Rhythm is Gonna Get You

I was just reading a blog post by Boomama as she was traveling through the Miami airport when she expressed how surprised she was that she hadn't run into Gloria Estefan yet. It reminded me of a little situation I handled a few years back with a healthy dose of Gloria.

I had been receiving quite a few prank calls from the same phone number. Sometimes they would just sit there silently; sometimes they would ask for someone. Other times, they'd just laugh. This happened a couple times a day for a few weeks and I was just fed up with it all.  Most of the time I ignored the calls....but after they would call back about 10 times in an hour, I would answer in a moment of weakness and demand that they stop calling.

TO. NO. AVAIL.

SO....something just came over me one day--I picked up the phone and just sang.  At the top of my lungs.  What did I sing?  You guessed it:  "Rhythm is gonna get you." 

"OH EH OH EH....... OH EH OH AAH....."

I sang it--loud.  Proud.  With an little Spanish-y flair, even.

That ended the prank calls that day.....but the next day they called back and I said:

"1-2-3-4 Come on baby say you love me....5-6-7 times...."

Apparently, that song does not have the power to stop a prank caller, so they called back. I pulled out an old trick:

"OH EH OH EH....OH EH OH AAH...."

And that was it....for that day. 

Third time's a charm, I suppose because on Day 3 of my Gloria Estefan Prank Caller Awareness Program (GEPCAP), they called.  I answered.  "OH EH OH EH! Rhythm is gonna get you....."  And they hung up and never called me again.

Some people suggest blocking a phone number to get a prank caller to cease. 

I suggest warming up your vocal chords, picking an artist (feel free to use Gloria's songbook) and serenading your caller.

"I don't want to lose you now.........."

The Gunshot Wound: a story of violence and redemption and violence

I'm not afraid of a lot of things, but there are a few items I'm quite nervous about:

• Snakes
• Guns
• Snakes wielding guns

Last weekend, I found myself at a friends' inlaws' cabin near Monteagle. It was a weekend filled with all things BEAUTIFUL, SERENE, PEACEFUL, and GUN. What? Oh yes, there were guns....and I'm not talking about anybody's biceps.

I've never held a gun more powerful than a super-soaker, so when the host asked me if I'd like to fire a gun, I vehemently declined. No way, no how. A little later, we rode four-wheelers. We sang twangy country music. We got a little red in the country, if you know what I mean. At that point, I figured, "why not shoot a gun? When else am I going to have the opportunity??" So, bolstered by the courage I found by learning to drive a four-wheeler, I spat out the following words as fast as my brain could form them: "IWANTTOSHOOTAGUN." There. I said it. The plan was set into action.

Our friend went into the house, got a pistol, and did a little Gun 101 demonstration.

I was so nervous I was pacing back and forth....sweating....anxious as all get-out. But I was going to do it. No stopping me now...

He loaded a single bullet into the cartridge. I loaded the cartridge into the gun. Click. After a few tries, I finally managed to pull the thing back that makes it ready to shoot (my gun-lingo still needs a tutorial...) It wasn't that it was hard or heavy to pull back...I just knew that once I cocked it, I would be past the point of no return. I was still a shaking, nervous wreck...afraid I might misfire or something, I told Michael & our friends several times "STAY BACK!!! Don't come near me!!!!" to which my dear husband replied: "Don't worry--we're WAY more nervous about you wielding a gun than you are..."

Ready. Aim. FIRE.

BANG!!! I shot a paper plate about 15 feet away.

Well, I guess more accurately I should say I aimed at a paper plate about 15 feet away. I'm sure I actually shot a leaf or tree trunk in the nearby vicinity.

Nonetheless, I DID IT!!! However....here's a little tidbit of information I was unaware of: when you shoot a bullet, there is a casing or shell-like particle that is HOT...as in burning like fire...that is discarded from the chamber. This particular bullet shell flew up into the air. As we all know, what goes up, must come down--and when it came down, it went down my shirt and into my, er... um...ahem, "top undergarment"--yes...into my shirt where it proceeded to burn a very delicate part of my body...if you know what I mean. And when I say burned, I mean, it actually burned a blister in the exact shape of the casing and is still there one week later.

Readers--I am a gunshot wound survivor. Let that soak in for a moment.....and I'll say it again: I have a gunshot wound.

Oh, there will be a scar. You can bet the farm on that....but what a cool scar to have!!! I've never had stitches or broken any bones in my whole life....but I have a scar from a gunshot wound! :)

So, there ends the story of violence. Let me end this with the redemption part of my story:

After I recovered from the violence inflicted by my gunshot wound, I had our friend load the gun up with 8 more bullets and I fired off all 8 in a quick succession and may or may not have finally hit the paper plate target.

I faced my fears. I got a gunshot wound but I did didn't let it stop me from getting back in the saddle and firing a gun again.

So, you may be wondering what I learned from all this and here's what I have imagined as the added benefit of being able to shoot a gun and drive a four-wheeler:

Picture this with me: one day, I may find myself in hand-to-hand combat with a bad guy. When that day comes, I will chop kick bad guys' hand and knock the gun out of it. We will both be scrambling on the ground knowing that the first one to the gun wins. Well, that will be me. And I will know how to properly load, cock, aim, and shoot the bad guy and after I do...I will speed off on a four-wheeler. Hasta la vista, baby!