Friday, March 31, 2006

I was never that bad

Was I?

Last night, being Thursday night, I was off to The Duke for fat camp. I was embroiled in a gigantic controversy at work that spilled over into the evening via email, and I had to write a big long reply while I was still angry. That took until about 10pm, so I didn't get there until about 10:15.

Needless to say, I was the first one there. I called Spanky on his new cellphone to see what was with the f'k, as I had spoken to him 10 minutes before I left, and since he supposedly left about 5 minutes before I did and he lives 5 minutes closer. I had one of those damned Bluetooth moments when I tried to call. Anyone with a bluetooth headset knows what I'm talking about. I had the headset turned on when I was driving so I could talk handsfree, and I forgot to power down the headset when I got there. Then I was standing out on the patio calling Spanky, and the headset was in the truck about 40 feet away. Not far enough to lose its connection to the phone. So the call connects, and I get dead silence. I'm sitting there going, "Hello? Hello? Hey, Spanky, you new phone doesn't work. Hello?" Then I realize the stupid call is being routed to the headset in the truck, and it's like 20 button pushes to disconnect from it and get the handset to work again. So I hang up, do my 20 button pushes, and then call again. It rings and rings and rings, and I get voicemail.

So I guess the first time it went to voicemail. Fine. I call TommyO. Straight to voicemail on that one. No ring at all. So I'm all alone. I sit down. The chair is covered in rain water and my butt gets wet. I'm pissed. I go inside and get a paper towel and wipe off the chair. Then I sits and waits. I waits for the waitress, or Spanky, or TommyO, or for sweet sweet death to take me away. Spanky wins about 10 minutes later. Death takes much longer.

Then he wants to know if I got drinks yet. "No. The waitress hasn't been out yet." If there's one thing Spanky is good for, it's getting drinks. It's really his gift. He heads off inside for a minute, then comes back out and declares victory. Drink show up shortly thereafter. Victory is sweet. The waitress says, "Oh, these are for you guys. Why isn't it gin&tonic and a martini?"

So I explains how Spanky drinks only Guinness, hence the Guinness. And I often drink Jack and coke. And TommyO is the one who drinks martinis, but he is MIA.

She asks what "MIA" is. That might be why she's a waitress.

So we chats for a while, Spanky and I. Round about 11:00, TommyO calls. He wants me to get him a "Ketel One". I go inside to track down the waitress. I find her. She looks at me all serious and says, "The kitchen is closed."

Does that mean free fries?

TommyO waltzes in at 11:12. I remember the time exactly, cuz, being a smart-ass, I looked at my watch, tapped on the glass, shook it, and said, "Weird. My watch must be acting up. It says it's 11:12. Spanky, what does your watch say?"

At 11:32, exactly 20 minutes later, TommyO's phone rings. I know what this means, so I say "Don't answer it." He answers it.

"He's awake, huh? OK. Allright. OK. Bye."

"Uhhhh...I gotta go home. Zach woke up."

Dude, you've been here 20 minutes. And you're the dad. You do not need to go home.

He gives me the saddest look, and says he does.

Then he orders another martini, gulps it down, and leaves.

I was never that bad.

Sorry folks

I know I haven't posted ina couple days, and probably I've lost most of my audience during that time. Things have been busy, and The Mrs. decided we should watch a moovie over the last couple night during our free time after the childrens are in bed. Normally, we would spend that free time in different rooms on different floors of the house. The Mrs. would be upstairs in the compooter room reading her email and buying stuff "for the childrens", and I'd be downstairs in the family room sitting in my La-Z-Boy chair watching reruns of That 70's Show, drowning my pain, and lately blogging.

One key to marital happiness is to spend almost all your waking hours apart. Absence makes the heart grow fonder.

Anyways, we ended up watching Donnie Darko: The Director's Cut for the second time. This is one of those moovies that you really need to see more than once in order to understand the ending. I think I kinda mostly understand the point now, but I'm not sure. So then we started watching it a third time with the director's commentary turned on. Turns out the director yaks the whole time with Silent Bob.

That's all I have time for now. I gotta go grab lunch and get back to work.

Tuesday, March 28, 2006

Some Pictures

There have been complaints piling up in my emailbox that I do too much talking and not enough picturing. So I spent a half hour today installing all the photo software for our Canon Powershot A520. Then I went out and took some great shots of the Garden of Death.

In this first picture, you get to see the "after" shot of the butterfly bush/tangello tree relocation. That scraggly little "tree" up against the fence is the tangello tree. It is in the spot where the butterfly bush used to live. In front of it is the big divot left by the removal of the tangello tree. We didn't have enough soil left over to fill in the hole, oddly. I'll have to get some soil by scraping down the berm here and there and moving the dirt to this hole. Or maybe we'll have a big rain storm that will fill it in on its own.

If you look way over on the right in the corner of the yard, you can see a little potted plant. That is sitting on Birdie's grave. Poor Birdie. Max insists we keep two potted plants on Birdie's gravestone.

Now, these next two pictures are before and after. I'm not sure I can get them next to each other cuz I stink at HTML, but we'll see. The first one is the butterfly bush in its new location, dying. The second one is after I carefully pruned a lot of the longer branches in an attempt to keep it from dying by alleviating the great water demands that can no longer be satisfied by the disrupted root system. Up close, it looked better than from far away. It may yet live.

Hmmm. That worked out OK. You can really tell the difference, huh?

Now, this next shot is of the hanging gardens of Babylon. The little plant baskets that started the whole thing.

Don't look like much, do they?

Rain Rain...

...go the hell away.

The butterfly bush has begun its dance with death. It should probably be pruned back, but it's raining. It might still live. Or it may just join the Others in the Garden of Death.

Today I am what we call WFH (working from home). It means I call in to a meeting or two, answer some emails, send a bunch of urgent IMs, and I don't count it as a vacation day. It's a lot like a Saturday, only without quite as much complaining.

The Mrs. is at the dentist. She loves to go to the dentist. At first, she loved it cuz they always gave her the gas cuz she claimed to be hypersensitive. Then, later, it turned out her hypersensitivity was more of a character issue than a medical condition, and they stopped gassing her.

I however, have continued gassing her. Escpecially if I've had Mexican food.

Now, she still loves going to the dentist. This is because he always manages to tell her some long, involved, and inappropriate story about one of his other patients or one of his friends, or his left nut. She learned what a hydrocele was at one of her favorite visits. I always look forward to her reports when she returns from the dentist.

Maybe you should, too.

Monday, March 27, 2006

Artificial Intelligence at Work

It's better to have artificial intelligence than no intelligence at all.

Did you catch how I posted the Ode to Fat Moother, and the AdSense context-sensitive advertisements immediately dropped in a "Look Sexy Naked" weight loss program ad? Eerie. [update: now it's gone.]

Today is one of those days where I feel moved to write, but nothing seems to be there. I spent some time online trying to find a pellet trap. Seems these things aren't readily available at discount prices. Everybody wants too much. Except maybe CheaperThanDirt.

My miter saw is sitting in the "not yet shipped" status at amazon. That's what I get for selecting the Super Saver shipping. But shipping otherwise was $40, so I'll be ahead. I won't have the saw in time to build garden boxes this weekend, but it'll be raining the whole weekend anyways.

I once again priced superchargers for the truck. That is sheer foolishness, but luckily, they once again came in over $5k. So scratch that off the birthday list. I can maybe hope only for a lift kit. Or perhaps a new wallet.

Ode to Fat Moother. A Haiku.

The Mrs' Fat Moother
The only reader of this
Have a happy day


I thought I'd take a moment to address some of the many thought provoking comments posted by readers, just so you know I value the feedback.

I turned on the word verification feature for the comments because so many people have been having spambots post advertisements to their comment section. I figured with the growing popularity of this blog, I had best head off this problem before it starts. Fat Moother seems to have been able to negotiate the word verification, but a lot of the rest of you haven't been able to. It's not so hard. It shows you a bunch of letters (not really a word), and you type them in the same order into the little box. I know I don't have the brightest bunch of readers, but I think you guys should be able to handle it.

If not, leave me a note in the comments, and I'll turn it off.

Sunday, March 26, 2006

Garden of Death

It started out like any other Sunday. MaxieC getting up way too early, and The Mrs. and I both pretending not to notice him jumping on our heads. Eventually, The Mrs. realizes that I got up first yesterday (probably she remembered it from reading it here, as she seems to have a very selective memory about who got up first when it's her turn), and she gets up and takes MaxieC downstairs.

When you're single, you think it'll be great having someone to wake up next to. When you're married, you know much better.

Young Miss HannieC kept coming up every 20 minutes or so to remind me that I was still sleeping even though, "it's not your birthday!" Sheesh. At 8:25, I eventually gave up and got up. Took a shower, put on my tan pants for church, and began ironing a shirt to go with it.

No, in case you're wondering, The Mrs. doesn't iron. I like to think she would iron if she didn't have two screaming kids. But we were married for a number of years prior to having kids, and I can't recall her doing much ironing during that time. But back then, I wore something that needed ironing probably less than once a year. The pressures of having to go to church every week have really been hitting the laundry hard.

So, I'm ironing the shirt, and Miss HannieC appears once again. "Daddy, Mommy says we're not going to church today. We're going to stay home and do some gardening."

Being a good Christian Father, I replied, "First off, Honey, your mother is not in charge. Secondly, imagine if Jesus had just stayed in the garden. Do you think He wanted to die on the cross? No. He liked the garden. It was quiet. It was filled with beautiful flowers. And it was not filled with people yelling 'Crucify Him!' Yet He went and died on the cross so that all your sins could be forgiven and you could someday join with Him in paradise. The least you could do is go to church on Sunday."

Well, alright. What I really said was, "OK." And then I put on my junky clothes.

When The Mrs. is moved to "garden", it's usually a bad thing. It generally involves a large number of bizarre operations that will require multiple trips to multiple stores and for some reason just always has to get done today. This was no exception.

It started out innocently enough. I asked what she had in mind for "gardening." This is what she said. Exactly. I'm not making this up. You can't make up stuff this good.
"I figured you wanted to mow the lawn today."
Now I'm really starting to worry, but I play cool. I'm not cool, but I can play cool on occasion. "I mow the lawn just about every week. I don't think we've ever called that 'gardening', and we've never skipped church for it."

"Well, I kind of have some ideas of things we need to do."

Yup. Here comes.

"Like, I'd like to build some boxes for the garden that we can plant stuff in. Like carrots."

So, here's what that means. See, we have a garden patch over by the fence on the right of the yard. Like most garden patches, it is dirt. If you start to dig in it, you hit dirt. If you dig some more, more dirt. If you dig even more, then you need to get yourself a beers to cool off with. But then it'll just be more dirt. The kids love the dirt. The tomato plants love the dirt. The Mrs. hates the dirt. She wants better dirt. She wants to build above-ground dirt holding containers that we can fill with dirt. Only not the dirt from the garden. New, fancy, expensive dirt. Not the dirt we already have, only mixed with that great compost we've been brewing for a year, and maybe a couple bags of steer poop. Nope, all new dirt.


"Oh, and I want to move the butterfly bush. To over there where the melon patch is."

What I should have said, "Move the butterfly bush? This thing is like 10 feet high! And where are we going to plant our melons? That's just crazy."


"And I want to get some new flowers for the hanging baskets."

Ah, at last something that makes sense. So, we discuss the box thing a bit and the location of the butterfly bush a bit, and I'm thinking this may be a great opportunity to buy a new tool. I've always wanted a power miter saw, and building garden boxes is the perfect (exc)use for one. So we pile into the truck and head for Home Depot. Now, I know what you're thinking. Home Depot - everything there is crap. Well, maybe. But I happen to be in the market for crap. Steer crap, which Home Depot has for $0.99/cu ft.

We hit the garden section, and spend an hour looking at every single plant, and finally get just the perfect ones. The don't have any cherry tomatoes, so I guess we're not planting the garden today. We load up on steer crap and some other stuff, and then make our first pass through the checkout.

Next, back in to the tool section and the lumber. Unimpressed with the miter saw selection. It's mostly $99 Ryobis and Rigids. Why do both Ryobi and Rigid make multiple models at the same price? I couldn't figure it out. Then, from there it went to a couple of $199 things that they were out of stock on, and up to $600. I'm not spending any $600 for a tool to make boxes for my garden. Then, I wouldn't have enough money for the pneumatic nailer and compressor I'll need.

So, forget the saw. I'll stop by at OSH and pick one up. Or maybe Sears. I still have a Sears gift card from Christmas. Head to the lumber. Naturally, since this is Saturday, they've got lumber fenced off while some idiot with a forklift tries to bring a palette of wood down from up above. We wait. And wait. And wait. The palette is stuck. He's hammering on the adjacent wood with a 2x4 trying to make room for it. Some guy runs off to get him a sledge. F- this. I'll go to Southern Lumber. I'll pay a little more, but the lumber will be higher quality, and I won't have to stand around all day trying to buy it.

It's lunchtime anyways. We go home, eat, and start planting. The Mrs., crafty devil that she is, has bought all kinds of plants that are not for the hanging baskets of Babylon. She starts right in by pulling out a clump of fountain grass that is just starting to come out of its winter dormancy. I yell. Why do you have to kill everything? I'm tired of having you pull up everything we planted last year just because you're tired of it.

"It's dead."

No. It's got all kinds of green blades coming up from the bottom. Look at it. Oye.

She puts it back into the hole. Angrily, because the plant contains some brown given that it has been spring for like 7 days, and The Mrs. does not appreciate brown in plants. Brown is death.

We plant. Then, eventually, The Mrs. declares we must head to OSH to get basket liner moss for the hanging baskets. Great. I can check out saws.

OSH's selection of saws also sucked. They had a lot more DeWalts, but they were also out of stock on just about anything mid-range. Oh well.

Back at the homefront, we managed to move the butterfly bush. I think it will die. Most of the roots did not make the transplant. But, I poured Miracle grow transplant fertilizer on it, which is a root stimulant. So, I'm hoping for the best.

Then, since there was a hole where the butterfly bush was, The Mrs. Needs me to move the tangello tree into that hole. It's always something. The tangello tree is only about 2 ft. high, though, being a dwarf variety. No big deal. I think it may even live after the transplant.

In the end, though, it all worked out well. I got me one of these. Great deal, and an additional 10% off with the promo code on certain drills and saws.

Saturday, March 25, 2006

Triumph and Suffering

It's strange. Sometimes you can be having the best of times, and then it suddenly all goes into the terlet.

Miss HannieC played breathtakingly well at her piano recital today. She played a little quickly, but with great gusto and dynamic range. She got a good round of applause, not just the polite kind that is the norm at a children's music recital. And I'm not just saying that cuz I'm the dad. I rarely, if ever, am complimentary. That's one of the traits that the Mrs. CherkyD found so alluring. At first. Some kind of hidden childhood damage there, I imagine. Perhaps her mother, my only regular reader at this point, can comment.

You know, I kinda like piano recitals, if by "kinda like" you mean "doesn't make me wish for sweet, sweet death to rise up and deliver me from my pain". Which got me to thinking, why is that? Yes, Mrs. RR is a hell of a piano teacher, but I've been to many viola and violin recitals over the years where the teachers were quite good. Been to many where the teacher was the incomparable CherkyD, yet I've always ended up wondering if the FBI was right about the stopping power of the Federal HydraShok design by about the third child. With piano, that doesn't happen. I think it's because in a piano, you can't play out of tune.

So, to celebrate Mrs. decides we should all go out to dinner. So, being that I am generally a sane person, I figure it's either Big Dogs or MickyD's. Nope. It's The Cheesecake Factory.

What? We're not a bunch of middle-aged women. We're a family with children. Why would we ever think of going to The Cheesecake Factory?

"Well, they don't have a kids menu."


"But they can share something. And the deserts are really good. And if we get there really early, the line won't be too long."


So we schlep ourselves down to the mall, park in the garage without incident, then walk the mile or two to the restaraunt. Inside, we are told immediate seating is available on the "heated" patio, but that if we wanted a table inside, it would be about ten minutes. Amazing how in one sentence, the very first sentence, someone can tell you two lies.

First, I have a lot of experience with "heated" patios. It was about 50 degrees outside. The patio was uncovered and unsheltered. Just a bunch of tables with a wrought iron fence around them. The patio had about 20 tables, and a grand total of 4 of those little propane heaters that look like light poles. You know. The ones that give out heat in about a 6 foot diameter. Everyone on the porch was hunched over, wearing their jackets, and looking unhappy.

But, of course, when I look around, I see about 30 people waiting for a seat indoors. Every table is filled, including in the bar. Ten minutes my ass.

But we hunkered down for the wait. CherkyD and HannieC looked at the desert display. It had about 20 different kinds of cheesecake, according to the labels. It looked to me like there were about three different kinds. Imagine, if you will, you're in the soda section of the grocery store, and none of the bottles have labels on them. Let's see, you've got your brown flavor, your yellow flavor, and your clear flavor. Now imagine it's cheececake.

So that keeps the womenfolk occupied for a good 10 minutes. But the menfolk are done in about 20 seconds. MaxieC decided to be a crazy child. So he's running all around and tugging on me and lying down and licking the floor. After about 15 minutes, a seat opens up and the womens sits themselves down on it to watch me and the crazy child. Then, HannieC decides crazy child should be a participatory, not a spectator, sport. So she gets all wound up. They each grab one of my hands and start running around me. At least in the same direction. But HannieC tries to lap MaxieC.

While spinning around, I take the chance to get a good look at the design of this place. Being a man, I've never been here before. This was HannieC's third trip, and The Mrs. has lost count by now. My first impression was that it was some kind of bad (or perhaps just cheesy) Las Vegas lounge design. But I later think it was more of an oddly-themed casino design. There are columns with strange flutes and faces at the top. The walls are mirrored. There is indirect lighting up on the ceiling. All it needed was the sound of the slot machines boinging away.

Finally, after about 30 minutes, the pager went off. That's when we learned that ten minues was a good estimate. It was just an estimate of how long it would be between when they rang our pager and when they actually seated us. Both kids were climbing the walls by this point, and I was ready to just go home.

I got the Hibachi Steak. It was quite good, though the sauce was a little too sugary and I tired of it before the end. The meal went the way all meals go. With The Mrs. and I eating as quickly as possible and taking turns walking MaxieC around while HannieC pushed her food back and forth on the plate and goofed around.

In other words, it was horrible. Just standard horrible, nothing exceptional. This is why we usually go to Big Dogs or MickyD's. The childrens can tolerate no more than 30 minutes of restaraunt experience, and we blew that in the waiting room.

There we go

Looks like AdSense is back up and running. You'll note the wonderful advertising bar across the top of the section. On Monday, I imagine I'll be able to quit my day job as the big bucks start rolling in.

Today will be a day of much excitement. HannieC has a gymnastics class at 12:30, and then she has a piano recital at 2:30. She's playing Allegretto I & II.

CherkyD started the day off right, by sleeping in late and getting up grumpy. At one point, I was talking to one of the childrens, and I said that I was cranky. CherkyD pipes up and says, "You're not cranky. I'm cranky today."

Then HannieC yelled, "No, I'm cranky!" And MaxieC jumps in with the fact that he's cranky. So we all competed to see who was the crankiest. It was no contest.

Friday, March 24, 2006

Another Failed Business Venture

I guess that makes two.

When I logged in tonight, I decided it was time to hook up the AdSense advertisements to the old blog. That way, when my one or two (or zero?) readers come visit the page, the content-sensitive advertisements will be displayed, and I'll make so much money that it will make this year's focal raise look paltry in comparison.

So, what happens? "Google's AdSense website is temporarily unavailable. Please try again later."

That's what they get for buying AMD servers.

So, see, now you're reading this but I'm not making money off your reading it. I should be. It's not like I do this for charity.

Yesterday at The Duke, we got free french fries. I'm still not quite sure why. TommyO sat on his ass forever deciding whether he wanted a basket of fries or not (or, more appropriately, a basket of chips as they are referred to by these wacky foreigners), and finally like 10 minutes before the kitchen officially closes, he scurries off inside to find the waitress to see if we can get our requisite basket of fries. We get a damned basket of fries every single week, I'm not sure what kind of decision matrix he had to work through in his mind. I definitely smelled smoke. Might have been one of these, though. But at any rate, with The Duke, you're always taking your chances if you wait past 10:30 to order food. They say the kitchen closes at 11:00, but really they should say the kitchen is closed by 11:00, cuz they start shutting it down a little at a time at 10:30, and on a non-busy night, you are SOL long before 11.

Anyways, the little ham-p-ster makes it around its wheel enough times to somehow jar TommyO into action. No small feat. I think it was really his thirst that stirred him, as he had drained his drink dry, eaten the olives, and licked off the olive skewer by then. And he was starting to eye my T&T. He wanders off and then returns shortly thereafter. Our waitress comes back out in a couple minutes with nice fresh drinks for us. Then she lays down the bad news. Kitchen is closed. No fries.

But who the hell cares at that point, as we've got nice fresh drinks? I think all bad news should be delivered with a drink.
"Here Brian, have a Maker's Mark. By the way, I finally got around to doing the VCCmin calculation, and there really aren't any VIDs you can use that will be low enough to pass oxide stress and also high enough to pass VCCmin margin requirements. Would you like some ice with that?"
True story, by the way, except for the Maker's Mark part. But that'll be the subject of next week's rant.

Well, OK , no fries. Life goes on. Have another cigar instead. Except TommyO doesn't smoke cigars, so he's still bummed about the fries. Right up until the drink touches his face. Then, nobody gives a rat's ass anymore.

About 20 minutes later, the waitress comes out with fries. WTF? She says something about how nice the cook was to make her the fries anyways, and what a great guy he is. There's something going on there, but who am I to pry? I mean, a cook at the end of his shift never does extra work. Am I right?

Yummy fries. Then, like an hour and a half later when we're leaving, she brings the check and says, "I didn't charge you for the fries." Then off she goes with no explanation. So, the cook does the waitress a favor and stays late to make her a basket of fries, then the waitress gives us the fries for free. Now, I'm wondering if by the transitive property, TommyO and I now owe the cook a little something something.

I hope not.

Tuesday, March 21, 2006

And so another day is gone

Shot to hell, as it were.

Today is another of those days where I was at work all day, but I just can't put my finger on exactly what concrete thing I accomplished. I got to review the voltage regulator spec design for a processor project in Fort Collins. He seems to have done a really good job. I looked at a bizarre failure that one of the guys on the team was trying to debug. Looks like a clock is toggling when it shouldn't be. Don't know why. I had about 1.5 hours of 1:1 with a guy who used to work for me but doesn't anymore officially, but now does again unofficially. I sat down numerous times to try to figure something out, only to have the phone ring or the instant messenger pop up or have someone show up standing behind me.

Sometimes I hate my job more than I can even believe.

Well, so anyways, I spent like a half hour trying to figure out how to put up a picture of myself in the upper right corner over there. I signed up for the free "Hello" picture hosting like the directions said to, but then it didn't seem to do anything. I finally figured out how to post a picture, then get the link to the hosting site for the picture, then attach that link to my profile, then delete the post. You'd imagine there would be a better way.

I miss television. I should go to bed, but whenever I sleep, I end up in pain. How did I get to be such an old man?

Monday, March 20, 2006

You'll Shoot Your Eye Out

Sunday, young HannieC sang the "Love Love Love" song with the Joyful Noise choir up at church, and then they had a rehearsal after church as well. This is always problematic, as the service ends around 11:00, but the rehearsal doesn't start until 11:30, and little MaxieC doesn't seem too inclined to want to sit around for an hour with nothing to do. So I need to keep the little squirt entertained.

Well, by the saving grace of God, CherkyD tells me to take old MaxieC out while she and the daughter are at the rehearsal. Free at last, free at last, thank God Almighty I'm free at last. I pack the poor kid into his carseat, despite his valient struggles, and high tail it off to Big5 Sporting Goods. Why? Well, cuz I've decided it's time to start teaching miss HannieC the joys of marksmanship, and I needed to score some .177 cal pellets.

See, it all started a few weeks ago when I came home from work and there was a big envelope from the NRA in the mail. It was the annual "Vault of Guns" sweepstakes entry form, in which you can win up to seven guns. You get a selection of stickers, each of a different gun. I'd guess about 20 or so to choose from. You take 7 of those stickers and affix them to the entry form. I was poking through the envelope which the Mrs. was putting maxieC to bed, and young HannieC comes bopping by. "Watcha doing Daddy?" "Well kiddo, I have to pick out seven of these guns that I want in case I win this." "Oooo! Let me help!"

Sometimes being a parent brings a tear to my eye. And not just when I get smacked in the package with some stupid toy, either.

So there I was, proud father, going over the pro's and con's of each of the guns on the stickers. I realized I have a giant hole in my knowledge base about shotguns. Like, can you fire regular 3" shells from a 3.5" magnum-chambered gun? I think the answer is yes, and it's easy enough to verify, but at the time I was standing at the kitchen counter and nowhere near google.

At any rate, she decided I needed a selection of guns to shoot different things. Elk, deer, ducks, and people. HannieC picked out the last two guns herself, as I could only find 5 that I actually wanted. Seems like the specialty here is less-popular cartridges, and I've learned that you pay through the nose for ammo for the less-popular stuff. I know, I know, I should handload, but I live in f'ing California. Which means I don't have a basement. Or a workshop.

Anyways, I decided then and there it was time to teach HannieC how to shoot the little Crosman American Classic pistol I have in the safe that was my first air gun. A gun I received as a birthday present when I turned 23 and was in grad school (sheltered childhood), but that's another story. I figure, this gun is a single-shot jobber that's hard to pump, and pretty complicated to shoot, so there's no chance of HannieC going all Rambo on me, as she might otherwise do given a repeater.

Turns out, it's no easy task getting pellets in California. You have to be 18, and then they have to be stored behind the gun counter, and then you gotta find a gun clerk, and then he has to walk the stuff up to the register, and then they have to check your ID. Sheesh. He told me they had to do the same thing with the softair pellets as well. Maybe it's just a Big5 thing.

While we were there, we picked up some Repala floaters. 3 of them. Then, we went back to church to pick up the womens-folk. I gave HannieC the bag and told her I got her some presents. She took out the fishing lures and was very excited. Then she took out the pellets and said, "What's this?" and started trying to open it. I said, "Careful, they'll go all over." And the lovely Mrs. immediately yells out "BBs!!!" is a horribly I'm-the-mommy-why-are-you-killing-my-child accusatory tone. No, not BB's. "Pellets!!!!" Yes.

"She'll shoot her eye out!!!"


Well well well

Another fine day has past without serious incident. Work was work. Nothing but dull pain today, though I think there is some backstabbing in the works. That old [redacted] is once again creating trouble in an area I technically own but have not really had time to focus on yet. He is going to drive a small piece of it and likely feel a hero. Good for him. I'm tired of playing hero. I just want to get home at a decent hour.

The wife, the lovely and talented CherkyD, is upstairs cha-chinging over all the "free" stuff she will get from hosting a triple soak-your-friends party on Saturday. Kara Vita skin care, Usbourne books, and some candle company that I don't know the name of. I made the margaritas from a recipe I got off webtender. The bartender's margarita. Didn't have enough Grand Marnier, though. Just as well, as that stuff is as expensive as hell, and there was just a bunch of women here and no hot tub or anything. HannieC, MaxieC, FreddyD, and I were relegated to the outdoors. I took the kids to the park.