Wanna tease your brain? Head on over to Vine's and check out the riddle he posted. He hasn't got a right answer in comments as of this posting, so give it a whack!
Meanwhile AD is pimping a Charity Challenge for a good cause, go on over and drop a buck or two if you've got it, or continue the pimpage if you don't. I approve of contests that will both provide entertainment for those lucky enough to watch and raise money for someone who really needs it. Cancer is tough on everyone, and treatment is expensive as hell to boot. Let's see if we can get the total donation up into "Oh my god" levels!
Edit: rackfrackingrumblemumblebloggergrowlgrumblemanglelinksmumblegrrr.
Fixed.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Friday, November 19, 2010
Ammo Crisis Over?
Last year I paid thirty five bucks for a box of .380, and I was glad to find it. Now it's more available and cheaper, with places like Sportsman's Guide offering 380 auto ammo* for around half of what I paid last year.
So, is it over? Are we through the crisis or just in the eye of the storm?
*Sportsman's Guide gave me money for the link, but come on, they've got .380 in stock! That's worth a mention right there.
So, is it over? Are we through the crisis or just in the eye of the storm?
*Sportsman's Guide gave me money for the link, but come on, they've got .380 in stock! That's worth a mention right there.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Oh God My Job: Welfare Mentality Edition
Last week I had an interesting occurrence at work.
A van pulled up to one of the pumps and everyone trooped inside without getting gas, which in and of itself is not unusual. Plenty of people pre-pay. They wandered the store for a bit, and one of them finally came up to the counter.
"Can I use ya'lls phone?"
My coworker was watching the registers while I stocked some cigs in the display.
"Is it a local call?" She asked.
"Yes, it's a Denver number."
"I'm sorry, that's not local, we're not allowed."
"Oh." And the woman wandered away, and they conferred in the dining area.
They spread out and took up every table, making a general nuisance of themselves.
Shortly, another one of them walked up while I was the only one at the register, and I braced myself for an attempt at fooling me into thinking it was a local number.
I was pleasantly surprised that instead of asking for the phone, the young woman politely asked me to dial an 800 number for her. She spent a few minutes on the phone, then brought it back with thanks.
An hour later the phone rang and I answered, only to hear a recording. It was an automated notice from a motor club saying that their service would be there in fifteen minutes.
I let them know and went about my work until the local guy who gets those calls came in after doing their "service."
They'd been out of gas, and out of money. They had parked at a gas pump for a couple of hours, preventing anyone else from using that pump, and made a huge mess in the dining area. Aside from the one young lady who actually called the motor club, they showed a lack of manners and common courtesy that made me wish I was allowed to kick them out.
And when the guy showed up to fulfill their service call to the motor club, they demanded enough gas to get them to Denver.
The grin on his face when he related that he'd told them the motor club only allowed him to bring two gallons of gas was just slightly malicious.
That kind of welfare mentality is killing our country.
"I don't have the money for it, but someone owes it to me."
No, folks, they don't. All that's owed you is what you've earned, so get off your ass and take care of business. If you're driving from Texas to Denver, plan far enough ahead to be able to actually get there, and don't spend all of your money on snacks and toys to keep the screaming child quiet. Especially if they don't keep the screaming child quiet. When you need three trips to bring in the kid's toys from the van and I overhear you saying "But Baby this one is NEW we just got it the last time we stopped, you can't be bored with it yet" on three separate occasions while holding different toys, then it's pretty clear to me that your money management skills are lacking.
I'm disappointed in humanity.
A van pulled up to one of the pumps and everyone trooped inside without getting gas, which in and of itself is not unusual. Plenty of people pre-pay. They wandered the store for a bit, and one of them finally came up to the counter.
"Can I use ya'lls phone?"
My coworker was watching the registers while I stocked some cigs in the display.
"Is it a local call?" She asked.
"Yes, it's a Denver number."
"I'm sorry, that's not local, we're not allowed."
"Oh." And the woman wandered away, and they conferred in the dining area.
They spread out and took up every table, making a general nuisance of themselves.
Shortly, another one of them walked up while I was the only one at the register, and I braced myself for an attempt at fooling me into thinking it was a local number.
I was pleasantly surprised that instead of asking for the phone, the young woman politely asked me to dial an 800 number for her. She spent a few minutes on the phone, then brought it back with thanks.
An hour later the phone rang and I answered, only to hear a recording. It was an automated notice from a motor club saying that their service would be there in fifteen minutes.
I let them know and went about my work until the local guy who gets those calls came in after doing their "service."
They'd been out of gas, and out of money. They had parked at a gas pump for a couple of hours, preventing anyone else from using that pump, and made a huge mess in the dining area. Aside from the one young lady who actually called the motor club, they showed a lack of manners and common courtesy that made me wish I was allowed to kick them out.
And when the guy showed up to fulfill their service call to the motor club, they demanded enough gas to get them to Denver.
The grin on his face when he related that he'd told them the motor club only allowed him to bring two gallons of gas was just slightly malicious.
That kind of welfare mentality is killing our country.
"I don't have the money for it, but someone owes it to me."
No, folks, they don't. All that's owed you is what you've earned, so get off your ass and take care of business. If you're driving from Texas to Denver, plan far enough ahead to be able to actually get there, and don't spend all of your money on snacks and toys to keep the screaming child quiet. Especially if they don't keep the screaming child quiet. When you need three trips to bring in the kid's toys from the van and I overhear you saying "But Baby this one is NEW we just got it the last time we stopped, you can't be bored with it yet" on three separate occasions while holding different toys, then it's pretty clear to me that your money management skills are lacking.
I'm disappointed in humanity.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Poll
For those of you using a reader, or who just aren't all that observant, there's now a poll on the sidebar to vote for your favorite quote.
Vote away! I'll give at least the top three space on the sidebar, possibly more. I haven't decided yet.
Vote away! I'll give at least the top three space on the sidebar, possibly more. I haven't decided yet.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
More Quotes
Adding to the list of outrageous quotes for everyone to vote on:
"Friendly but not familiar." - Oleg Volk
"Farmgirl- If I was 15 years younger, I would follow her around like a lovesick puppy..." - Stuart The Viking
"FarmGirl: 2% steel, 98% Colorado mountain lion." - MattG
Vote for your favorites or submit your own!
"Friendly but not familiar." - Oleg Volk
"Farmgirl- If I was 15 years younger, I would follow her around like a lovesick puppy..." - Stuart The Viking
"FarmGirl: 2% steel, 98% Colorado mountain lion." - MattG
Vote for your favorites or submit your own!
Long, Long Ago
Been a couple things lately that made me go "holy crap, I'm 26!"
The first actually happened about a month and a half ago, when into the store wandered someone who looked vaguely familiar, and yet unfamiliar. I watched the guy meander through the store for a few minutes trying to relax and let my brain cough up the reason I thought I recognized him.
I still hadn't figured it out when he got to the register. I did my usual patter, eying him discretely out of the corner of my eye, and I could see he was doing the same sort of thing. Weird.
Finally he raised one eyebrow and asked "You're FarmGirl, right?" (using my full real name, of course.)
My brain chose this moment to finally kick into gear, superimposing my memory of him at thirteen on his twenty six year old face. The reason I had so much trouble is that when I knew him, he was a clean cut young early teenager, and now he's a long-haired man. I mean really, the change is a complete shock. I did Knowledge Bowl (an academic competition in which we would be handed problems to solve, in three "quarters" we just had to solve the problems, in one we had to solve the problem AND put on a play about it. Think RPG's only geekier.) and Rocketry with him.
I remember on the bus to Knowledge Bowl meets we would drive the chaperons nuts singing stupid songs, until we got about half way there, then we were just as noisy, but we were discussing strategy and how we were gonna kick butt and take names. That's what set the knowledge bowl kids apart from the jocks, they goofed off ALL the way to their stuff.
Back then, he looked just like you'd expect a kid doing academic competitions and Rocketry to look, short hair, glasses, usually t-shirts and jeans unless it was picture day then it was a button down and jeans. He was skinny and angular and had a sharp sense of humor.
He moved away after that school year, and it was one of those lost touch things.
Now, he's filled out and lost some of the angles, his hair is longer than mine has ever been and he looks like he belongs shirtless playing bass for a garage band gone big.
Of course he said I haven't changed much. Well, it's true, I still look pretty much the same, just older.
But after he left, I texted R, giving her the scoop and telling her how shocked I was at the change. She came back with "what do you expect, you haven't seen him in twelve years."
Twelve. Years. Wow. The mere fact that something happened to me twelve years ago that I can reasonably be expected to remember that didn't involve a major natural disaster or an injury to myself has me a bit flabbergasted.
The other thing was a conversation in the GBC IRC channel concerning tattoos. Dixie said something along the lines of "you won't find anyone with just one tattoo for very long, they're addictive."
I started to compose a retort saying I'd had just one tattoo for a while now, and thought a moment to tote up years. Ten. Ten years I've had my tattoo.
Seriously?!? I swear it was just a couple years ago I got it... or it feels that way. There's no way that I've been considered adult enough to permanently mark my body for ten years. Well, technically, I haven't, but Farmmom and Farmdad signed off on the tatt because Bro knew I'd been wanting one, and he paid for it for my Christmas present that year.
But still. I'm thinking in decades now, and it's only going to get worse from here on out. Those "omg" moments will continue and grow as the years extend.
I'm not afraid of getting older, I won't delay my 30th birthday, I'm just worried that this means I have to admit that I'm a grownup now....
I don't wanna!
The first actually happened about a month and a half ago, when into the store wandered someone who looked vaguely familiar, and yet unfamiliar. I watched the guy meander through the store for a few minutes trying to relax and let my brain cough up the reason I thought I recognized him.
I still hadn't figured it out when he got to the register. I did my usual patter, eying him discretely out of the corner of my eye, and I could see he was doing the same sort of thing. Weird.
Finally he raised one eyebrow and asked "You're FarmGirl, right?" (using my full real name, of course.)
My brain chose this moment to finally kick into gear, superimposing my memory of him at thirteen on his twenty six year old face. The reason I had so much trouble is that when I knew him, he was a clean cut young early teenager, and now he's a long-haired man. I mean really, the change is a complete shock. I did Knowledge Bowl (an academic competition in which we would be handed problems to solve, in three "quarters" we just had to solve the problems, in one we had to solve the problem AND put on a play about it. Think RPG's only geekier.) and Rocketry with him.
I remember on the bus to Knowledge Bowl meets we would drive the chaperons nuts singing stupid songs, until we got about half way there, then we were just as noisy, but we were discussing strategy and how we were gonna kick butt and take names. That's what set the knowledge bowl kids apart from the jocks, they goofed off ALL the way to their stuff.
Back then, he looked just like you'd expect a kid doing academic competitions and Rocketry to look, short hair, glasses, usually t-shirts and jeans unless it was picture day then it was a button down and jeans. He was skinny and angular and had a sharp sense of humor.
He moved away after that school year, and it was one of those lost touch things.
Now, he's filled out and lost some of the angles, his hair is longer than mine has ever been and he looks like he belongs shirtless playing bass for a garage band gone big.
Of course he said I haven't changed much. Well, it's true, I still look pretty much the same, just older.
But after he left, I texted R, giving her the scoop and telling her how shocked I was at the change. She came back with "what do you expect, you haven't seen him in twelve years."
Twelve. Years. Wow. The mere fact that something happened to me twelve years ago that I can reasonably be expected to remember that didn't involve a major natural disaster or an injury to myself has me a bit flabbergasted.
The other thing was a conversation in the GBC IRC channel concerning tattoos. Dixie said something along the lines of "you won't find anyone with just one tattoo for very long, they're addictive."
I started to compose a retort saying I'd had just one tattoo for a while now, and thought a moment to tote up years. Ten. Ten years I've had my tattoo.
Seriously?!? I swear it was just a couple years ago I got it... or it feels that way. There's no way that I've been considered adult enough to permanently mark my body for ten years. Well, technically, I haven't, but Farmmom and Farmdad signed off on the tatt because Bro knew I'd been wanting one, and he paid for it for my Christmas present that year.
But still. I'm thinking in decades now, and it's only going to get worse from here on out. Those "omg" moments will continue and grow as the years extend.
I'm not afraid of getting older, I won't delay my 30th birthday, I'm just worried that this means I have to admit that I'm a grownup now....
I don't wanna!
Monday, November 15, 2010
Company Policy
I've had a couple questions lately about this via email, so I'll clear a couple things up real quick.
I work at a chain convenience store on a major North-South highway. I work nights. Alone. I'm 5'7 and about a hundred pounds of well-packed attitude.
But attitude won't save me if someone decides to rob the store. Attitude will do nothing to deter a large man if he decides he's going to put his hands on me. Attitude won't save my life if someone decides to kill me.
But company policy clearly states that I'm not allowed to carry a weapon. Never mind that I've been approved for a permit to carry a concealed weapon, and can carry my gun anywhere else, my company tells me I'm not allowed.
If the store is robbed while I'm there, I'm to hand over the cash in the register and press the panic button. A panic button that has to be held down for three seconds to send a signal to law enforcement, who may then have to come from the other side of the county.
I'm fine with handing over the cash. They want it, they can have it.
I am not fine with the possibility that I will not be able to hold that button for a full three seconds (three seconds is a LONG time to do something when the excrement hits the rotating blades) if the guy across the counter decides he's going to take a little rape with his quick cash.
I am not fine with the possibility that a robber will become angry when I have a low amount of cash in my drawer and am unable to get him more money from the safe, and decide to take his anger out on me. Or that he may think I know some kind of magic code to open the safe, or make it spit out money more often than once every two minutes.
I am not fine with the idea of being beaten, shot, stabbed, raped, or otherwise assaulted because my company doesn't think I'm smart enough to safely carry a gun while I'm working for them.
I will abide by any company policy that does not directly impair my ability to provide for my own personal safety, in a manner guaranteed by the United States Constitution.
The Second Amendment trumps company policy. So does my life, and my safety. Period.
I work at a chain convenience store on a major North-South highway. I work nights. Alone. I'm 5'7 and about a hundred pounds of well-packed attitude.
But attitude won't save me if someone decides to rob the store. Attitude will do nothing to deter a large man if he decides he's going to put his hands on me. Attitude won't save my life if someone decides to kill me.
But company policy clearly states that I'm not allowed to carry a weapon. Never mind that I've been approved for a permit to carry a concealed weapon, and can carry my gun anywhere else, my company tells me I'm not allowed.
If the store is robbed while I'm there, I'm to hand over the cash in the register and press the panic button. A panic button that has to be held down for three seconds to send a signal to law enforcement, who may then have to come from the other side of the county.
I'm fine with handing over the cash. They want it, they can have it.
I am not fine with the possibility that I will not be able to hold that button for a full three seconds (three seconds is a LONG time to do something when the excrement hits the rotating blades) if the guy across the counter decides he's going to take a little rape with his quick cash.
I am not fine with the possibility that a robber will become angry when I have a low amount of cash in my drawer and am unable to get him more money from the safe, and decide to take his anger out on me. Or that he may think I know some kind of magic code to open the safe, or make it spit out money more often than once every two minutes.
I am not fine with the idea of being beaten, shot, stabbed, raped, or otherwise assaulted because my company doesn't think I'm smart enough to safely carry a gun while I'm working for them.
I will abide by any company policy that does not directly impair my ability to provide for my own personal safety, in a manner guaranteed by the United States Constitution.
The Second Amendment trumps company policy. So does my life, and my safety. Period.
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