very little of.

I have an odd tendency to shoot low and to the left. I haven't quite figured out what I'm doing that makes this happen. I'll keep working on it.

The good news is, even at 25 feet, with a little piece of paper about 6" wide by 8" high, I can hit the paper about 90% of the time. I can hit the bowling pin too.

As Jay at the office says, "The definition of gun control is: Hitting what you aim at."

The gun folks we run into at the range remind me a lot of vintage VW folks. Down-to-earth and a little nutty, but fun. The range is an incredible sociable place, with people sitting around making conversation for a good half hour after they're done shooting or while taking a rest. Part of it is how friendly the managers are, and part, I think, is the close quarters. The room is about 6' by 18' feet, I think, and crowded with chairs, a fridge, and a desk.

If it weren't for the constant gunshots in the background, the room would be IDEAL for me. Nothing makes me crazier (well, except maybe for speed bumps) than a social gathering in which people scatter across a room with 10-15 feet between them all and have a CONVERSATION that way. I'm always yelling at my guests to come sit at the dining table so I can see them all well enough to follow along.

Sigh ... I need names for the people at the range. Ok, the energetic one is Billy, and the quiet guy who calls women "sweetie" is Johnny. There we go.

Billy has a bunch of Colts, apparently, and for his own entertainment value he had me try his Colt .45 revolver. The thing kicks like mad and I shrieked and jumped the first time I tried it. It has a very sensitive trigger, too, if it's cocked. I don't know how people use those things. He said he wished he could've had a picture of me doing that.

When we got to the range, I noticed that a handwritten sign that appeared to say, along with a bunch of other range rules, "Maximum two shooters in love." I looked again, and realized that the problem was a nearly-legless A and an N with the left vertical line running into the diagonal one. It actually said "two shooters in lane". I showed it to Poindexter, read it out loud, and kissed him, and Johnny started grumping at me and fixed the lettering. He said, "Are you happy now?" and I said, "I liked it better the other way." He gave me a look.

Plinkers Day has been moved to April 1, when MIL will be here. Excellent.

Justin's on the phone with his daughter, Sophia. She misses him. He just said, in a very gooey parental voice, "Oh, honey, I miss you too! But I'll be home real sooooon!"

Oh, and now Poindexter's on the phone. She's telling him jokes. She's borrowing from the chicken crossing the road and making up her own, on the spot:

Sophia: Why did the... why did the... why did the flashlight cross the road?
Poindexter: Why?
Sophia: To get more batteries!

Sophia: Why did the... why the basket cross the road?
Poindexter: Why?
Sophia: To get more cups!

Sophia: Why did the beautiful fairy cross the road?
Poindexter: Why?
Sophia: To get more fairies!

This cracks me up. She's four. I love how little kids will make up their own jokes before they truly understand what a punchline is.

Okay, so it's Saturday now.

We went to bed last night at 1am, and had to get up at 8 to take Justin to BWI. Ugh. Poindexter and I came home afterwards, ate, and crashed in bed for a couple of hours. Poindexter says he slept really hard -- didn't even hear the phone ring. After we woke up we lay around and yammered for a while. That was nice. I would have stayed there all day if I hadn't remember I had pizza downstairs I wanted to eat.

It's nice to have the house to ourselves. I haven't been alone with Poindexter for almost two weeks. That's not good. Spending time with Poindexter recharges my batteries and relaxes me like nothing else could. It's funny how we're like that. We both get slightly cranky and almost stressed when we don't get time together, alone -- even if it's just him watching hockey while I snuggle up next to him and read -- for at least a day a week. I know couples who just GO all day long, even on weekends, with alone time not being very high on their priority list. It sounds like a horrible existence to me.

The muffler on the piece of shit has nearly fallen off. A piece of pipe rusted through. Argh. Poindexter likes how it sounds, very tough and throaty instead of the wimpy purr it usually has, but you can hear it a mile away.

It looks like it's just the one pipe that needs to be replaced. I'm tempted to try it fixing it myself, if I can get the pipe. It looks like you just have to bolt the pipe onto the flange. The flange and bolts are rusty though. Could be a bitch getting the broken piece of pipe off. We'll see. Poindexter thinks it's worth trying.

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