Thursday, September 30, 2010

Oh God My Job Edition The Second

Not so much a complaint this time as an amusing anecdote...

It seems one of our local coke heads (puh-lease you don't grow your pinky nail on your dominant hand out just because you like the way it looks next to every other nail being trimmed short) got his tongue pierced recently.

How do I know? Because he came in last night and asked for:

"Shome Schig Schagsh, and a Shigari-yo."

He also looked like someone belted him across the mouth with a two by four so I'm guessing that it was done by one of his buddies rather than a licensed piercer.

I just hope that when and if he gets all infected he doesn't come in drooling yellow goop.

Thursday, September 23, 2010

Oh God My Job Edition The First

Because I'm sure there will be more of these.

Last night, 11:40:

Truck belonging to the traffic control company working south of town pulls up. It's ok though, I just made coffee, so I'm good.

Chick comes in, putters around a few minutes, and I hear the cappuccino machine cranking away. Ok, whatever.

Clueless Construction Chick: "Miss? The machine isn't working, it's just putting out water."

Me: "Oh hell my co worker cleaned it earlier she must have forgotten to flip the switch from rinse back to run." (Open machine, flip switch, turn to walk away, cringe as she pours the water from her cup into the drip tray.) "That doesn't have a drain, please don't pour things in there."

CCC: "It's still not working, see?"

I turn around, and she's holding the button down with no cup under it, running water into the drip tray.

Me: "Ma'am, that doesn't drain... Ma'am.... PLEASE STOP." (Because at eleven forty when I've already done 90% of my cleaning I really do not want to deal with a massive spill, thanks.)

CCC: "What?"

Me: "The only drip tray that has a drain is the soda machine. Every time you pour crap into any of the others, the clerk has to clean it."

CCC: "Well that's kind of dumb, they should all have drains."

Me: "I agree, but they don't. I'm sorry that the machine is not functioning correctly and I will put an out of order sign on it but I don't know how to fix it."

CCC: "That's ok I'll just get something else, I didn't really want cappuccino anyway."

At this point I refrained from telling her to get the hell out of my store and go terrorize the ones across the street. Barely. I also refrained from dumping the one hundred and eighty degree water from the drip tray on her head.

But it was a close thing.

I really need some fumbling adorable young high school boy to come in and buy condoms or something to give me a boost. (What? It amuses me when they come to whisper at me and ask where they are, and how they panic if anyone else walks in the store.)

Between the Mexican guys who come in and buy scratch tickets, then go to the back of the line and stand in line while scratching them without bothering to see if they've actually won anything before handing them to me to run through the machine (why bother scratching it if you're not going to actually play the game?) and the old lady who comes in at ten or eleven every single night and makes me check what number the books on her favorite scratch games are on (so far I've avoided what the other night gal says she does to her... holds her hands over the counter where the tickets are and picks up the "vibes") I'm getting to the point where I'm about ready to order a big rubber dildo and bring to work to stash on a shelf just so that I have something to make the nights suck a little less. (Edit: by watching customers notice it and freak out you sick minded individuals)

As an aside, I just got done reading The Princess Bride, the abridged version, and I think I might have caught some kind of parenthetical disease from Mr. Morgenstern.

Tuesday, September 14, 2010


Sweet, sweet home... my own bed, my pups, my beautimous wide open spaces, and elbow room!

Not to mention a lack of smog and smoke from nearby fires (not that I'm complaining about the fire, I think most of Colorado would probably happily roast marshmallows while Boulder burned...) sirens in the night and weird-ass people talking to themselves and suddenly turning to me saying "Isn't that right??" (Seriously, this happened to me twice. Neither time was at the hospital, where such things might be somewhat more expected.)

Farmmom made the trip better than we expected... some understandable stiffness, and a whole assload of "god I'm tired" made it home with us, but she's in good shape.

Soon, I'll have posts about two different carry methods for the P32, belly band, and ankle holster. For now, I'm going to go snuggle with my pups and get some sleep... and probably walk to work tomorrow... I am so sick of vehicles!

Monday, September 13, 2010

A Quick Note

Whilst I'm winding down from driving in Denver.

Mom is out of the hospital and spending tonight in the hotel room with her pup... she only had to sit down on her snazzy walker (we got her the one with the seat and basket, just cause) once on the way to the room. She's tired, of course, and drugged, of course, but glad to be out of the hospital.

Tomorrow morning we have an appointment at Doc's office, then snag the last of the needed materials for home, and get the hell out of Dodge... er... Denver.

It's a nice place to visit, but I couldn't live here. No way, no how. Too damn many people, all crowded together like cattle in a pen... *shudder.*

Anyway, just updating. Sleep now.

Friday, September 10, 2010


Is out of surgery, and awake in recovery. Doc says it's a good looking knee, so I figure he's proud of the work he did, and considering his reputation and the number of patients he has who absolutely adore him, I'm gonna say that means really good things.

Right now they're probably strapping her into the constant motion machine that she'll wear whenever she's in bed until she gets out of the hospital, and getting her x-rays and such.

It'll be about an hour before they put her in her (private) room and come get us to show us where it is.


Update: She's in her room, on her magic morphine button, and high as a kite in spite of the torture device... er... constant motion thingy. She's hooked up to more machines than the six million dollar man, at the moment, and is dozing off every time it gets quiet for more than a few seconds.

The only bit that squicks me out a bit is the little vacuum pump that has the tube that runs up to her knee... and it's not even that it's sucking stuff out of her knee, it's the thought that for the next eight hours or so anything they suck out of her they might just pump right back in... which medically is a good thing, but the idea of it being out for that long and then going back in squicks me for some reason.

As soon as she's good and out we'll be heading off to run a couple errands and catch a nap at the hotel. Shouldn't be long now.

Thursday, September 9, 2010


When driving in Denver, at five pm, when the Rockies are playing the Reds:


In other news, we survived to get to the hotel, got checked in, and are relaxing for a bit before we go in search of Chinese food. Farmmom's surgery early tomorrow morning, I'll try to get on at the hospital and update, but I'm not making any guarantees, since I'm not positive the hospital has wifi.

Regardless, by tomorrow night there will be an update.

Friday, September 3, 2010

Guns, Preferences, And Necessity

I'm a little girl that likes big guns. As my rather large friend MattG put it last year after fondling my Firestar (and then pondering the mechanics of having bitty hands, a phenomenon that he is decidedly unfamiliar with) a heavy gun can absorb a lot of recoil, making larger calibers more fun to shoot.

I like the way they feel in my hands, as well. I'm not talking about any of the truly large frame guns, even some 1911's are not entirely comfortable for me to grip, but the smaller framed pistols, like the Firestar, and the Walther, fit my hands in a way that is comfortable for me. I feel like I've got something to hold on to when I pull the bang switch.

I've never been much of a fan of pocket pistols, frankly. It's not that I don't see the utility or that I won't shoot them or anything, I'm just not jumping up and down with glee when I see one. I've never really felt that I had a need for one.

Until this job, and all the nights.

Don't get me wrong, with the only true weapon (the brain, dur) and my pocket knife, I'm reasonably confident that I could hold off crazy axe rapists for long enough to push the panic button (which you have to hold for three long-ass seconds to activate) and either finally have a reason to use that blood and body fluid cleanup kit that gets in the way in the back room, or maintain a standoff until the cops could arrive. More likely the former.


The bad thing about the pocket knife (and most other useful tools and or objects that I can generally reach in the course of my daily duties, not counting a mop handle or broom) is that you have to be within arms reach to use it. Don't start jabbering at me about throwing knives, please. I understand that there are people out there with the skill to put a blade through a person's eye at ten paces. I am not one of those people, nor is a Gerber particularly balanced for throwing, totally aside from what seems to me to be the very misguided notion of throwing away a perfectly good weapon.

Over Blogorado most of the guests, particularly MattG, LawDog, and Bayou Renaissance Man, expressed... ahem... concern. Since I'm working at a place that practically screams "ROB ME!" and working late at night, alone, on a reasonably major north-south highway, they felt that I should have more protection than my knife.

Well, so did I, but I couldn't figure out how to conceal any of my guns effectively enough to keep from losing my job, thanks to the company's no-weapons policy.

Matt, at one point, pulled out his pocket pistol and practically shook it in my face (in a manner not violating any of the four rules for any of you paranoid people out there) and extolled it's virtues. Patiently I told him "Yes, it's very nice, and I can see the utility and its applications in my situation, but fiscal responsibility prevents me from making such a purchase at this moment."

Ok, so maybe it was more like "Yeah, I would, but damnit I can't afford it!"

Anyway, Matt sat for a moment in contemplation of the gun in his hand (he was the only one who could see it at that point, to the rest of us it looked like he was staring intently at his palm) and muttered "I'm not going to give you this one, but I'm tempted."
Ankle holsters were another suggestion, with the same response from me. I simply couldn't afford it.

Coming through the Springs today on the way home, we stopped in at Sal's workplace, with me intending to have a look-see and coonfinger any pocket pistols they happened to have on hand, so that I could get an idea of my preferences and what price range I was looking at.

Well, that was the *plan* anyway.

Yes, I bought a new toy at the funstore. This isn't an epic romance or anything, at least not yet. It's more a marriage of convenience. I happened to be in need of a reasonably priced, itty bitty gun. They happened to have a used KelTec P-32 for a hair under two hundred dollars. By the time I got ammo, and the superduper clip that I'm assured is de rigueur, plus taxes, I wound up spending a good chunk of change today, but it's still less than I really expected to.

Unfortunately they didn't have a right-handed ankle holster for it, only the left. Before I decided to buy the gun, I tried the holster, with Farmdad's P3AT, strapped backwards on my left leg, just to get a feel for the holster and gun and if it was something that was doable.

Protip for anyone concerned about whether something will conceal in a specific type of clothing or a specific outfit... wear it to the gun store. I did. I packed a pair of the slacks I wear to work (for the sake of convenience I simply got two pairs of the same style when I found the ones that fit, then ordered three more when I got some breathing room on the money situation... so if it conceals in one pair, it'll conceal in 'em all) and wore them today specifically so that I could try out concealment methods while I was shopping.

After all, a reasonably priced gun that I feel comfortable holding isn't going to do me a damn bit of good if I can't conceal it well enough to keep from drawing attention... it'd just get me fired.

So, I bought the P32, coincidentally the first time I've ever purchased a gun for myself. The Walther and the Firestar were both gifts, so I've never had to fill out that silly form before.

Sal is going to check for me whether it would be better to order in the ankle holster there and just pick it up when we go back up next week, or order it myself and have it shipped to me. It really depends on shipping times and whether they got one in the shipment they received today or not.

Anyway, without further ado, I give you the obligatory Gun-Pr0n, which you'll have to forgive me for. The lighting sucks and I'm tired so you get a quick snapshot instead of something tastefully laid out, well lit and composed.

Since I name all of my weapons, I'll have to think of something suitable for this one. Maybe Bruinhilde. She's not so bad, really, and she's gonna be nice to have around, but she's not the girl that sets my heart aflutter.

(Why she, you ask? Because as I was doing the paperwork for the background check, I was sagely informed by the older gentleman who was leaning against the counter, sending one of the poor floor people hither and yon in search of various and sundry things, that the P32 is a "good girl gun"... I've just knocked the last word off and decided that she's a good girl, and we'll leave it at that.)

Disclaimer: this post is not intended to encourage anyone to break their employer's policies regarding firearms or weapons. Regardless of whether I believe that the Second Amendment trumps corporate policy, they do have the right to fire an employee for disregarding any policy made clear in the hiring packet. I have not carried this gun at work and I will make no admissions about whether or not I carry it at work in the future. So Legal Eagles can just go piss up a rope.

Thursday, September 2, 2010

Bass Pro Shop Outdoor World

Oh. My. God.

We're in Denver (again) for an appointment with the new surgeon on Farmmom's knee (again) which got everything ready to rock and roll for next Friday on the surgery (finally) and we hit Bass Pro Shop to pick up a few odds and ends...

Oh. My. God.

Totally aside from the knowledge that I really, really should stick my hands in my pockets and walk through that store with my head down to avoid spending wayyy too much money, in their fish tank I saw, my hand to Jebus, a catfish that weighed more than Farmdog.

No joke this thing must have been a good sixty pounds. I've never seen a fish with fat rolls before.

Meanwhile... I whimpered so loudly in the camping section that several onlookers wondered if I were mentally retarded or into some kinky sexual thing involving tents and gear.