blonde on the prairie: About Girls With Guns

“Girls with guns.” That’s what my shirt says. I got it from a girl with guns. The shirt makes me feel protected. A friend of mine taught me how to shoot so the saying on my shirt wouldn’t be a lie. Feeling safe is what I told that husband of mine was the most important thing before we got married.

I’m not mentally ill and neither are my many friends with guns. I’m guessing if the government attempts to take any more control of things they have no business peeping in to, perhaps mental illness will be the norm. In the slightest of ways it is already happening.

I used to work for a Fortune 500 company. During that time I made it my mission to read many books about successfully negotiating my way through a corporate environment. Pretend just for this example that the US government is the organization he’s talking about. One book entitled, “Firing On All Cylinders” by Jim Clemmer, talked about the 85/15 concept. The author says that the root of about 85 percent of problems and defects in an organization can be traced back to the organization’s processes or infrastructure. He goes on to state that only 15 percent of problems and defects are caused by employees who don’t care of who slip up but are usually blamed for 100 percent of the problems or defects.
In the case of gun control I speculate that 85 percent of the defect will come from the government sticking their meat hooks into our gun safes.

If I were writing a book where I wanted to use a fancy percentile to make a point, I would guesstimate a number somewhere around 98.9% of American people will allow the government to take that control. It’s already happening. You’ll all gather at truck stop cafes and coffee houses to talk tough like you have all the answers but you won’t rise up with your fellow men and women to take an action. Worse yet and shameful actually you won’t do your due diligence in educating yourselves on the issue and the consequences of thinking the way you think. Right now many of you are simply thinking, “A gun killed children in a school therefore we must eliminate all guns.” To all of us what happened that day at that school is unfathomable and bad. Controlling guns will not eliminate that from happening again and it will make you a sitting duck during human hunting season. I’m imagining that all murdered people wished they would have had a loaded gun somewhere near them to defend their personhood.

Guns protect. If it were up to me I’d ask Jesus to give babies slated for abortion guns –but that’s just me. I believe in protecting life.
America is way behind the times in taking action. Collectively we should watch the news less and really talk to our government about what we want for our futures.

Gun violence is disgusting and only a mentally ill person would disagree with that.

Girls with guns are not a new breed. I could type for days on the history of the plains women alone and how guns played a vital role in their survival against predators, both man and wildlife, back in the day.
Did you know that I carry a weapon with me every day? Yes it has a trigger and no I don’t wear a holster. I don’t have a “conceal to carry” permit because my deadly weapon is not illegal. If anyone were to try to get me, rape me, hurt me, abuse me in anyway I’d kick them in the crotch and inject them with my insulin pen. You heard me! There would be no bullet hole and not even a shoe print because I’d kick him with the spike of my high heeled shoe. The Lord made me smart enough to devise various ways to defend myself without having to shoot a gun.

The country group, The Dixie Chicks sang a song called, “Goodbye Earl” about a man who abused his wife into looking like a decaying monster in a horror movie. The lyrics go on to tell the story of protection. A friend of the wife since childhood flew in and visited the awfully abused woman in the hospital and there, together- they devised a plan. They determined Earl had to die for what he did. Poor Earl ate those tainted, black-eyed peas they fixed for him. That was that. No gun. Just some tainted, black-eyed peas. Their action, though not acceptable by law, saved the tax payers in their southern county a whole lot of Benjamins and saved the life of the wife. Again, I’m not condoning taking the law into your own hands. I’m just say’in. If you’re going to say, “Guns kill people” then don’t forget to say, “Black-eyed peas kill people” too!

Now I would be doing my soul an injustice if I didn’t explain to you why I’m beyond disenchanted about the recent news my medical doctor will perhaps have to ask me if I own guns when I visit him.

First of all I will refuse to answer the question. Let me make that clear. I adore my doctor but quite frankly I don’t ask him if he owns an insulin pen, knife, a bag of black-eyed peas or pesticide. I don’t ask my doctor if he knows karate or was ever trained by a ninja. I don’t ask my doctor if he owns a car, a pipe, matches, a baseball bat, an ax or a bottle of gin. Alcohol kills people even if they don’t have a mental illness. It even kills innocent people who just happen to be driving the same moment a drunk person is driving. The drunk person might not even own a gun. He might just own a shot glass, a bottle of Jack Daniels and a car. If we ban guns let us prohibit all alcohol and vehicle production as well.

Second of all, I’m a woman. I am an aging woman. Soon my hormones will bounce me into something called, “menopause.” My moods will swing like Tarzan. I’m guessing I will have to go in to see my doctor during one of these difficult-to-balance, hormone-jumping days that will present me as a sweaty, hot-flashing, out of my mind, crazy head. If I am in a bad way on that day I visit my doctor and he asks me if I own guns he may be more apt to report that I shouldn’t own guns at which time my civil rights will be violated by some authoritative agency. (Let me take a breath. That was a lot of words to type without taking a breath! I’m getting heated now!) That would do two things. It will make doctors become distrusted and it will violate my Second Amendment right to bear arms.

Speaking of bearing arms: I grew up with five brothers. My arms are a deadly weapon too. Just ask my brother Erik. I showed mercy so he goes on living and he showed mercy so I go on living. If either of us were mentally ill he’d be at the bottom of the lake with Earl and who knows what he would have done with my corpse. I’d hope he’d bury me in cement under a shoe store. There is a reason they refer to the bicep muscle as “guns.” They can do damage.

Girls with guns, boys with guns, police officers with guns will always live among us. Cars and baseball bats, poison, knives, pipes, alcohol lives among us too. So does schizophrenia, depression, anti-social disorder and sudden rage.

Mental illness is only sometimes recognizable in people. A sad fact is that in hindsight mental illness seems to become more apparent. Before we realize the hindsight someone or multiple people had to die.

It’s the ultimate unfortunate cost. Like the cost of business involves figuring in stolen and broken merchandise, so too is the cost of life figuring in some will have to die. Taking guns from girls who wear shirts that say, “Girls with guns” will do nothing but make her mad. Remember and beware. She may be a girl with spiked high heels. You shouldn’t scorn her just in case.

I don’t have the answer on how to curb gun violence. I just know taking guns and forcing a demand on ammo is just freaking Americans out. We’re beginning to look like a country of crazies. Crazy people shoot each other. Can’t we just all get along?

This has been The Blonde on the Prairie from the prairie reminding all of you to love one another and seek help if you are feeling unbalanced, depressed, out of control or confused. That way, unlike poor Earl, when someone says, “Pass the peas please,” we can all live another day.