Fuzzy Bunny Slippers

Ok, so this entry has nothing to do with "fuzzy bunny slippers". Well, not quite.

I went with my friend and some of her friend's Upstate this past weekend and we all had a blast.  Given the fact that it was deathly hot in the city it was a welcomed relief to be someplace where one could canoe, hike, grill, ride classic cars and ehm shoot a rifle?

I personally have never shot a rifle before, although 4 years ago I did "hold" an unloaded .44 Magnum and that experience was pretty intense.  I was absolutely terrified, I couldn't even hold it for more than 3 minutes.  If you've ever seen a Magnum you know what I am talking about.  The barrel is as long as a foot-long hot dog at Nathan's and by sheer looks alone it conjures up the image of Clint Eastwood in every Western that he's ever done (including the Spaghetti ones, especially the Spaghetti ones). 

So, first thing's first, I consider myself pretty much a pacifist, I abhor violence of any kind.  However my inner hypocrite is screaming right now because I have a sick love of MMA and professional boxing.  Mainly because they are sports and I respect the strategic aspect of each. 

I also have a sick love of Spanish bullfights.  If you're ever in Sevilla may I suggest you attend.  At first I was skid dish and appalled by the imbalance of man vs. animal but by the end I found myself rooting for the sexy matador.  It was something about his confidence, his posture and those freaking pants!  I have never before found knicker pants attractive on any other male than the Spanish Matador and the bull, well it became an after thought. 

When learning to shoot a rifle, it helps that the person guiding you through your first target shooting experience is level-headed, highly experienced, calm and extremely detailed in their explanation.  That criteria was met by my ever so patient teacher, who put me at ease.  The rifle was extremely heavy and awkward to hold.  Both hands are needed to ensure balance and grip, one towards the front barrel the other on the stock or back .  "Never point the rifle at any living thing unless you want it dead" was repeated to me as a reminder of just how dangerous the item in my hands was.  That statement combined with everything else as I listened, really reinforced the seriousness with which to take the whole experience. 

My heart was pounding just  by holding this heavy object, the next step was to look through the scope, find the cardboard target and aim.  Safety off, finger approaching the trigger and BAAAAMMMMMMM!!!! I had hardly even touched the trigger and the gun went off.  The kickback was severe and powerful, the ground shook beneath me, my body trembled violently and the sound was beyond deafening even with ear protection. The instructor took the rifle from my hands and as he did, my hands were noticeably shaking.  The group took turns and I was able to shoot 4 rounds.  Each time was the same, it didn't get "easier" or more "fun".  Each time allowed me to realize the respect that firearms are to be treated with and I think that was the main reason why I elected to challenge my fear.  On my last shot, I took aim at the bulls eye and again just barely made for the trigger and BAAAAAMMMMM!!! The wooded surroundings went completely silent and out of nowhere a small white-tailed bunny popped out from behind a rock and quickly ran for the hills in terror.  The instructor came to take the rifle out of my hands and in an instant I realized that the fine line between life and the possibility of taking a life was super thin.  

It is an experience I appreciated having but do not think I would do again, I did it once and that was enough.  Although, as a result of that experience I learned that shooting a gun is not the same as playing a video game.  Guns are serious and to be respected, they are not glamorous or make a person invincible, they are not something to grab out of anger, they are not to be used as a careless tool and they are certainly not something you want to use in order to make cute "fuzzy bunny slippers".    

All this to say that baby------ I am a lover, not a fighter.  

Next week, SPEED DATING!

OKC or not to OKC...that is the question

Alright, for those of you that live under a rock, or are married and don't know what OKC is, it stands for OK Cupid. Or as my snarky friends like to call it, OK Stupid -very unoriginal, I know. It's a free mobile app and website for dating. Some people think the free aspect of this site is what lends to its mass grouping of cheap-O's who want to get some free easy tail.  The afore-mentioned "some people" is just one person and it happens to be me but that is just my pessimistic dating side talking.

So, a background on the site's ground rules: each party answers a series of questions that identify their personal beliefs, their preferences, goals, age, income etc.  All pretty standard these days on dating sites.  The system then assigns a percentile score of compatibility and on occasion presents them to each party.

My first system-presented Cupid was Mr. 98% and I was really excited!  Could this be the one? I mean come on, a compatibility of 98%, that's great!  It had been such a long time since I had scored a 98% on anything that I was dizzy with anticipation and I imagined that we would fall madly in love and run away to the Bahama's--I know what you're thinking-- this girl can dream big. 

His profile pictures, some of which were from a distance were from his exotic travels as he wore sunglasses in many of them.  OMG, he's a traveler, we would certainly be going on our honeymoon to the Bahama's after all!  I could tell that he had nice hair and was slim. 

He called me to set up a time and place for our first date which was a nice touch--no text messages for this gal.  He suggested a South African wine bar in Hell's Kitchen which was was perfect!  I had always wanted to go to this particular place and of course Mr. 98% would pick it, I mean, we were after all meant for each other.

Taking a deep breath I entered the restaurant, Mr. 98% was seated in the center of the restaurant, his hair looked as golden and curly under the track lighting as they did in his pictures!  As I approached him he began to stand.  All 5'4" of him.  I am 5'6" and with heels perhaps I am 5'8" so believe me, by no means can I dunk or be on the WNBA.  However, given our compatibility rating and the fact that I am really trying hard to work on my nasty pre-judgment habit, I sat down and gave it a chance.  Plus, I have been told by some good friends that sometimes short men pack heat. 

As we made our initial introductions, I couldn't help but notice that he seemed to be looking at the person behind me, so I casually turned around to grab something from my purse and saw the only thing behind me was a wall.  Turning back around to continue our convo I made the realization that he was slightly cross-eyed.  Hence all the pictures with sunglasses.

We talked about our upbringing, well actually, he talked about his upbringing. Detailing how over-protective his Mother had been throughout his childhood  and how he had decided to travel the world to show her that he could take care of himself.  I did the obligatory nod and continued with my active listening skills.  His stories seemed endless and the minutes lingered like hours.  My politeness radar was still working and I really wanted to stick it out but I have this condition that has haunted me since I was 17.  If at any time I am not comfortable in the company of another, my stomach starts to twist and turn resulting in my feeling faint and blood literally leaves my face and I look sickly and pale. 

This condition worked to my benefit in this case, Mr. 98% aka cross-eyed-traveler took notice and he asked me if I was feeling alright.  I admittedly said that I was not feeling so well and told him that I would be leaving for home.  He politely requested the check.   

The waitress came by, check in hand and he quickly snatched it.  How lovely, not only did he notice that I was not feeling well but he is enough of a gentleman to take care of the check!  Maybe I had judged him and his looks too prematurely, he could be a keeper, I mean he loves his Mom and she clearly loves him-- shorty pants, cross-eyes and all.  I told him how nice it was to meet him and started to get up from my chair.  He quickly grabbed my hand.  Is this his demonstration of a romantic gesture?  Go with it, no judgements TS.... I looked down in his direction.  "That'll be 38 with tax and tip" he said.  OMG, how rude, I didn't even eat anything I thought, plus didn't his Mom ever tell him it's rude not to make eye contact!  Oh but of course he wouldn't care about that because he's a rebel!  He's a world traveler!

As I handed him $40 bucks and briskly walked out of the restaurant, I vowed never to place value on technology to make my matches and any future 98% scores.