Dating Report Week Ten

Six e-mails sent.

Two were read.

Neither replied.

In other news, I did ask out a lady in person.  She declined.  Something about her being married, or something.

A Perfect Example

… of what’s wrong with America’s fiscal situation:  My nephew.

He just e-mailed me.  From his new smartphone.  That he was using at his medical provider’s office – the local ER.  Which you and I pay for via Medicaid.

What was his e-mail about?

He had been contacted by a creditor offering to settle a $1,200+ debt for under $400.  He wanted my advice.  Did I think they would go any lower?  Did I think creditor Y would offer a similar deal?  How would settling impact his credit rating and ability to get credit in the future?

He’s in his late twenties, and has never held a job for any significant amount of time.  In fact, I don’t think he’s done a single thing worth mentioning in his entire life.  He collects SSI and Social Security disability based on being an “unstable adult” – whatever the hell that means.  There isn’t a fucking thing wrong with him except for extreme laziness and an insatiable desire to stay high.

He can afford to buy a smartphone and pay for service with money that .gov has extorted out of us taxpayers, yet he can’t be bothered to make payments to his creditors.  In fact, he’s looking for a better discount than paying the thirty cents on the dollar that they offered.  And he appears to be looking ahead to the next time when someone will give him credit so he can default on that, too.  Stupid credit card companies.  Maybe they’d be a little more selective about their clientèle if the bailouts would stop.

I’m far from perfect.  I’ll work the system with the best of ‘em.  But, I have contributed a significant amount to the public treasury, and despite my efforts to the contrary, I continue to do so.  I don’t make up some bullshit affliction so I can sit home on my ass and make the State take care of my every need.

End entitlement programs.  Let private charities fill the need.  Sunset Social Security.  Go back to If you don’t work, you don’t eat. Sometimes stupidity and irresponsibility should be painful.  Or worse.  I bet there would be a whole lot less fuck trophies getting made once the realization sank in that nobody else is going to pay.

OK, rant over.

Dating Report Week Nine

Based on my stunning success last week, I continued the same approach this week.  With nearly identical results.

I e-mailed fifteen ladies early Monday morning.  Two read my e-mails.  Neither had responded thirty -six hours later, so I wrote thirteen more.  Three of those read my e-mails, but none replied.

I have no idea what’s going on.  In weeks past, around eight out of ten would be read, just ignored.  This week, I wrote twenty-five and only five were read.  WTF?!?

Bits and Pieces

I managed to develop a moderate case of what appears to be bronchitis with a side of nasal congestion/drainage this week.  On day number two of six in a row at work.  I’m miserable, but I can’t call in sick, because I’m only two weeks away from forcing them to make me full time.

The lying ass of a store manager promised to make me full time back last October, but has since failed to do so.  But, there is a loophole.  If one works thirty-four or more hours every week for twelve consecutive weeks, they are required to make you full time.  Today is the last day of week number ten.

It’s been raining almost every day for the last two weeks, and while that is a good thing for the garden, it also means that the weeds that make up my yard have achieved an altitude well in excess of HOA standards.  This morning was dry, so I mowed the front and sides, despite feeling like shit.  Now if the HOA Cunt™ drives by some time over the next few days, she shouldn’t have any reason to write me up.  Meaning that I shouldn’t be tempted to put a bullet through her glabella from half a parsec away.  Any more than I am tempted every day, that is.

Speaking of which, I need to take Annie back out for a second attempt soon.  I picked up a Harris bipod, and I hope to have the opportunity to try it out.  If the bolt was the reason why it wouldn’t fire before, then she should go BOOM real well now.  I’ll have to use a prybar to open the bolt after each round, but I can do that.  I’ll use the rifle rest to get it zeroed at 300 yards, then I’ll try with the bipod and see how much I suck.  I’m brand new to this style of rifle shooting, and I’m curious how steep (and expensive) the learning curve is going to be.

I’ve recently developed quite the addiction to M&Ms.  Specifically, the peanut variety.  I had cut a coupon out of a recent newspaper for $1.50 off two bags.  Since the coupon was set to expire next week, I just had to us it.  To get two of the 42 ounce size.  At nine bucks each.  That was two days ago, and one bag is already history.  No fucking wonder I’m back up to almost 200 pounds.

Range Frustration

I went to the range earlier this week.  A friend wanted to go, so we scheduled for Monday morning.  I took the opportunity to wring out my recently repaired HiPoint, and verify the operation of my KelTec daily carry pistol.  Epic fail on both.

I started with the HiPoint.  I was using some older reloads – 230 grain Rainer plated hollowpoint over a max load of Power Pistol powder.  It’s a proven combination that I’ve shot in two different H&Ks and a Glock, neither of which do I still own, in addition to a shooting buddy’s Taurus and Colt.  The Taurus is a jam-o-matic regardless of what it’s fed, but none of the rest of them had any issues with the ammo.

The first couple mags were uneventful, and I was optimistic.  Mag number three had a failure mid-magazine.  OK, maybe a fluke.  Then mag number four hesitated when chambering the first round out of the mag.  And a failure mid-magazine.  Mag number five also had a mid-magazine failure.  Fuck this, it’s going back.

Then I brought out the KelTec.  I pulled it out of my Remora holster where it lives every day, and started firing with my carry ammo.  Bang, bang, click.  Fuck!  Tap, rack, bang.  Bang, click.  FUCK!  Tap, rack, bang, bang bang, bang.  Both times, the fresh round made no attempt to chamber at all.  I ran several more mags through it, with no additional failures.  I don’t know what the problem was.  I have suspicions, but no way to confirm them.

I clean the gun every week or two, and shoot it every month or two.  Between cleanings, it is either inside my waistband or on the table.  Either way, it stays loaded.  It is possible that the rounds walked forward within the magazine, causing them to be missed instead of fed into the chamber.  It is also possible, but less likely, that some dust or debris had built up somewhere inside between cleanings that somehow caused a problem.

Two failures in one magazine after already having to replace the ejector at ~300 rounds doesn’t exactly instill confidence.  A few years back, I sold a $800 S&W revolver after having to return it for a hand replacement, despite having no additional problems following the repair.  I just wasn’t comfortable trusting it any after that.

The fact that there were no additional failures with the fifty or so rounds of target ammo that I shot through the KT helped.  I keep trying to convince myself that it is made to be carried a lot and shot a little.  I need to remove the mag and seat the rounds properly every day before I put the gun on.  I need to buy or load more 9mm ammo and seriously put it through the wringer, to prove that I can rely on it to do what it’s supposed to do. In the interim, I have no choice but to carry it.  Nothing else is discreet enough.

As for the HiPoint, I boxed it up and sent it back to Ohio within an hour of returning home from the range.  It was delivered to them today.  Within thirty minutes, the technician was on the phone.  He wanted to know what ammo I was using, because he had put nine mags of S&B and PMC (both 230 grain FMJ) and couldn’t get it to jam a single time.  When I explained that I was using hollowpoints when it failed, he said that he would try that and see if he could repeat the failure.  He said that if push came to shove, he’d just send me a new gun.  He explained that they only run the frame machine one day per week, so it would be a couple extra days before I would get it back, if it was decided to go that route.

I’m still reserving judgment on the HiPoint.  I know that most of my readers have poor opinions about them.  I’m quickly developing one, but since it is a house gun and not a gun that I carry regularly, I’m willing to give them a chance.  I’ve heard a lot of stories about $1,000 1911s that won’t feed certain hollowpoints.  Maybe this is a similar situation.  I wish I’d thought to try different ammo before sending it back this time.

When I get it back, I’ll note whether it is new or not, and then will proceed to feed it several hundred rounds.  If it has issues with one particular projectile, I will switch to another.  If it has no issues, or only has issues with one certain ammo type, I can live with that, and will continue to defend their honor.  If it will only feed one kind reliably, somebody else is going to own it very soon and I won’t be shy about telling everyone I know exactly why HiPoints are shit.

Mothers Day 2012

… was an interesting and eventful day.  Roomie and I made the 350 mile round-trip trek to visit my mother.  Divorce or no, my family considers Roomie a part of the family, and she adores them.  I’m fine with that.

The trip itself was uneventful.  My new ride averaged a little over thirty-six miles per gallon, and the trip consisted of probably fifteen percent city-type driving, and a significant amount of hilly and semi-mountainous terrain.  And I was running the A/C.  Considering that it only barely has a thousand miles on it, and is therefore not broken in yet, I’m satisfied with this performance.

Despite an unofficial kickoff time of noon, at eleven thirty, we were the first to arrive .  Mom opened the gifts we brought, was pleased, and immediately put them to use.

One of my brothers lives with Mom.  He has had some serious health problems of late, and the last I knew, his attitude was essentially one of waiting for death.  The last several times I visited, if he was out of bed at all, he would be wearing a t-shirt and shorts like he sleeps in, and would be dragging his feeding machine along behind him.  Not today. He was fully dressed, and heading out the door when we arrived.  The difference?

He now has something to live for.  Something to do.  He grew up driving 1960′s musclecars, and his favorite was a big-block powered 1966 Ford Fairlane.  A few years back, he bought one in very rough condition, hoping to restore it enough to bring back some of his youth. He quickly learned that it was way beyond his ability, and it sat for a couple years.  Another brother, concerned for his health, thought to help get it at least driveable, in an effort to motivate him to give a shit about life again.  It worked.

The car hasn’t been on the road for very long, and it is still quite rough.  But it is (mostly) street legal and driveable.  He spends most of his time nowadays working on it, and the change in his health has been unbelievable.  He took me for a ride in it.  To be honest, it scared the shit out of me.  He’s an old man with reflexes to match; he has vision problems; there were no seat belts; and a cammed-up 390 has enough torque to cause serious whiplash. Fortunately for me, the transmission is weak, and he’s afraid of the power that he knows it makes.  That combination kept him out of the four-barrel enough for us to survive the ride.

Brother who did the majority of the work on the car arrived as we were leaving for the ride.  Eldest brother arrived somewhat later with a grandchild in tow, and eldest sister, her daughter (more about her later) and four grandchildren finally showed up around two or so.  Youngest sister and youngest brother were not there.  (Both are older than me, but they are the two youngest besides me.)

Much enjoyment was had over good food.  When we weren’t eating, my brothers and I congregated around the Fairlane, and talked about cars and youth.  But mostly cars.  The wimmenfolk were inside talking about whatever it is that they talk about.

There were two dark spots in the day, though. The first didn’t directly affect me.  One of my brothers lost his best friend last week.  I had met the man, but didn’t really know him.  Although he’s not one to show emotion, it was obvious that my brother is taking it hard.  They talked regularly, had many joint hobbies and projects, and were generally best friends.  He’s lost without him.  I never know what to say or do in these situations.  Repeating I’m sorry gets old quick, and doesn’t help, but I didn’t know what else to do.

The second directly impacted me.  My niece (eldest sister’s daughter) and I used to be very close.  Since she was a child, and I was barely more than a child, we always seemed to have a special connection.  That lasted about twenty years.  I trusted her, confided in her, and was closer to her than anyone else in the family except Mom, and it wasn’t far from that.  That changed last year, after my last marriage.

She got mad at me.  She accused me of not taking marriage seriously, and told me that I needed to seek psychiatric help.  Perhaps she was (is) right, I don’t know.  After a brief conversation, she refused to talk about it any more.  In fact, she completely stopped talking to me.  That was over six months ago, and I had hoped to begin mending fences yesterday.  I wanted us to be able to agree to disagree, and move on.

Throughout the day, she seemed to be able to stay busy with her two kids, one of which is roughly ten, with severe Cerebral Palsy, and the other is a demanding toddler.  She also stayed active in conversations with others (including Roomie), or otherwise not readily approachable. It wasn’t obvious, and if I hadn’t known what she was doing, her behavior wouldn’t have attracted any attention.

Just before we left, I noticed that she had gone to her car for something.  I walked over, hoping for at least a brief conversation.  She noticed me walking over, but made it a point to avoid eye contact.  She continued whatever she was doing, her back to me, while I stood there for about a minute.  I didn’t say anything, waiting for her to turn at least slightly towards me.  Eventually, I decided the hell with it, turned and walked away.

She’s thirty (ish – I don’t remember exactly), but if she wants to act like she’s eleven, that’s her right.  It hurts, but so be it.

When I got home, I found an e-mail from my current legal spouse.  She e-mailed me a couple months ago, but I didn’t write back.  Nothing of significant substance was said this time, either.  An excerpt, translated to the best of my ability:

I do not know why I am writing to you. Prior to my departure to America, I thought I was happy.  I woke up in my bedroom and fell asleep at night, and I was fine. The boys were there every day, too.  Work, friends, everything and everyone around me was happy.

When I realized that I could not live in a foreign country and decided to return home, I thought that everything would be the same, and again I’ll be happy … but unfortunately, I can not enjoy life as before. Something in my soul is not there.

Do you know how many times I go through the memories in my head? I see it all like it was yesterday, I remember every detail. Thank you very much for your gifts.

To me, this sounds like her way of saying that she misses me, or at least her time here.  I’m not sure what to make of it.  She also used the phrase “like a sister” so she obviously isn’t be interested in anything romantic with me, even if immigration laws didn’t already prohibit it.  Somehow, I doubt that she ever was.  What little intimacy there was, probably was a result of feelings of obligation on her part.

All in all, a good day.  A weird, less than stellar ending, but the average still rounds up to “good”.  Back to the grind tonight, for the first of six in a row.

Happy Mothers Day

I would like to wish all the moms out there a great day.  I’ll be spending a large part of today with my own wonderful mother.