2001-04-04 - 10:02 a.m.

On the internal soundtrack: "Bridge Over Troubled Water", Simon & Garfunkel

So I was on my way to work today, driving my really really cute little red VW which is extremely fun and also reliable despite being nearly 30 years old (just like me).

And I saw a lime green New Beetle, and I thought, "Gosh that car is just SO CUTE!" And then I saw a silver Jetta and I thought, "Hm, that's kinda ugly." And then I thought, "Why would anyone want to buy a Jetta instead of a lime green New Beetle? I mean, even if you get tired of its cuteness after a few years, however unlikely I consider that to be, it will hold its value pretty well and you can sell it easily, especially in this area. In the meantime, you can have SUCH fun in it without no worries about the rolling-deathtrap attributes of a really old VW such as mine."

This is all 100% true, this is what went through my head on the way to work. I am trying so, so hard to get her to buy a lime green New Beetle that it's pathetic. I have no idea why, except that I love my Volkswagen and want everyone else to love theirs.

My sleeping patterns the last few days leave something to be desired. I keep waking up at 3:30 or so, usually from an unsettling dream, which means my heart is pounding and I can't fall back asleep immediately. That means my stomach wakes up and says, "Hey! I'm hunggggrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrry!" somplete with growls and keeps me awake, so I have to go downstairs and eat half a turkey burger.

I hate this.

I think the waking-up-at-3am part is due to a disruption of my schedule. I'm such a fucking pansy. Add one extra person to my household and I start freaking out. I can't wait to see what happens after the SIL and kiddies arrive today, bringing my household size to six.

Despite the wacky sleeping, I am having loads of fun with the MIL. We went shopping on Saturday and shooting on Sunday.

The shopping was, in part, for down pillows. We were at Macy's and I happened upon a down pillow that cost $120. I KNEW I shouldn't have touched it, but I did.

Oh, my.

If you like down pillows and don't have $120 handy, don't ever, ever put your head on a $120 down pillow. Unless you have really strong willpower or someone forcibly drags you away from it, you'll end up $120 poorer.

In my case, we figured we'd comparison shop first, and I could always splurge on it as we were leaving, since we parked next to Macy's. As it turned out, the distance from the pillow helped me with the willpower issue and I ended up getting a $30 down pillow that I like very much, thank you, although I do sometimes wonder how it would be with the $120 one...

This pillow is a replacement for what I call "The Jennifer Pillow". I've had it for the last 5 years. When Poindexter broke up with his live-in girlfriend six years ago, somehow he ended up in custody of her down pillow. (There's no way in hell he'd get my down pillow if WE broke up, but perhaps Jennifer was not as attached to it as I am.) I'd never had a down pillow before and I fell in love with it immediately. Unfortunately after five years it's kind of lost its poufiness, so it was time for a new one. I feel kind of sad that the Jennifer pillow isn't any good anymore. That pillow made me awfully happy considering it came from Poindexter's ex.

So, the shooting. It was Plinkers Day, as I've been telling you ad nauseum ever since I found out about it.

It was FUN!

I love my gun!

I blew up a bunch of plates and glasses!

The old dishes were set up at the 50-foot mark. Plates are really easy to hit, because they're so big. I had more trouble with the wine glasses (turned stem-up). I wasted nearly an entire clip trying to get that damn thing. I swear, this is WAY too much fun.

Renee at work tells me that she and her husband do this in their friends' backyards in rural Virginia. I am so jealous.

MIL was extremely pleased with the .22 pistol and definitely wants to get herself one for target practice.

While I was busy plinking, one of the range guys came in to shoot and there was a DEAFENING boom. I jumped a foot and spasmed a bit, then stood there clutching my heart. I looked through the glass to see everyone in the front room laughing at me, especially Billy (the one who made me try his Colt). Billy has a lot of fun startling the daylights out of me.

It turned out to be an exploding target. Little teeny thing, and when you hit it it blows up. Good lord. He kept trying to get me to try to hit one, and I just yelled "NO!".

When we were packing up to leave, some guy (50-ish) came in with a woman. The guy was renting a gun. MIL asked the woman if she was going to shoot, and the the woman shook her head emphatically and said, "No, no, no, I'm very much against guns."

That was all MIL needed to hear. She started telling the woman all about how she used to feel that way too, but then they had an intruder, and since her husband was working nights she figured maybe she ought to get a gun, and as soon as she tried it she loved it, etc. etc..

I mostly said, "No, it's fun, really, try renting the .22, or you can try my gun if you want, my gun is great!"

Either the woman had already been open to the idea of trying it, or MIL persuaded her, because she did try it. First shot, she jumped and shrieked, but then she hunkered down and turned into Agent Scully and fired off five rounds in a row. She was hitting the target, too -- one of those INTRUDER targets in a lifesize man-shape with bulls-eyes in the chest and head. By the third round she was hardly even budging from the recoil. I was enormously impressed. We left after that, but I'll have to ask Johnny and Billy how it all turned out.

One morning over the weekend, we were sitting around with the shades open (fishbowl!) and we noticed some kids running around picking people's pansies.

There were three kids, two girls and a boy. The boy had suddenly disappeared, which made me think he was getting into MY pansies. I went over to the window with MIL, and sure enough, there he was, getting into the peach ones.

I was debating whether to go outside and ask him why he was stealing my flowers, but then MIL rapped on the window. The kid looked up, saw the two mean old ladies, and started backing away, looking horrified. It was pretty funny.

Five minutes later, the older girl is headed up the stairs and rings the doorbell. I open it up, and say hello, and she says, "I'm sorry about your flowers."

Poindexter, damn him, started laughing rather loudly.

I said, "That's okay, I'd just appreciate it if you'd ask first, next time."

MIL told her that most people, if you ask, are happy to share their flowers with you. That it's really important to ask. That the owners of the houses plant those flowers, not the community association, so they are rather attached to them.

That was fascinating. I couldn't believe the girl actually came up and apologized. Every time you think the younger generation's gone to hell, you get a kid like that.

Now, I couldn't be too mad, because I've stolen flowers in my lifetime, too. Usually lilacs and wild violets. I don't think I ever stole bulbs, because I knew they involved work. And the kids weren't picking the place clean -- I'd bet the owners won't even notice they were missing a few pansy blossoms.

Anyway, I've seen the kids around a couple more times -- I think they live in the condos that just went up. It's nice, having more kids around. She was about 10, the other girl 7 or 8, the boy 5. Most of the kids in the neighborhood up 'til this point are under two.

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