Handing in my Northerner Card

Day three of the challenge is not so hard,
But I may have to turn in my Northerner card.

A Northerner Card.  It’s what you get when you are born and bred north of the Mason Dixon line.  Born and raised in Chicago, I have been a proud card carrying Northerner for almost 40 years.  Four days before my 40^th birthday, my husband dragged our family to GA kicking and screaming.  He got a great job and I had no leverage against good benefits that included dental.  Despite my hesitation about moving my multi-racial family to the confederate homeland, we packed up our house and moved to conservative Gwinnett County, GA from liberal Oak Park, IL.

Four years later, I am at great risk of being forced to turn in my Northerner card.  Don’t misunderstand, I am a still proud democrat and, dare I write it publicly so my Southern friends can read it, I voted for and still like President Obama.

Politics aside, my Northern tendencies have been slowly eeking away.

It all started so innocently with the word ya’ll.  When we first moved here, I tried to throw a “Ya’ll” in a sentence. My new-found friends laughed and forbade me from using it.  They said I just couldn’t pull it off….Now, no one even bats a beautifully, mascaraed, southern eyelash when I sneak in a”ya’ll” as I tell a story.

My sense of time has also slowed down considerably.  When we first moved here and a repairman said he would show up between 10 and 12, I expected him at my door no later than 12:15.  I would get angry when he moseyed on in at 4.  Now I figure he’ll show up eventually and don’t even watch the clock for his arrival.  There’s a 50/50 chance I might not even be home when he shows up.  No worries, he’ll just call me and I’ll mosey on back.  We have a very relaxed system.

There is more proof of my southern conversion.  I began homeschooling two of my children, I am looking for a new house with at least an acre because I need some land, I have 3 dogs and 2 outdoor cats and if I find my one acre I may just get a few chickens.  I love the phrases “Now don’t be ugly” and “Bless your heart.”  I use “Sir” and “Ma’am.”  My kids have are even in on the act.  Instead of calling their friends parents Mr. or Mrs. Last Name, my kids call all adults by their first names preceded by a Miss or Mister; i.e. Miss Scarlett and Mister Rhett.

My friend from the North, Allison (who still hasn’t visit me in GA, BTW), has been threatening to take my Northerner card since the day I mentioned that I made a mean BBQ.  “What did you BBQ?” she asked.  “BBQ, I just made BBQ.” I responded.

The biggest tick against my Northerner Card occurred last Friday night.  One of my BFFs in Gwinnett (I speak in terms of county’s now too), Elizabeth, is a gun afficiando.  She shoots, her kids shoot, her husband shoots.  They all shoot.   Mostly they hunt and the rule is that if you shoot it, you eat it.  When the apocalypse occurs, she will have food on her table and I’m hoping that by kissing up to her now, so will I.

We regularly go walking, and one day I mentioned how I have always wanted to shoot a gun.  I am anti-gun but I am also curious by nature and a kickass wannabe. I have wanted to see what shooting a gun was like since the day I watched Sarah Connor kick some serious ass in the first Terminator movie.  Elizabeth kindly offered to take me shooting and the next thing I knew we had a double date set on the calendar for November 1- The gun range and dinner to follow, can’t get more Southern than that.

On the afternoon of November 1^st, I texted Elizabeth…”what does one wear to a shooting range?”  I could almost hear her laughing as she texted back, “whatever you want.”  I decided on a kickass outfit of a sweater and leggings with my long black boots.  Then I received another text from Elizabeth, “wear sneakers and bring your ID.”  HUMPH.  Outfit not quite as kickass, ID in hand, Elizabeth and her husband arrived right on time by Southern standards and off we went.

At the range, I was able to try out a .22 pistol, a .38 revolver, a .22 rifle, a 270 rifle and a double barrel shotgun….a Southerner needs to know how to shoot a double barrel shotgun in case her daughter gets knocked up, right?

At one point, my shots were not where I wanted them to be.  “Why am I so far to the left?” I asked earnestly.  Elizabeth’s answer, “I have been asking myself that same question since I met you.”  Did she not see that I was the one holding the gun?

The .38 revolver was my favorite because I shot a bullseye with my first shot.

Using the site on the 2 rifles was cool as hell.  I felt just like Agent Gibbs…siteing my target between the cross-hairs.  The 270 rifle has a manual breach that ejects the casings between shots, meaning I pulled a lever and the casing jumped out, also pretty frickin’ cool.  I could feel myself becoming more and more kickass by the minute.

Not surprisingly, my competitive nature kicked in and I wanted to hit that bullseye with all of my Northern melting heart.   What was surprising was how much I enjoyed the sport of shooting targets.  I can definitely see myself doing it again.

For a Northern Newbie, I was actually pretty good at it…..Jeff was pretty good too.  He was even able to show me a thing or two…Who knew?

Maybe when I get my acre I can set up some cans to shoot!  I have put my Northerner card in an envelope and am waiting to here from the powers that be that I have to send it back.

My stance on guns has not really changed. I am and continue to be pro-gun control.  Guns in the wrong hands scare the crap out of me.   However, I know that all guns are not bad and I have a new appreciation for revolvers.  Did you hear that Santa?

I wonder if they’ll let me cross the Mason-Dixon line at Thanksgiving.

PS –  W8Lo challenge update.  Yesterday, the Halloween candy beat me but today I haven’t touched the stuff.  (at least not yet)  I also walked 2.6 miles, drank tons of water and have eaten fairly well.  I am optimistic tomorrow I will be 10 pds lighter…. 😉