Conceal Carry

I do not have a holster. I have a belly band that I use for all my handguns…because…being female, I have something called hips and every holster I’ve tried on, even those made for women, do not fit me correctly. I do, however, wear my belly band backwards. I twist it around so I carry on my lower back. I know! Its not the “right” way but its comfortable for me. Stop with the groaning….I can hear you. No matter how much you try to tell me that I’m wearing my gun wrong, I’m not gonna listen. Because 2nd to personal protection, I’m all about Comfort. (notice the capital C)

Gunmart has a nice review though of Crossbreed Holsters.

Now I just need to buy some belts.

I love the smell of Black Powder in the morning

I am a National Match Black Powder Competitive Shooter with the North-South Skirmish Association. The May Nationals are just around corner and I am getting very excited. Its 5 days of shooting & camping…up at 6am, getting the uniform on, double checking firearms, double checking ammo and getting your butt up on the line by 7:30 am to make targets for each event.

We shoot Civil War era muskets, carbines, revolvers, breechloaders, smoothbores, mortars and cannon. Yes. That’s right. We shoot cannon. If it’s approved by the N-SSA, we can compete with it.

Lets get something straight…we are not, I repeat NOT, Civil War Reenactors. We are Skirmishers. We shoot our guns. We get dirty. We win medals.

Not that there is anything wrong with Reenactors. Just, please stop confusing the two.

We experience “Shenandoah Sunshine” more often than not…and we do shoot in the rain. Unless there’s lightning or high winds.

Before I started shooting, I used to go to the Nationals with my guy to support him while he competed. I’ll never forget the first revolver competition I attended…it was downpouring and the black powder smoke hung in the air clouding the targets. It was breathtaking. Literally. And so started my addiction. It was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. I was full of mud up to my knees. I was soaked head to toe from the rain. And I desperately wanted to hold that revolver in my hand.

A few Nationals later I finally got my chance. For the first 4-person team event in Revolver, we have 2 minutes to clear 12 clay pidgeons on a backer. I hit 1. Which I thought was pretty friggin cool my first time.

You Ethel!!!

We didn’t have cable until my brother decided to get it for my parents one Christmas when I was in my 20′s. We also didn’t have a VCR until I was about maybe 6 or 7. Or a microwave. And they still don’t have a dishwasher.

My brother’s recent post reminds me of why I still to this day cannot sit thru Witness.

I’m sorry.

I have a 2005 VW Jetta, 5 cylinder engine, in platinum grey. This car has been to Virginia, Maryland, Delaware, Jersey…and of course PA. Its carried my muskets to Nationals, my groceries home. I’ve never had so much as a scratch on this car. Until I moved to Pennsylvania. 

When I first moved to PA…I moved to a town that was full of twins, doubles and on street parking. And trouble…and I mean TROUBLE. The kind of trouble where I’d walk to the corner store with some kind of protection. Anyway, the streets were narrow enough & now you’ve got at least 2 cars per house parked on the street.  The first day we moved in, I parked directly in front of the house we were sharing with a friend. I was worried all night about my car…would someone come home drunk from the bar & hit it, would someone break in to it, etc. I was spoiled in NY…my parents had a driveway.

The next day I went to a job interview. When I got home someone parked where I was parked so I parked behind them.

Much to my surprise…my next door neighbors were deaf girls in their early 20s and they were moving out. My neighbors on the other side of me were a nice, very elderly couple.

My guy was upstairs moving furniture around while I was in the back of the house in the kitchen making spaghetti & meatballs for supper. From scratch. I wanted our second night in a strange new town, let alone new state, to be nice & relaxing after moving in the day before.

All of a sudden I hear a bang. I stop what I’m doing…yell from the kitchen ‘are you okay’ to my guy & he yelled back yes. I thought maybe he dropped something. I went back to what I was doing. Now I hear another bang…followed by someone pounding on my front door.

I looked down the hallway as my guy came running down the stairs…it was the little old lady from next door. She was frantic. The first thought I had was omg…her husband was shot. I ran to the door & let her in.

Thank goodness…that wasn’t the case…

She pointed next door and kept saying “your car!! Your car!!!”

Now I’m thinking my car was stolen…I braced myself and looked out over the porch and it was still there.

My deaf neighbors kept backing their moving van into my car trying to hop the curb in order to bring the back of the truck up to their door!!!!!

The whole block was outside shouting to these girls. The girls were taking the hand signals not as ‘STOP!!!’ but as ‘give it a lil more gas! You’ve almost got it!!’

There was my beautiful Jetta crying out to me: ‘Help me..please…I’ve been nothing but good to you’, as it kept getting rocked against the high curb.

They would pull forward…cut the wheel…slam on the gas in reverse and BAM!!! Holy Shit!!! How did they not feel this??? I don’t understand…they were deaf!! It wasn’t like they couldn’t feel resistance in the truck.

They finally stopped…the driver got out to see what was in the way…and then she saw my car.

Let me just say…she is lucky she was deaf. I could have flipped out, believe me I wanted to. But I told myself no. I called the cops. We worked things out. 

I no longer have pictures of the damage.  But the whole drivers side of the car had to be replaced. I nursed my car back to health. I apologized. It forgave me. I swore I would do everything I could to prevent any kind of scratch, nick, ding ever to happen. I promised it that when we bought a house, I’d make sure it have a garage for it to sleep in.

Four years later…I’m in my new house. I was distracted backing my car out of the garage. I cut the wheel a little too soon & this happened:

image

I’m sorry.

My baby

image

I absolutely love my Makarov…but my CZ-75b 9mm will always be my baby. I love it so much, in fact, that you are seeing it lay on top of a quilt my mother made me.

I am fortunate enough to live within half an hours drive to Cabela’s. They have a great firearms department, but to be honest…their markup is so insane that you’re better off going to the local Mom & Pop gun store and ordering what you want thru them.

For those not familiar with Cabela’s …they put out a catalog that is basically an outdoor enthusiasts porn. The store is their showroom.

Their gun counter is set up like a deli counter. You need to locate the ticket wheel in the crowd & get a number, which would most likely be 1,627 and they are still helping customer number 5 because, as we all know, once you have the guy’s attention behind the counter you must fondle each & every firearm because who knows when you will make this trip again. The cool thing about Cabela’s is that they will announce your number over the pa system so you can walk around, buy more Cabela’s gear & go bankrupt.

Side note: I do not go to Cabela’s or any gun show or gun store without my gun guru (my guy) because, let’s face it…no matter how many women are into shooting, we still have a long way to go with some men. And I am tired of being treated like I am when buying a car & they show me the fucking mirror so I can “touch up my makeup”. Whatevs. And I’m not gonna bash pink guns…because they are still just as deadly but do not insult me by only showing me pink guns. I like purple, for goodness sake.

So…I’ve got my number…and I’m waiting at the counter with my guy. I’ve been waiting so long that this will be THE quickest sale this guy will ever make. I did not want to fondle every gun I drooled over (except that Desert Eagle)…I wanted to buy that absolutely gorgeous full size CZ-75b 9mm.

Fast forward…filled out all the paperwork, the saleman ran my ID, and it was a done deal. I’ve never been so excited. Well, I am always excited when I purchase a firearm…but this was years in the making. My guy would just talk guns. All the time. So, a lot of what I know is just by listening to him and putting things together. Then I discovered his mags. Flipping thru one, I saw an ad for a CZ75 -Champion model. It was a little gaudy for me, but I was intrigued. Upon further research, I decided that my first 9mm will be a CZ.

My guy drove home, which was good because I kept opening the gun case and just looking at my gun. I’d close the case. Open it back up again. Kinda angle the case toward him and say: Lookit!!! Gently touch the barrel. Close the case. Made a few phone calls to some of my friends, gushing over the new addition to the family. Open the case again, take it out, put it back, close the case.

It was like it wasn’t real…I finally, after pining over this gun for years, had it in my hands.

 

 

 

 

Marshmallows Part 1

I try to make something that I’ve never made before at least once a month…I really try for once per week but I don’t usually have the time because I’m too lazy chillaxin on the couch with a soda & a bag of doritos.

One weekend I decided to make these:

I know…newspaper & a tin pan does not a pretty picture make.

And all it took was some carefully measured ingredients: corn syrup, knox gelatin, confectioners sugar, cornstarch & pure vanilla extract (for flavor). I made sure to use a disposable pan the 2nd time because if you’ve ever made rice krispie treats you know how much fun cleaning sticky marshmallow from a regular pan is.

I always follow a recipe up to a point. But I could tell that the ratio of confectioners sugar to cornstarch was way off. So…I added more confectioners sugar. A lot more.

Yknow what? I’m calling it powdered sugar from here on…confectioner’s sugar is too much to type via mobile.

Okay…trust me…I know better than to do what I’m about to tell you I did but I was getting high off the excitement of making homemade marshmallows. I dumped all the ingredients into my stand mixer & kicked that sucker into high gear. After the GIGANTIC cloud of white powder that descended upon me, I decided the best thing to do would be to wrap my mixer with Saran wrap and mix away.

Oh my goodness gracious…after what seemed like forever & a day, it started to look like melted Fluff.

 

I was ready to eat it right out of the mixing bowl. So, of course, I tasted it. And tasted a little bit more. Then I realized that I really need to pour this into my cornstarched & powdered sugared glass pan before all my hard work was in my stomach & I turned into a marshmallow.

To be continued.

Thank you.

I’m probably linking these blogs wrong, but I’m new at this. I’ve got a few people to thank.

This blog never would have made it to fruition if it wasn’t for:

my very good friend over at http://www.eyesneverclosed.com/ 

My brother: http://www.theanthonyshow.com/

And…I just got PIMPED by: http://borepatch.blogspot.com/

So, I am definitely doing the Yankee Born, Rebel Heart happy dance

http://youtu.be/VdphvuyaV_I

Billy Idol, Rebel Yell, by the way…not a video of my Happy Dance