:: American Angst ::

Thursday, Dec. 29, 2005 Bling and Bullets.... Disclaimer: Yes, I KNOW this is a long-ass entry. Consider it punishment to the many, MANY of you who wrote with sadness that you're on vacation and have nothing to read because I'm a lazy-ass slacker who doesn't post often enough. Also, if you even THINK of not reading this all the way through to reward me for the amount of time it took to put it together, I will hunt you down and read it TO you (in a helium-filled, sing-song voice) and, before I leave, will smother your vehicle in Angst Bumper Stickers. Moving on... Hi! Hope everyone had a happy Hannukah, Christmas, Kwanza, Festivus, Chrismakuh, whatever. My vacation began the 23rd and I don't have to be back at the office until Tuesday, the 3rd of January, yet as early as this past Monday (the 26th), I was moping around that "My vaaaaacaaaaation is almost OOOOVVERRR!!" despite having another week and 2 days left of blissful pajama-wearing and sloth-itude. I am SO my mother's daughter (hey, those were HER words when I discussed this with her, not MINE.) Anyway, Christmas...hope yours was great! Mine certainly was! George, thankfully, revised last year's stance wherein he declared that we would not buy each other presents and would take a trip with all the money we'd save (and actually congratulated himself on the brilliance of his plan.) Chuh! Men? Hear me now: BAD idea...ALWAYS a bad, bad idea, to inform your wife that she doesn't deserve gifts at the holidays. Oh shush. I know that's not how you PUT it, but that is always how she will hear it. Trust me. Also, come Christmas morning? When she has nothing to open? And you do, because she thought you were just kidding and/or that you just loved her so much you just couldn't resist the urge to purchase her some pretty little trinket you happened to see one day, because it just had her name written all over it, and SHE did that for YOU because SHE loves YOU that much? Ohhhh, you will pay. Even if she agreed ahead of time that it was a good idea and/or that she didn't mind? TOTAL lie. You. Will. SUFFER. So, yeah. George retracted his brilliant plan which means that Gracie AND George had a very happy Christmas this year. Once again, my George outdid himself in the gift department. He bought me a beautiful, unique, retardedly expensive ring and I bought him...a gun. Click the text back there to see just how much I heart George. To be clear, he really wanted this. He had seen it in a Guns Magazine contest ad where it was being given away to some lucky fella and he thought it would be hilarious to have a belt buckle with a GUN in it. Friggin' thing. Bastard toy took me nearly 2 months to track down, especially since it was not, as you would expect, all sold together, oh no. Now, any person with more than a handful of brain cells knows that contests are held to drum up future business, so I'd just like to know what genius chose to give away this neat little package when you can't BUY it as a package?? And, further, when they won't tell you where to GET all the PIECES of said package?? Anyway, I finally tracked it all down and since each online facility was out of stock for this particular gun and most of its pieces, I had to drive downtown (read: Little Compton) and purchase it BY. MY. SELF. It was the first time I had ever done such a thing and I was a nervous WRECK about it. This was the night I was Singing Christmas Songs While Cursing At Stupid Drivers and I think the fact that I had just completed purchasing a GUN for the first time just adds to the ambience of that night...driving along in my ginormous SUV (complete with Bush/Cheney '04 bumper sticker, of course,) singing loudly...screaming at morons...gun on the passenger seat. What a sight for Christmas. Have I hit redneck status or WHAT? So anyway, I'm on the way TO the Gun Buying Place and traffic is just terrible and since I've got a good hour of driving in front of me, I decide to call my mom and discuss my mounting fear at what I'm about to do, despite being very proud of myself for having the guts to do it in the first place. (**Note to people who, like me, are irritated at people who talk on the phone while driving: I used the hands-free option and was only on the phone for about 5 minutes and was in dead-stopped traffic. So Shush!) Here is the conversation that took place between mother and daughter: Gracie: *after explaining her upcoming task and letting her mother's laughter subside* "Dude. I. Am. TERRIFIED." Gracie's Mom: "Why?" Gracie: "Because I have this unnatural fear that I will be arrested the moment they run a background check on me." Gracie's Mom: "What?? Why??" Gracie: "I dunno. It's just that...well...every time I think about buying a gun I just freak OUT about it and am utterly convinced that I will be taken away in handcuffs and shackles while hunters and rednecks in the store point and laugh..." Gracie's Mom: "WHAT did you DO that would make you think it would turn out this way??" Gracie: "Well..." Gracie's Mom: "Oh God." Gracie: "Maaawwww-uuuum, geez. I didn't KILL anybody or anything!" Gracie's Mom: "WHAT did you DO, Gracie??" Gracie: "Well, when [the Jerk Ex-Husband] drained my bank account so he could engage in two THOUSAND dollars worth of PHONE SEX in ONE DAY, he caused our already piddly bank account to become overdrawn and I had already written all the checks for bills and rent that month, which means they bounced all OVER the place. Ahhh, what a happy little slice of heaven THAT was..." Gracie's Mom: "Honey, that was 10 years ago!" Gracie: "I know, but ya never KNOW, ya know? Also, there's that time in high school that I tried pot..." Gracie's Mom: "Did POLICE OFFICERS provide the pot TO you??" Gracie: "Well, no...." Gracie's Mom: "Well, then, DUH! The cops don't KNOW you tried pot in high school, now do they?!" Gracie: "Hey! I said it was an unnatural fear, didn't I??" Gracie's Mom: "You are so silly. Hang up and buy your husband the gawdam gun, wouldja??" And so I did what my mama 'tole me to do. I got to the gun store 15 minutes before they closed (traffic in Atlanta...at Christmas? Sucks ASS!) I walked to the back of the store where they have all manner of guns in display cases, got the attention of an employee and nervously unfolded the printout of exactly what I wanted. I tried with all my might to act self-assured and casual and did my best to keep my hands at my sides so he wouldn't notice the Parkinsons-like tremor in my limbs, because I was positive that if he saw THAT, he would become immediately suspicious and would kick me out, weapon-less. All seems to be fine (read: he didn't pick up on my terror) and he locates the gun I am interested in. Luckily I got there in time, as it was the last one in stock, woohoo!) and when I agreed that it was, in fact, what I wanted, we began The Fun Part which is filling out paperwork for the background check. I was given about a dozen pieces of paper, a pen, and was told to fill it out completely and to use NO abbreviations. Clearly I was going to fuck up this part of the equation. Duh. I spent the whole filling-out-of-the-paperwork time mentally patting myself on the back for being so wildly intelligent...obviously much more so than any of their OTHER patrons and how I would be one of the select few who would get the paperwork right the FIRST time. I smugly returned the papers to the staff member. Aaaaand was quickly put in my place. See, when it came to things like country, birthdate, and sex? Well, the boxes were so small and also those things didn't even REGISTER in my genius brain as abbreviations. I thought they meant things like your name or not writing 'dr.' instead of 'drive' or things about your history that could be fudged with confusing abbreviations. So of course the guys in the shop had to give me shit about my ignorance and explained that you're only allowed 3 mistakes on the entire form (which, sad to say, I realized MUCH later probably isn't even true) and I was pretty close to being banned from gun purchases for the rest of my life cause I wasn't smart enough to correctly fill out the PAPERWORK, so how could I be trusted to SHOOT things? Ohhhhh, it was a blissful, joyous occasion, let me tell ya. Also, one of the first questions on the form is whether the gun you are purchasing is for yourself because, if it isn't, your happy ass ain't leaving with this he-uh gun. So even though I would, at several points in the future, be shooting this gun and it would reside in my house and, further, my husband was a registered gun owner (concealed and otherwise!) in his OWN right, the truth is that it was a humorous Christmas present for previously-mentioned husband, and I didn't know if that was acceptable, so I couldn't share my consternation and inexperience with the staff, because I might Get In Trouble, which is the ALL-TIME worst possible thing for Gracie to be faced with, and of which she frets and worries over ALL. THE. TIME. Seriously. Tune in tomorrow when we discuss my increasing psychosis at length. Anyway, back to the story: since I couldn't explain the true purpose for my visit and purchase, it just made the whole process that much more difficult, so I had to pretend that this was SO not a big deal...I do this ALL the TIME. Guns Shmuns! Yeah, I? = total dumbass. Don't worry, I am WELL aware of this personal fact. So then, since I knew nothing about the process, which (I NOW know) consists of the guy checking over your paperwork, taking you, your gun, and said paperwork up to the cashier and then SHE rings you up and performs the background check through her Special Secret FBI Computer Hook-Up, I was just standing at the back counter THINKING that my background check was being run and was sweating bullets. (Remember? Because I had tried pot 20 years ago and my ex-husband was a bastard who made me bounce a coupla checks roughly, oooooh a DECADE ago? And did I mention that I paid it all back, plus fees, and never got into an OUNCE of trouble for any of it?) and all the staff seemed to disappear out of sight and there was no doubt in my mind that they were calling the police right then and there --together, apparently, and on speaker-phone, because I'm just such an idiot-- and I imagined it all in my head in mere moments, how it would all turn out. How I would cry and maybe act like the idiots on Cops and would be all "What? WHAT?! Whad-eye-doo? WHAD-EYE-DOOO? Yo, man, I din do NOTHIN'!" and how I'd have to call George to bail me out but they wouldn't let me out on bond because I was so mean to people on my website and also because I gave a very snotty lecture during my arraignment hearing (complete with huffing, puffing, and much Pointing At Sky to Denote Absolute Seriousness of Gracie's Personally Held Convictions) about free speech and how if people didn't behave so RUDELY and STUPIDLY I wouldn't HAVE to write about them on my website, which would result in the judge's sudden realization that I am, in fact, retarded as hell and do not deserve an OUNCE of freedom, ever again, and my son would have to have his Christmas with glass between us and how I'd tearfully explain how sorry I was and how very, VERY much I loved him, but he'd shake his head and look confused and would point at his ear and at the phone because he couldn't quite make out what I was saying due to the fact that not only was the crappy visitor/prisoner phone all static-y, but Gracie would refuse to hold it close to her mouth because it's just FILTHY and you have no IDEA whose nasty-ass germs it had been in contact with before this moment, and later, as I lay on my paper-thin mattress (covered in a scratchy, wool army blanket that would most assuredly give me a rash) in my cell, wearing a hideous orange jumpsuit, I'd fold my arms behind my head, cross my legs, a lone tear would roll down my cheek and I'd lament the fact that I couldn't hug my men on this holiest day of the year, and how much simpler this all would have been if I'd just bought George that stupid goddamned lizard he liked at PetSmart. So yeah...I was wrong. The guy came back from taking care of some other customer, showed me the gun once more, made me lean close so I could see how to make sure the cylinder was clicked into specially placed grooves, which would help guard against me shooting my FOOT off in case I chose to carry this precious little item in my pocket. Ohhhh, THAT was all SORTS of comforting for Ms. Klutz of the Year. It also didn't help ease my mind that customers and staff alike kept coming up and commenting on how 'cute' and 'tiny' the gun was and I was starting to doubt that I should buy it since the picture in the magazine contest article made it look SO much bigger and maybe George would feel all emasculated carrying this thing around and aw shit, screw it, it's too late now...he's getting this damned thing and he's gonna LOVE it whether he wants to or NOT 'cause it's CHRISTMAS, fer Chrissakes, and I went through HELL to get it, and it's the motherfriggin THOUGHT that counts! So, Mr. Don't-Shoot-Your-Foot-Off-Little-Lady-Waa-Haa escorts me and my Precious Firearm up to the register where, he explains, the actual background check will occur, and I start pouring sweat again because I thought, when he came back and showed me the cylinder and said we were all set that we were, in fact, ALL FREAKIN' SET! Of course there were 4 people in line in front of me, so I had PLENTY of time to consider my impending fate. Oh, and I just HAD to notice that two of the people in front of me were actual gang members. No seriously. I'll send you a piece of my left BOOB if they weren't (why would you want that??) and all I could think of during the whole Gracie's-Goin-Ta-Jail-Extravaganza thought-breaks was "Oohhhhh god...they're going to kill people with that big-ass gun. I'm looking, right now, at a weapon that will end someone's life and which will never be found and will be discussed, repeatedly and at length, on the local news. And they'll probably insist on doing that stupid Hold-the-Gun-Sideways-While-Grabbing-Crotch-and-Bobbing-Head-Up-And-Down stance that the morons do these days, too!" and then I chastised myself for being so judgmental and worried myself SICK that the Karma Bitches Up Above would punish me for stereotyping these men by placing me in a cell with a 400 pound lesbian who'd make me BARK before 'allowing' me to participate in daily Special Hugs for Food rituals, so I forced myself to agree with the other voice in my head that scolded: "Now, Gracie, just because they're wearing all that bling and the special-colored-head-scarf, and the baggy, crotch-to-your-knees pants, and they have scars in the shapes of bullet wounds, and frightening tattoos of what looked to be tick-marks-for-kills on their arms, well...that doesn't at ALL mean they deal drugs and/or shoot people for sport!" So I felt it best to look the other way and resume my 'Bitch, you goin' to JAIL!' chant in my head. I finally got up to the cashier and she picked up the gun, looked it over a few times, wrote down the serial number, took my paperwork, and began entering things into the computer. My nerves were just about shot at this point and I had no idea what to expect and was NOT in the mood to suffer any more or longer than I already had, so I said quietly --and with much embarrassment-- that this was my first time and had no idea what the process was and would she mind giving me a brief synopsis of what we're going to do now? She politely explained that she would be putting my information into the Special Secret FBI Computer Hook-Up and, based on what it told her, I would either leave with the gun, or I would NOT leave with the gun. This led me to recall that So-Not-Gang-Members did not, in fact, get to leave with their gun, and I said a silent prayer of thanks to Karma Bitches for all those people who'd get to live a few days longer. She told me that the background check would take about 5-10 minutes and I could wait at the end of the registers while she checked out the other customers. So I stood around, desperately hoping I looked confident and nonchalant, all the while knowing with utter certainty that this was just a ruse to get me to wait for the cops to arrive. I checked out the products at the front of the store, hummed a Christmas carol for good measure, then immediately ceased said humming as I recalled that any time I've seen anyone humming in a movie, it always led to their gory demise, so I made a mental note to Never Hum Anything Ever Again. As the moments ticked slowly by, I wanted to convince myself that I was being silly and overreacting about a few minor incidents years and years ago, but past history has shown me that to do so would have been to jinx it and positively ensure that I would be picked up by the po-lice. So I resumed my worrisome thoughts...imagined that, each time a staff member walked into the employee area to my left, it was to phone the police and let them know that I was still here and pick-up-able (rather than the fact that they were closing in less than 5 minutes and they were counting out their drawers and clocking out.) Once the other customers had been taken care of, it was just me and the cashier. And since the background checker thingy was taking longer than expected (probably because I was the most evil, arrest-bound person on the PLANET) we started chatting. About our nails. I shit you not, we actually sat there surrounded by knives and guns and decoy ducks n' deer and discussed our acrylic nails and where we each got them done and how gorgeous our respective hands were. Needless to say, my background check turned out just FINE, I was not shackled or otherwise bound in metal, and was allowed to leave the store with my adorable new revolver. Also I got the name of a GREAT nail place. Score!! ********************************* Someone Arrived Here Searching For: how to touch her boobs on first date monkey fucked mama [this is ten times funnier because it came from Pakistan. I desperately want to know what meaning he was hoping for. Actually...maybe I don't...] ooooooh yes [Thailand] girls who want to fuck telephone numbers [aaaaw, so sad fo yeeewww! I only like fucky STREET numbuh!] how many sleeping pills does it take to get fucked up [how many brain cells does it take to get a job?] pinky and index "no tits" photos I Want A Black man To Fuck My fertile Wife Without Birth Control [jesus CHRIST. Specific aren't we??] hat pusy do hot girls smell bad and there breath stink [yes. feel better about yourself now? see...if you aren't HOT you should at least be SMART. Now go crack a dictionary and learn the difference between 'there' and 'their' and then you won't have to face the fact that hot girls may not smell.] take a man and remove all jack nicholson [man...don'tcha just HATE it when women are all full of Jack Nicholson?] hockey jersey etiquette [the only right and proper thing to do is to send any and all hockey paraphernalia to Gracie. All of it.] sucky sucky long time when is whiskey flammable [when it's near a lit match] fucked my friends wife didn't even let her out of her pantyhose [ohhhh, you WISH. Besides...WHO under the age of 50 even WEARS pantyhose anymore???] sack my ass "i was karaoke before" [dude! I was a CAMERA!! We must be soul-mates!!] my wife dressed me up in woman close [that is the only right and just punishment for a man who cannot spell 'clothes' properly. Read a book and perhaps you'll be allowed to don flannel once more.] spanky ass+free pictures fuck my stupid wife alien voicemail naked girls in funny situations ways to make home made cigarettes at home [as opposed to homemade cigarettes at the BANK??] sopranos, fuh [heh.] ding dong girl pant sexy girls in sneakers can you wear leather to a wedding [according to my uncle and my three year old wedding photos: yes. yes you can!] why are men stupid? [sorry...it would take too long. just turn lesbian. it'll be WAY easier.] fuck my pooper trailertrash terri "big ass" "lick my" gas girl forced pervert alarm want to see me naked [pervert alarm inDEED!] want girls for fucking in india [ohhh what a treat that would be] my husband kicks in his sleep [mine too. KICK BACK, makes the sleepless nights easier to bear!] nude women taster [I don't even want to KNOW!] what does black pussy smell like [these are the sorts of things I have to sift through. You're welcome.] tips on squeezing girls boob photo, woman with bat in her butt chimp licker ********************************* Write me a Note here. Read my notes here. Read a Random Entry Previous | Next Last 5 Entries: How Much Are YOU Worth? - Sunday, Jan. 08, 2006 Perfume and Lazy Bastards.... - Wednesday, Jan. 04, 2006 Like Poop Through a Goose.... - Saturday, Dec. 31, 2005 Bling and Bullets.... - Thursday, Dec. 29, 2005 Get Into The Frickin Spirit.... - Friday, Dec. 23, 2005 ^ back to top

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