May I be blunt?

Well, yes, I guess I can, with or without your permission, it's my damn blog...

But being blunt, that's my point. If you've ever read my profile, you'd see it right there, I don't mince words. I do not beat around the bush, and I have never in my life 'pussyfooted' around the subject. Not only will I NOT do it, I doubt very much that I CAN do it. It's just not me, it's not my nature.

However, one time only, I am going to try very hard to give it a shot. Why? To explain myself. Why? Hell, I don't know. But I woke up at 5a.m. thinking "I don't give a rat's ass what you think, because obviously you do not have any inkling of WHO I am, or HOW I am, so shut up". Since I was not able to get back to sleep after waking up to that thought, I decided to funnel those rebuttal thoughts here. It became obvious that I DID, in fact, give a rat's ass.

I do not 'like to kill' things (yes, I do, I cannot lie) but it's not as simple as that... of course it isn't. When some kid goes in and shoots up his school, it's never as simple as " the other kids didn't talk to me, or weren't nice to me" OF COURSE there were other things going on...hello? Kid had mental issues...

Not that I'm saying I have mental issues, well, ok, whether I do or not, it has NOTHING to do with me being straight to the point and honest. I'm saying that things on the surface are hardly ever just that. For the love of all that is good and holy, learn to read between the lines... K?

I do not mince words because I feel it is generally a waste of time. I'm talking strictly about the spoken word here, because I do love to write fiction, and as most of us know, fiction writing is full of minced words and tons of lily-gilding and oodles of pussy footers and bush-beaters... THEN, I can do it... in fiction, in (here I go, being me:) in shit that's not real. THERE, I can get all flowery descriptive on your ass... but not in real life, I just don't have the time for it.

I like to hunt because I love that adrenaline rush that comes just as I squeeze the trigger... and it doesn't matter what's in my sights, a paper target, a chipmunk, or a deer, the feeling is the same. (OK.. stop right there, that's not true, paper targets do NOT get adrenaline pumping, just live critters) It's a feeling of empowerment that probably goes back to when I was about 10 years old.

(insert flashback squiggles a la Wayne & Garth here)

My mother practically had to beg my dad to go deer hunting. Dad went every year with "Dick" (not his real name, but it should have been) so they let her go one year. Dick was a male chauvinist pig, really a jerk... well, a Dick. That year, my mother got the only deer between the three of them. I cannot express how proud I was and still am of her.
So I guess part of it is a "girl power" women's rights thing, Anything you can do, I can do better, I can do anything better than you. Hunting was something I grew up with as being something that 'the men' go out and do every year. Until my mom did that.
I am very proud of the gun that I bought this summer, I LOVE that gun. I love the fact that I can hit those sneaky little chipmunks, I am very proud of that. I am a good shot, dammit, and just saying (typing, duh) that makes me smile a sheepish, embarrassed grin. I do not go around spouting off my attributes, not that there are a ton to spout, but regardless, I do not spout. But there are somethings that deep down inside, I am very proud of... but I really prefer not to mention them most of the time. No spouting, no mincing, that's me.

But if it makes you feel better, here:
I love venison, so we go hunting...