Look Who’s Packin’

My niece, DQ, takes care of my mother.  In fact, Mom has been living on a bed in her living room for almost a year now.  In general, she does a good job – i sure as hell don’t want Mom in my living room, so i’m judicious when throwing rocks.

My niece, DQ, is getting her “concealed carry” gun permit next weekend, and has been enthusiastically shopping for a gun.  Trying to decide between a  revolver or semi-auto.  Or maybe the pretty pink* one that goes with her “Hello Kitty!” sweatshirts?  Probably “semi” – doesn’t that mean less loading and more bullets?

As i watched the thread play out on her facebook page, i was clubbed over the head by the following thought:  “These are not my people!”

Mind you, i have no problem with gun ownership – if i lived more than a 15 minutes away from police response**, i’d probably have a few outside dogs and a sawed off shotgun locked up somewhere in my home.  Concealed carry?  The right to legally strap a handgun under your coat, in your purse, or down the butt-crack of your sweatpants.

i just don’t get it.  Her husband, BJ, is a sportsman, with a phenomenal gun collection – three locked gun cabinets in their utility room.  So it’s not like they don’t already have guns in the household…  She really doesn’t go anywhere other than doctors appointments, the grocery store, and the WalMarts.  Takes Mom to play bingo once a month. 

Guess she’s afraid of something.  Just like her mother

While i’ll never understand, i can guarantee that i’m not planning to drop in unexpectedly on them anytime soon.

*Google “pink handgun” and all sorts of fashionable weaponry pops up.  For the true ‘femme fatale’ i suppose…

** i’m safe.  there’s a donut shop just around the corner…

Rotten Kool-Aid

Probably not one of the best nights of my sixteenth year.  My oldest sister, S, was twenty-five, divorced and always up for fun as she tested the waters of freedom.  Even with her two younger sisters. 

From our point of view?  She was thin, pretty, had a car and was old enough to buy beer and liquor.  At fifteen years old?  That is sometimes the definition of a good time.

For the life of me, i can’t remember how it came to pass, but S hosted a sleep-over at her “swinging single gal” apartment.  Me, sister, T, two neighborhood friends, TB & JB, and the token man-boy, J.  He was my gorgeous best friend, and first love.  Unrequited, of course.  

It was just a Saturday night, with pizza, junk food and music.  And booze.  First beer, then we started raiding S’s liquor shelf for the grocery store vodka. 

Oh, wait.  Almost forgot… my niece, DQ, was there.  She was five years old.  We kinda almost forgot that night, too, because she was pretty quiet, and went to bed by 11:00 pm or so… before we got really drunk and stupid. 

Memories of the evening are a bit fuzzy, but the one i really haven’t been able to shake – despite a few decades of effort – is that somewhere during the evening, i saw my 25 year old sister making out with my 15 year old best friend*.  That was as far as it went, but i remember thinking “C’mon, S… you’ve got enough men chasing you!”

Needless to say, the next morning was grim.  We were all passed out on couches, chairs and sprawled on the floor.  Slowly there was human movement within the apartment as we scratched our bits, held our heads and said “what the fuck?” while shaking off the stupor…

Young  DQ was up early, bright eyed and bushy tailed, and headed to the kitchen to forage for breakfast.  Her small voice from around the corner – “Mommy, this kool-aid tastes rotten”.  S got to the kitchen in short order, and retrieved the “vodka kool-aid cocktail” from her child’s hand, replacing it with milk. 

Trailer parks are full of rotten kool-aid, kid.  Never forget it…

* He was gorgeous, and an absolute chick magnet for older girls/women.  This was before he was out of the closet and contentedly gay.