Qvitcherkvetching!

(If you say it three times fast, a magic elf appears -- unless you have ever thunk Evil Thoughts!)

...Yeah, it doesn't work for me, either.

Much is good. The rest isn't terrible. The Hot Needle of Inquiry III* -- known to mere mortals as an effed-up howling-lipstick-red '02 Accent L, on the road coming towards you which you would so very much not want to see (and to judge from the frequency with which my various Accents have been hit, many people do not see) -- is supposedly all better, so I shall return the fine loaner (yes, another XM-equipped Santa Fe, this one with with the dumbgirl version of the climate controls instead of the sobriety/intelligence test the previous loaner had, who knew they read my [old] blog and will somebody kindly remind me to hide my Mensa card?) and pick it up before the traffic becomes perverse and twisted.

Which it does in that end of town.

All them fine young upright an' moral yuppifiers (not to condemn an entire group) having been crammed into cubicles all day, at going-home time the idiotic among them turn to scaring the very dickens out of the rest of us on the roads of this here metrapolitan wonder, 'cos getting one fat carlength ahead apparently assures one of chewy karmic love forever and ever, selah. Or maybe they wanna get home fast to watch the next episode of "Gurlz Gone Stupid" on their T1V0; I don't know and I don't want to know. I just, dear Lord, want them to not be too stupid or rude, just this one day, okay? Please?

There's something about stress. It adversely affects my language skills.


There's something about XM, too. I could not have it in my car. I'd wreck. I'd listen to the comedy channel addictively and take out a phone pole. Or a phone Hungarian, and they certainly don't rate that; it's not Sadie Hawkins day. Great Ghu, it's trippy! Worth the price? That's your call. My decision was made for me by the Property Tax Board of this here Center Of Urban Delight and they say "no extras." (They say, "Gimme that," but it translates to the other).


Went to range today and you'll all be very pleased (it's required of you) to know I shoot right well, for a girl who has shot nothing but photos in at least eight months. I could stop a bad guy. ...However, if competitive shooting were a dining establishment, I'd be sat near the kitchen and told to eat fast. Sigh. I knew this would be the case. On the other hand, I'm not as bad as I feared I would be.

Times are tough. The ol' range has no magazine rack any more! Where'n the name of John Moses Browning's diary am I supposed to buy gun pr0n now? (I really only buy SWAT and Concealed Carry for articles -- hey, if you can claim it, I can claim it.)

Wrapped my hot little hands around a bobbed carry .45 of 1911A lineage by one of the big names, about the size of an old Star PD but all fancy and nice. I know what I'd swap for one but this is a family kind of place. They really are almost enough to tempt one to throw virtue to the winds. I guess my main gun, the laundry gun (Don't be fooled, socks are dangerous!) and the .22 will have to do for now.

But that empty magazine rack and the thinned-out book section bother me.

Seriously, the signs are we're facing an economic readjustment. The politicos say things are booming but when I drive by mothers holding up "Please help. Will work for food" signs at the onramps in the middle of the day, there's more than mere alcoholism or a good scam going on even if that's what they're doing. Change may be inevitable but it's often no fun (maybe I had ought to have bought that mule. They're difficult to cook, though).** Might be a good idea to ponder your favorite charities, if you can.

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* The first one was The Hot Needle of Inquiry, followed by The Even Hotter Needle of Inquiry and now THNoI III. They're every bit as much fun as a hot needle under the fingernails, too. Highly affordable and that was what counted.

** Mom tells me once you've got the pot lid dogged down properly, they can't get back out. Coolness! I so should not have skipped Home Ec to go smoke cigarettes with the hoody boys.

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