30 Days of Memories: Day 24

I love this picture of me at a Byers, Colorado long-range match. I don't have a long-range rifle of my own, so both matches I shot, I did with a borrowed gun. At this match, both Tara and I used her rifle.

Bonus picture: this one is not on my wall, but this is Tara at the same match.

There's something very satisfying about laying down behind a rifle and hitting your target 1,000 yards away. If you can't picture how far away 1,000 yards is, it's more than half a mile. 0.568182 miles away, to be exact. (In the bonus picture, you can't even see the targets, but they're located at the top of the rise.) It's a long, long way off and I managed to hit my target all day long.

Well, all except one shot. When you're shooting at that distance, there are some forces outside of your control. The one shot I "threw" was because just as the trigger broke, a gust of wind popped up and pushed my bullet to the right. A lot. My bullet tore through the target to my right. Let me tell you, there are few things more embarrassing than hitting another competitor's target in competition. She wasted no time yelling that it wasn't her shot, so she wouldn't be scored on it.

RCC Wins Husband of the Year!

I knew RockCrawlinChef was up to something, but I had no idea what it was.  He's been cagey for the last couple of days, but I had no idea why.

Tonight, he wandered outside for a few minutes and then told me to come out to see what he was working on.

I was perplexed when he told me to stand about five feet behind Ripley.  He reached in the car and put his hand on the brake pedal.  This is what I saw...

Is that the coolest brake light ever?  It's even better than personalized plates (and costs a whole heap less!).

He found out about them here at SoulHamsters.com in their 3rd brake light decals.  Cool, huh?

Only In Our House

Ashinator: Why do we have oreos and beef jerky?


GunDiva: 'Cause we went shooting.


And only in our house would that make absolutely, perfect sense.

9Health Fair

I've been talking up the 9HealthFair on my blog for two years now.  As I was posting my videos on YouTube, it dawned on me that there might be some other videos up, so I searched it.  I found a short (five minute or so) video on the history of the 9Health Fair.  When I viewed it, I got an extra bonus - at 31 seconds, there's a still photo of me working it way back in college.  This was taken in 1997, the year I got divorced (I've been with the Fair for a long time).

Girls With Guns

Mrs Mom from Oh HorseFeathers! and I are teaming up on a new blog, Girls With Guns; one dedicated to our interest in guns.  Though we are by no means experts, we do have some experiences and information that we can share with other women.  We intend to share tips on situational awareness, personal safety, and, of course, guns.  However, we both know that not everyone wants a gun to protect herself, so we'll offer other options as well.

Included will be our stories of how we got where we are.  How we became "pistol packin' mommas" and why.

Hop on over and give our new blog a try.

True Story Tuesday: Don't Shoot!

Thank you Rachel and Mr. Daddy, yet again, for hosting our little party every week.

When I was single I used to sleep with my Glock on my headboard.  I'd had a stalker at one point and had cut back from carrying everywhere (including the bathroom and shower) at all times, to just having my gun nearby.  As my kids got older and their friends started coming around, I carried less and less, just because I didn't want any stupid kids doing stupid kid stuff if they saw my gun laying around.  It got so that I didn't even always have it on my headboard and when I did, I didn't keep it loaded; I left a full magazine laying right next to my gun.  Before I started shooting competition, I always kept it loaded because I know that under stress the first thing to go is fine motor coordination and I didn't want to be in a position that I needed the gun but lacked the coordination to slip the magazine in the mag well.  Shooting competitions had given me the confidence that I knew I could slap my magazine in my gun and cycle the slide in a fraction of a second, even under stress.

One summer, five or six years ago, my brother Deejo came up to visit from Arizona.  He'd gone out with some friends one night and as far as I knew, was headed back up to our parents' place.  It was H-O-T that night when I went to bed, so I left all of the windows open and put my Glock on the headboard, magazine next to it.  About 11:30 or so, I heard someone pull up in front of the house and didn't recognize the sound of the car, so I waited to see if they were just parking in front of my house to go visit the drug dealer across the street.  I heard the driver get out of the car and start across my lawn, so I picked up the Glock, slapped the magazine in and cycled the slide.

With all of the windows wide open, whoever got out of the car could hear me load the gun, which I hadn't thought about.  The footsteps stopped about halfway across the yard and I hear Deejo yell up to my window, "For Christ's Sake, don't shoot me, I just have to pee!"

Poor guy.  Just wanted to use my bathroom before the long drive up to Mom's place.

Disclaimer:  In no time was my brother ever in danger of being shot, unlike my brother-in-law.  Deejo heard me load up and was being a smart arse.

Just When I Thought I'd Run Out...

Really, I said I didn't have any more GunDiva Fails.

I was wrong.

I went into the gun shop to work a couple of weeks ago and headed into the office to shovel off a space for the computer.  I walked into the office and saw this...

Being the smart ass I am, I hollered out to the boss, "Is this a present for me?"

I picked up the box, the idiot that I am, thinking it's something yummy that maybe I should eat.  It was heavy and still all wrapped up, so I turned it upside down to see what the label said.  'Cause, really a box that size, that heavy had to be full of fudge or something most excellent to eat.

Nope.  It was the boss' dog.  Who had been put to sleep earlier in the week and I didn't know about it.  Luckily, the boss didn't hear me when I asked about the present.

I gingerly put the box back down on the desk, patted it, and said, "Sorry, Kirb."

RIP Kirby dog.

(Gun) Shop Talk

This one's short and sweet.

I only heard one side of this conversation, but it still perked my ears up.

"Gun Shop, help ya?"

"You're calling to check on the status of your gun.  What kind of gun is it?"

"It's a revolver with a clip?" (Note to non-gun people, revolvers don't have clips or magazines)

"Mmhhmm.  Is it a revolver or a semi-auto?"

"It's a revolver.  With a clip."  Pause, "I'll have to check with the gunsmith on this one."

Now, I really believe that if someone owns a gun they should not only know how to use it, but should know what kind of gun it is.  I don't really care if people don't know the make and model of their guns, but they ought to know if it's a shotgun, rifle, pistol, or revolver.  Can I just say I feel a lot better that this gun is currently in our hands at the shop and not his?

~~~~~~~~~~

Of course, you may feel the same about me as I feel about that customer after you hear my next GunDiva Fail.

When I was working the sales floor at the Gun Shop, I was armed at all times.  Now that I'm just a glorified data entry person, I never carry.  Since I'm working in the office, the bad guys would have to fight their way through three other armed people to get to me and from where I sit in the office, I have three loaded weapons within reach at all times.  Carrying would kind of be overkill.

A little backstory:  My first handgun was a Glock 23.  I loved that gun; my family had all pitched in to buy it for me for my birthday one year.  Over time, I realized that although I loved, loved that gun, it didn't fit my hand well and I was getting serious about competing, so I had to find a gun that fit my hand better.  Luckily, I had a lot of shooting friends who were generous with their guns and I got to shoot all kinds of guns until I found one that I loved even more than my Glock.  My friend Z let me shoot his Para LTC and I fell head-over-heels in love with it.  The Glock went away and the Para arrived.

The sidewall of the desk in the office is metal and the boss keeps supermagnets on it.  I'm still not sure why he's got a whole passel of them on the sidewall, but for well over a year I paid them no mind other than to just play with them.  I could mosey into the office, cock a Glock-holstered hip against the desk's sidewall and talk to the boss without any problems.

Until I switched from my Glock to my new Para LTC. 

About a month or so after I got my new Para, I went into the office to talk to the boss about something, took up my usual position and felt a thunk.  I looked down and saw that those supermagnets had gotten ahold of my gun.  Not a problem, it's just a magnet, right?

No, it wasn't just *a* magnet. It wasn't just *a* supermagnet.  It was the whole passel of supermagents.  They had all been attracted to my gun and I was stuck.  Not just a little stuck, either.  Now, this was at the time when I was my fittest.  I didn't weigh a whole lot, but I was strong.  The boss sat in his chair and watched with amusement as I tried to disengage myself from the magnets.  Nothing doing.  I struggled a bit more and succeeded in getting even more stuck (as if it was possible).  That struggling caused the magnets to move, but not disengage.

The gun was new and the holster was new, so the gun didn't slide out of it easily.  By the time I finished trying to free myself, I was on my tippy-toes, hanging by my gun attached to the desk.  I threw up my hands and looked at Boss.

He made some smartass comment about me getting stuck and got up to help me.  It took both of us (he's 6'4" and well over 250#) to break me free of the damn supermagnets.

It didn't stop the smartass remarks, but he did have to admit that there was no way I'd've been able to break away from those by myself.

GunDiva Fail #2

Note:  I still cannot walk into the office without giving the sidewall as large a berth as possible, despite the fact that I'm not armed when I walk into the office.  I am easily trainable.

Things I Heard At The Gun Shop

First, thank you to Princess of Sarcasm, who launched a great response to Gregory J, who did some major fly-by insulting of multiple blogs two days ago.  See the ultra cool button on my sidebar.

So...on to things I heard yesterday:

From the gunsmith:  "How's this go back together again?"

Discussion about customers who come in to buy a gun for protection:

"I want a gun for protection"
"Great, what are you looking for?"
"I don't know.  Something cheap."
"Cheap?"
"Yeah, couple hundred dollars."
"Really?  Your life is only worth $200?"  Yeah, that's what we want to say, but that's not what we're allowed to say.  Dang it. 

Of course, the 'cheap' guns keep us in business with all of the repairs they require.

~~~~~~~~~~

And, just for fun, a little story about one of my defensive pistol matches.

We shooters are always looking for new "scenarios" to try out in our defensive pistol matches and some of them are rather creative, like the time the bad guys attacked while we were in a simulated toilet with our pants around our ankles.  The designers of that stage actually brought boxers for "realism".  But that's not the story I'm gonna tell today.

A few years ago, Tom Cruise made a movie named Collateral.  A gun lover's wet dream.  Wouldn't you know it, the match following the release of the movie of course had a scene from the movie we were to replicate.

This is the scene from the movie:




It's a "fast rock draw" followed by a classic Mozambique (two to the chest, one to the head).  In a fast rock, you draw one-handed and shoot from the hip.  No problem.

My turn at the line, I get ready.

The buzzer goes off.

My right hand goes to the gun and I draw, clicking off the safety.  At this time, I hadn't been shooting my .45 very long, and didn't have a whole lot of rounds through it single-handed, so I brace my wrist against my ribs.

I press the trigger, feel a "whap" - like someone had just driven my nipple through my spine - hold my breath, press the trigger a second time and transition to the Mozambique.  After I finish the stage, I clear my weapon, re-holster and finally let my breath out.

When I look down, I find a perfect outline of my rear sight on my shirt. 

Yeah, being the dumbshit I was, when I braced my wrist against my ribs, I didn't give any thought to the twins being in the way.  When the slide moved back, it whacked the ever-lovin' shit out of me.  I had the presence of mind to move the gun away from my side before I shot my second round, but it wasn't until after the stage was done that I realized what had hit me.

Sadly, that was the first stage of the day, so I spent the rest of the day moving stage to stage with my gunpowder tattoo on my right boob. 

GunDiva FAIL!

Winners!

My good friend and fellow GunDiva, Tara Janzen, is an amazing author with more than twenty years as a published author.  We met when she was doing research for her current series.  I just happened to be the lucky co-instructor in her pistol safety course.  We clicked and quickly became shooting buddies. I was there when she learned to become one with her rifle; it really was beautiful and magical.

As an invisible writer, I was initially star-struck to meet a real, honest-to-God, paid author.  With seemingly millions of books to her name.  As we became better friends - and after I was "killed" over and over again at the gun shop for a scene in one of her books - I finally broke down and asked her to read some of my work.  She was honest.  I love her for that.  What I had presented to her was crap, though she was kind enough not to put it that way.

She was also the one, who, after reading some of my stories over at Tales, told me those should be published.  Since she'd been honest in her review of my previous work, I knew it was high praise.  She gave me the courage to submit my query.

Not only do I count her as one of my dearest friends, she's a hell of a writer and I love her books.  Since I love them so much, I thought I'd share with you.

Crazy Hot: Michelle Pixie

Crazy Cool: Mad Woman

Crazy Wild: Mrs Mom

Crazy Kisses: K Erickson

Crazy Love:  Dual Mom

Crazy Sweet:  Ian

On The Loose:  Vinomom

Cutting Loose: Life with Kaishon

Loose and Easy:  Foursons

...and, finally, Breaking Loose goes to Taylorvillegirl











Please email your physical addresses to me at tel835@hotmail.com so I can get them in the mail to you ASAP.  I hope you love them as much as I do.  And, guys (no - really - the penised-Americans) who read my blog, if you've won one of these books, don't let the cover put you off...my big, bad Marine brother loves them!  He just hides them inside a Playboy or some other such manly thing.

Any books not claimed by Sunday evening will be re-gifted, so fair warning.

Thank you to everyone for helping me celebrate my 200th blog post!

True Story Tuesday - Mommy Fail!

As always, thanks to Rachel and Mr. Daddy who host this little "embarrass ouselves" party each week.

Head on over there for some more horrifying, "I can't believe he/she did that, I'm so going to use this as a bribe/extortion against my blog buddies" stories.

Mommy Fail

Many years ago, when my children were still small and cute we joined my parents for a vacation to Puerto Vallarta, Mexico.  I was super excited because it was the first "real" vacation my children and I had had together (and, quite possibly, the last - after all, I was a struggling single mother of three who wasn't getting any child support.  Life is very different now).

Monster, my youngest, was seven years old at the time and  prone to not being able to sit still.  He still can't.  The thought of him strapped into an airplane for more than, oh, five minutes, was not a pleasant one.  But we were going to Mexico, by God, and he was going to have to sit still and not get us thrown off the plane.  Even he was worried about how he was going to get there alive.  I assured him I had a plan, for I know very well the virtues of the extra-label use of Benadryl, so I bought some cherry-flavored children's chewables.  I assured him that the Benadryl would just make it easy for him to sleep on the plane and that when he woke up we'd be in Mexico.

Worked like a charm.  Dosed him up when we got to the gate and by the time we took off, his little head was nodding.  Score one for Mommy.

A few days later, we went out on a party boat (no, that's not the Mommy Fail) for some snorkeling and a lunch at a "private" island (which must have been co-owned by about forty other party boats).  Then we sailed over to another island for a hike back into a pretty waterfall.  The day was going beautifully.  Well, except for the chaffing on poor Digger's thighs from the lining of his wet swim trunks during the hike (no, that's not the Mommy Fail either!).

On the way back to Puerto Vallarta, there was music and dancing on the deck.  We all had a good time dancing around, right up until Monster stepped on a bee and got stung.  He dropped like a rock and started crying (hell, I would have too).  One of the crew scooped him up, took him to the bar and ordered up some tequila.  He poured the tequila over Monster's foot, scraped the stinger out and then put a cotton ball soaked with tequila on the sting.  Monster was in heaven.  For the remainer of the trip, if his cotton ball began to look like it was drying up, we had to put more tequila on it.

We got back to the condo without any problems or any further complaints from Monster about his foot.  The tequila seemed to have done its job of numbing up the bite.

At bedtime, though, his little foot started to itch and burn, so I went to get the Benadryl.

As soon as he saw me with the Benadryl, he wailed, "I don't want to go to sleep!  I want tequila!"

And that, my dear blog buddies, was the Mommy Fail.

It took a long time to convince him that Benadryl was actually for bee stings and that the sleepiness was just a bonus.  I don't remember if we ever got him talked into taking the Benadryl or not, to be honest.

Yay!  Y'all've just read my 200th post!!!

I had no idea, when I started this blog, where it would go, or if it would go anywhere at all.

I was clueless about blog etiquette (still am for the most part - there are so many "rules"),

But I'm getting the hang of it.

I didn't know if anyone would read my blog, other than my family.

And then I got my first followers and they've been so loyal (Thanks K. and T!nK),

My own bloggy support group.

In the past year, new followers have signed up and stayed with me.

How crazy is that?

I've never done a give-away before, but I thought I'd give it a try.

Don't count on it happening often.

Unless TALES FROM THE TRAIL sells,

But that's a whole different story.

So...comment away...

Ten randomly drawn commenters will receive a copy of a book from my favorite GunDiva,

Tara Janzen.

Be sure to check back for the winners!

And, please, for the love of God, if you've never commented before,

Quit lurking!

You may miss out big.

Really big.

Thank you, everyone, for helping me celebrate my 200th post.  I entered everyone's name (well, except Allenspark Lodge) into a Random Name Picker provided by Classtools.net and chose ten winners, who will be announced tomorrow (Wednesday, March 24th).

True Story Tuesday - The Life of an Elementary School Teacher

As always, thank you to Rachel and Mr. Daddy for hosting this little weekly get-together.  Head on over there for some more fun-filled TSTs.

My sister, Not A GunDiva, is an elementary school teacher, and has been for several years.  She teaches 1st and 2nd grade, and while most of her stories have more to do with crazy loving, helicopter involved parents, on occasion, she gets one from a student that is worth sharing.

NAGD:  I feel frustrated when you don’t listen to directions and then you don’t know what you’re supposed to be doing.  When I give directions, do you understand what I am saying?

Student:  Yea
NAGD:  So, you are not confused with the directions?
Student:  No
NAGD:  Do you just have so much going on in your head that you can’t focus on what I’m saying? GunDiva in: why would you ask a seven year-old that?

Student:  Yea, because I have to remember everything so I can get into college and it’s a long time away and there’s a lot to remember!  GunDiva: Oh, I guess that's why.

Okay, there's a big difference in the interactions between my sister and her elementary students and me and my college-age students.  Here's how the exchange would look if it was me and one of my students...

GD:  You know, it really pisses me off irritates me when I give directions and you still don't know what you're supposed to be doing.  Was I unclear?
Student:  No
GD:  So the directions are clear and you understand them?
Student:  Yes
GD:  Then why the fuck should I repeat them again? 

Please, please let NAGD's student grow up to be one of mine, because he at least is trying to remember everything he needs to know for college.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Follow up to last week's TST:

RockCrawlinChef managed to dig up this picture of Scamp's face when he pounced on me...

Okay, so maybe Scamp was saying, "Good Lord, cork it up!"

Day Six Update

First, let me say, THANK YOU GLENNA!  Our ten rounds at the range were exactly what I needed today and I'm already looking forward to next week when we splurge and shoot two magazines.

NaNo update: I got not one word written yesterday for my NaNo, instead I worked on a post for Tales from the Trail during my lunch hour at work.  However, I did manage over 2,000 words today, which means I "only" have 18,000 words left in the 20k weekend word challenge.  Maybe I did bite off more than I can chew since I don't have 18,000 words total yet.

Shelby and crew managed to stack fourteen bales of hay, after sending the two Buckle Bunnies packing.  Allie spent the morning gossiping with Ed and Sam, the hay guys, about how she and Shelby were going speed dating.  So far, everyone's managed to make it through lunch.

Truly depressing that so much hard work can be pared down to three sentences.  I'm giving into the headache that has been plaguing me all day and calling it quits.  I'll pick it up tomorrow and hopefully it will make a whole lot of difference.

G'night y'all.

Wow, the Anti-Gunners Are Out In Force Today...

Maybe it's just me, but there's a whole big ruckus going on in Arizona right now about Concealed Carry permit holders being allowed in establishments that serve alcohol.  The exeption is if the establishment posts a "No Weapons" sign.  Well, all you anti-gunners, go ahead and flock to the establishments with the "No Weapons" signs, because that's where the wolves will go too.  Me?  I'll take my chances that the gentleman at the next table is a CCW holder and is trained in how to effectively handle his weapon when the shit hits the fan.  See, the thing is, a whole heap of people believe that anyone who carries guns does it because they're blood thirsty, Dirty Harry wannabes.  While that probably is the case in a small percentage of people, it's not the majority.  Earlier today I was called a Redneck because I believe in my right to own, carry, and defend myself with my guns.  That's fine.  That person is absolutely entitled to his/her small minded opinion.  It's also that person's right to not own a gun, just as it is my right to own one.

Those of us who believe in being armed aren't asking the anti-gunners to "lock and load", so quit getting so damned offended that we want to be able to go out with our friends to a restaurant or a bar.  The majority of states that issue CCWs do not allow consumption of alcohol while carrying, so get your little panties out of a wad and get over yourselves.  It's the non-law abiding citizens you have to watch out for - the real bad guys.  And if you're lucky, that lady sitting at the next table over will be willing to risk her life to save yours when the wolves come a'calling.

See also: Sheepdogs

Wheelin', Horses and Gunpowder Therapy

What a great week!

Wheelin'...I've been working my butt off at work, feeling every ounce of resposibility for getting almost 200 students scheduled correctly, grading done and new classes set up. So I was really, really looking forward to last weekend. RockCrawlinChef and I had been planning for MONTHS to attend the Rock Zombie Outlaw's Winterfest with his truck, Tinkerbell, in Parker, CO. I couldn't wait for a weekend away - I wasn't going to spend one second thinking about work. We loaded up Tink and took her on down to Parker. I've never been rock crawling, but I've been looking forward to it for a long time. RCC did warn me that we wouldn't be doing any actual rock crawling, but four-wheeling (yes, there is a difference), as the obstacles were designed for "normal" four-wheel vehicles, not big girls like Tink. Didn't matter, I was thrilled to be going, to get to ride in Tink "for real" rather than "for pretend" like around the block or at the Christmas Caravan for Kids/Toys for Tots event.

We found our way to the event site, unloaded Miss Bell, climbed up her big 49" tires into her cab and we were off for a lap to get the layout of the land. Miss Bell, for some reason, was not very happy. She kept stalling and being belligerent, but RCC kept coaxing her on. We managed to make one small obstacle - a short slope downhill with a water crossing and back up the other side - when she became even more belligerent, so we turned around to head back to the truck and trailer to figure out what was going on. We powered up the hill leading back to the parking area and RCC decided that he'd check the transmission fluid. Hmmm...not good. She had transmission fluid, but it was obviously burned and was a little low, so RCC topped her off and climbed back up into the cab only to find out that Tinky no backy. Somehow, she'd lost reverse and we could now only go forward. Not a big problem, but Tink's a big girl. Her turning radius is somewhere around a half a mile. Without reverse, we were dead in the water. No wheelin' for us. Ten minutes or so after we unloaded we were done. We loaded Tink back onto the trailer, very thankful that she was stuck in forward not reverse, grabbed the Flip (camcorder) and headed down to the Zombie Graveyard to watch. Despite not being able to participate, I had an amazing time watching everyone attempt the Graveyard, which is a fairly difficult water crossing with loose boulders on each slope to navigate. There was lots of carnage (wheel-speak for tipping over and/or breaking of vehicles) and tons of audience participation. I heard one woman say that she loved the event because you don't even need a vehicle to have a good time. I whole-heartedly agree!

I was disappointed that our weekend away turned out to be a weekend at home afterall, but it felt so wonderful to spend Saturday outside in the sun after being locked up in my office for what felt like weeks on end. I even enjoyed the free dermabrasion from the wind and river silt.

...Horses...
Even though I had a wonderful time on Saturday, I was still feeling a bit stressed out at work and decided to play hookie Tuesday afternoon. Monday, I sent an email to my collegues telling them that I would be unavailable from Tuesday at 1:00pm to Wednesday at 6:30 am. I had no intention of even thinking about work, the students could manage for one afternoon/evening without me, any schedule problems could be handled on Wednesday, I was outta there!

I checked the weather and found that Tuesday was supposed to be almost 70 degrees! In March! Score! I called Mom and Bill to see who wanted to join me for some equine therapy and planned to spend Tuesday afternoon with my baby girl. Turns out Mom had guests checking in, but Bill was in desperate need of equine therapy so we arranged to meet in Lyons at Ida's pasture.

As I drove alongside the pasture, I looked over to find the horses and what do I see but Ida's red truck dragging the field and the entire herd, Mom's grays in the lead, following the truck in circles. Ida was like the freakin' horse Pied Piper. Bill was just a couple of minutes behind me, so I called him and told him to watch as he drove up, but by then the show was over, the horses had decided that no hay was going to fall off the back of the truck and the ground up cow manure blowing in their faces wasn't a whole lot of fun.

Ida saw Bill and me when we walked out to the herd and stopped to chat for a minute. I asked her if she'd seen Estes' picture in Trail Rider Magazine and she told me that she had bought the magazine. It's not often that the horse you raised and trained shows up in a national horse magazine, even if it is just an advertisement for Julie Goodnight. Ida went back to dragging the field and Bill and I set to catching our horses.

Estes gave me a little attitude about being caught, but was fairly easy to catch. She just had to let me know that it was her choice to be caught. Of course, the treat in my pocket and the curry comb in my hand may have helped her decide not to be a poop about being caught. She loves being pampered, especially after her stint as a TV star. I groomed her, scratched all of her itchy places, and pulled chunks of mud from the feathering around her hooves. I think if she was a cat, she would have purred.

The whole time I was grooming her, Bill was trying to catch Ranger, who was being a poop about being caught. Ranger was definitely in "wild horse" mode; he didn't want to be caught, and by God, Bill wasn't going to catch him. Funny how that attitude changed once Bill cut him from the herd and wouldn't let him re-join it. I was long done grooming Estes and had run the curry comb over a couple of the other horses in the herd while we watched Bill walk off Ranger. Doc, one of Ida's younger geldings with a wide white blaze and blue eyes, decided that I was a-okay and groomed my hair for me while Peanut, her big bay gelding, snuffled and helped Doc groom my ponytail.

Ranger finally ceded to Bill and allowed himself to get caught and groomed. Once the halter was on, he was magically transformed into Bill's mild mannered dog.

You know all is right with the world when you're sharing a beautiful, albeit windy, day in the foothills with some of God's best four-legged critters.

...and Gunpowder Therapy...
I went back to work Wednesday absolutely refreshed and ready to go (even though RockCrawlinChef and Digger had spend the night playing not-so-musical bathroom due to an ugly stomach bug). But my wonderful week wasn't over yet! I still had a GunDiva reunion to look forward to! Glenna, the other GunDiva, finished her book and revisions and was ready for some Gunpowder Therapy. I love shooting, but haven't been since I got my ass handed to me at the August Defensive Pistol match last year. Since I sold all of my guns a couple of years ago, I've been shooting borrowed guns and one in particular I just can't get a handle on. I tried and tried with this gun, but it just wasn't working for me, so while I was really, really looking forward to shooting with Glenna, I was also dreading shooting that darn 9mm. Last night as I was falling asleep, I remembered I had a .45 to shoot and I even had some extra rounds in a couple of my old magazines. Yay!

I woke up ready to go. The GunDivas haven't spent any quality time together since before RCC and I started dating, so even if we didn't get any shooting done, it would be wonderful to catch up with her. I unloaded the 9 from my shooting bag and replaced it with the .45, determined to do better this time.

We long ago decided that quality shooting was better than quantity shooting, so we knew going out that we'd only shoot a magazine or so. It's all about technique and precision when we go out, and the last couple of times we had gone (forever ago) I had finished up completely frustrated. I felt like I had to master that 9mm and the harder I tried, the worse I got. I knew going out today that I might not shoot any better with the .45, afterall, it's been seven months since I've had any trigger time and that was not a good experience.

Shouldn't have worried. We did some dry-fire practice, just presenting from the holster and lining up our sight picture for warm-up before going live.

1st live round, dead on! 2nd live round, right above the first. The 3rd round obliterated the small sliver of paper separating the 1st two rounds and so on until the magazine was empty.

Hell yes! The GunDiva is back!


I can't explain the relief I felt to see the half-dollar size hole in the target. That's more like it. That all-over-the-place bullshit with the 9 was o-v-e-r. I didn't realize how much psychological damage shooting poorly had done - after all, I'm the GunDiva, I've always shot well and prided myself on it - until I picked up that .45 and did well with it today.

Thank you Glenna for going out to the range with me today, it was wonderful. Euphoric, even.

Yes, it hurts!

Some time in June I got a wild hair up my butt and decided I needed another tattoo. I swore after the 1st one I'd never get another; the first one was meaningful, and is continuing to serve its purpose, but I really had no desire for another one. Hmmm...that's what I thought. So I thought it over, and thought it over, and finally asked RockCrawlinChef to design one for me. I love his artwork and thought it would be amazing to have him be the one to design my next tattoo. I didn't give him any parameters, just asked him to design something that would suit me and he did. He drew an angel wrapped around a semi-automatic pistol - what more could a GunDiva ask for?



I fell in love with the design and made an appointment with Erick at Tribal Rites to have it done...I had hoped to do it for my birthday in July, but couldn't get an appointment until yesterday. RCC and I went together and held each other's hands while we got permanently marked :) It was painful at times, but nothing too horrible, and it was a lot easier to handle it with someone there to take my mind off of it. At times I had to giggle, because RCC sounded so much like a birthing coach reminding me to breathe.

I'm pretty sure it'll be my last tattoo, but that's what I said after the first one. Already, RCC's thinking about his next one. I think I'll let the memory of the pain fade first.