One of these things

Is not like the other.
One of these things
Just doesn't belong.

Can you tell me which thing
Is not like the other?
Tell me before my song is done.
And now my song is done.

The Mrs. has a new hiding spot for her stash. She hides it from MaxieC cuz he's an obsessive cleaner. That makes her feel inadequate, so she hides the cleaning stuff and makes him go play outside. It's like we've been blessed by god with the gift of a child who likes to clean, and we are spitting in god's face.

Oddly enough, Sesame Street stopping singing the "doesn't belong" song because they felt it made diversity uncomfortable. I never let my children watch Sesame Street because it was taken over by one world gub'ment socialist pansies. And I never felt particularly uncomfortable despite being a diversity.

Today was a wonderful chest-thumping day. It was a day when I finally, finally got to shoot that new gun I bought back in April. Six months in the safe, sad and lonely, sad and lonely.

See, the Iceman and Tinfoil were going to go sporting clays shooting today, on account of it's almost bird season or Halloween or something, and I weaseled my way in for the trip (never having shot sporting clays). I figured it'd be a good excuse to get to buy a scattergun. But then Tinfoil got sick yesterday. After a whole lot of hemming and hawing by Iceman, we decided to head out to his members-only range in the middle of nowhere to do a little handgunning and high-powered rifle shooting. He also invited Seiborg, who wanted to shoot his slightly newer but at least he used it once .22.

However, the logistics of this are complicated. I work at one of those places where they fire you if you park in the parking lot with a gun in your vehicle. Even an unloaded, field stripped, locked up gun. None of us wants to get fired too terribly, so the choices are to leave the guns at home until you're ready to go, or park on city streets. Unlike any of the previous locations I have worked for The Company, there is actually a city street that allows parking within walking distance to the plant. However, someone at work swears that neighborhood (which is all apartments) is loaded with drug dealers.

Now, I've lived in neighborhoods loaded with drug dealers, and they look nothing like this area. But it stuck in my mind, so I decided to leave the guns at home lest they get ripped off while parked in a drug-dealer infested apartment complex. Everyone else made the same decision.

Then, when the time came to go, neither Ice nor Seiborg were ready. In fact, they delayed roughly two hours. That's the kind of thing that happens when you're single or married with no children. But i was on a strict deadline. Thus, despite packing up the .40 and the .300 Win Mag, I only had 45 minutes of shooting time, so I could only shoot the new .40. The dear moose gun sits another year unused. Year 7. I have not shot it since HannahC was 4 months old, which is the last time The Mrs. allowed me to go hunting.

I got home 6 minutes late, which I didn't think was bad given I was 30 miles away at some place I had never driven back from. It took a little longer to return than it took to get there. I don't know why. The Mrs. appeared to be fuming at my lateness, but then I decided she was just cranky cuz it was late in the day, she was hungry, and she spends all day every day with The Childrens who will literally drive you insane within about 16 hours. Then you just kind of hang on for the ride the next 18 years. I don't think it had anything to do with me.

Tonight, after HannahC did her homework and MaxieC was in bed, I taught HannahC how to field strip and clean the .40. The Mrs. walked in in the middle of the lesson (which took place at the kitchen counter), and told me she now understood why I seemed so unusually animated this evening.

She's not used to me being happy.

Don't worry, though. I'm sure it won't happen again for a long, long time.