I finally got my pistol license! 

Of course they got my address wrong, and after they printed out and gave me another card with the correct info, I looked at it and said, “Dude, I pay $200 and you can’t even laminate this thing?”

A shrug of the shoulders.

Ah well, at least it’s legit.    It also means I can finally roll this outside my place:

Let’s see Fido try to take a dump on my lawn now.    I keed, I keed… sorta.   My first ever firearm is a wee bit smaller, a Beretta 92 which turned out to be the gun I was most comfortable (and accurate) in shooting with.  Oddly enough the very same gun used to belong to Karen’s husband, who I had just daydreamed about being an abusive loser scumbag that I finally one-up by getting his girl after all (see last post.)  Truth is, he’s really a nice, decent guy, which is probably why I hate the bastard so much.  And now I have his Beretta to always remind me of what I could have had.    Ah well, at least now I’ll have something to bitterly cling on to.

Anyone know where I can get some cheap ammo?

“Linc, Karen wants to see you.”

Hmmm… she’s married, but maybe she finally came to her senses?  Oh yeah, I can see it now:

“Oh Linkie poo, I was so wrong about him!”  She runs right into my arms for manly comfort.  “He’s such an abusive, unfaithful, ugly loser, but I realize now that you alone were the only one for me!”  *kissy kissy smoochie smoochie*

I smiled broadly at the fantasy and walked over to her section.

“Hey Karen, what’s up?”

She looked up.  “You dropped your keys.”  She handed them over.

“… … … … … … … … … oh.  Thanks.”

“What’s wrong?  You look disappointed.”

“Er, nothing.” I muttered, and quickly walked back to my desk.

“Linkie?”

“Yeah, Karen?” Karen was a co-worker of mine who worked in our firearms division. I’ve had a thing for her ever since she started working here…that is, until she passed me up and married another co-worker last January. Of course.

“Do you know what band sang the song with the line ‘broken wings’ in it?” She then proceeded to hum the song, her cute face partly visible as she leaned over the cubicle wall that divided us.

“Hmmm, not sure, but I can Google the lyrics pretty quickly for you if you want. You can check to see which band rings a bell.”

“Is Mick around? Maybe he knows,” she said, completely ignoring my suggestion. Her hands were on top of the wall now, the shiny wedding ring on her finger gleaming in the light. I cursed inwardly.

But it wasn’t just the ring that annoyed me. I also HATED it when people would initially ask me for help, and then quickly dismiss me out of hand in favor of someone else. Don’t even give me a chance here to prove I’m not the idiot they think I am. Sheesh.

Dammit people, I’m a @#$%-ing human being. Can I not be afforded some modicum of respect at least?

“Sorry, Mick went on vacation. Let me look it up for you though, I’m sure I can find it. I’ll let you know.”

“Ok…” she said, and her head dropped out of sight. I could still hear her humming the song from beyond the wall.

I went to Google and found the lyrics to several songs containing the phrase “broken wings”, so I jumped up to call Karen over and have her take a look.

“Hey Karen,” I said, peering over the wall, “I got a few hits here and…”

But she was already gone.

I just stood there, marveling over how easily this woman could still hurt me, even now.

“Take these broken wings,
And learn to fly again,
And learn to live so free.
And when we hear the voices sing,
The book of love will open up,
And let us in….“

Up yours Mister Mister.