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
Billy Idol, Rebel Yell, by the way…not a video of my Happy Dance
I broke the cardinal rule once…but I couldn’t help it!!! I was in love…dumbstruck love…I am so ashamed…
I have wanted a Makarov since I first saw one in a magazine…I’ve gone to shows, picked them up, handled them, put them back down…it looked so small…wimpy. Yes, I know. 9mm Russian is not so wimpy. Big deal if almost all Eastern Block countries used them. I wouldn’t laugh at a huge man with an itty bitty handgun. But still…it was just so small. I just couldn’t get past that. I didn’t want to get stuck in the stereotype of small guns are for women. Then I saw an episode of “Burn Notice” & the Phoebe character was shooting one…oh my goodness gracious…I took it as a sign from up above.
It just so happened there was a gun show that weekend…I was so excited I almost forgot to get my hand stamped. (ewwww btw…nothing grosses me out more than getting my hand stamped with the same stamp that stamped hundreds of peoples hands before me). It was crowded. Barely had room to walk between the tables, almost suffocating from the aroma of gun oil, beef jerky & coffee in the air. My guy has a method when we go to these shows: we start at one end and walk up & down the aisles, skipping over items that are not of interest. Which usually goes like this:
Me: Oh look! AKs!!!
Him: Nice. C’mon…we just started. We’ll come back.
Repeat a few times…but substitute whatever firearm/knife/accoutrment caught my eye at the time. Because I’ve only been to a few shows (12?) so I got distracted easily.
We are going along, keeping an out for the coveted Makarov. Much to my dismay, they had plenty of CZ-82s, PPK’s, P-64′s, but no Makarovs. I was pretty let down so I basically followed my guy around feigning excitement over whatever caught his eye.
My guy was looking at something, most likely parts, at a table while I was idly scanning the table behind the seller. There was something peeking out beneath an old blanket…unfortunately my guy said something to the seller before I had a chance to poke my guy and asked him what it was. So, in all rights, I saw it first.
Imagine my excitement when the seller pulled the blanket back and there…in all its glory…was a Bulgarian Makarov. I swear I heard angels.
Next thing I knew the pistol was in my guys hands…after inspecting it he handed it to me…I was in love. It even had the grips with the star on it!!! It fit perfectly in my hands. I asked my guy & the seller a few questions. Should I buy it? I whispered to my guy. All I heard was “Yes”.
As I gave it back to him my other hand was digging thru my purse, taking out my folded hundreds & my license. My guy stepped back & just looked at me in what I mistook for amazement over me buying my very first pistol at a gunshow while I took the paperwork from the seller…in all my excitement upon finding the Makarov I didn’t hear my guy tell the seller that he’d like to buy it for himself as he handed the gun to me to get his wallet.
Oh well…its mine now. My guy stole my fancy grips though
I just downloaded WordPress from the android market & now I can blog via my Samsung. No. This is not an automated blog. I’m just testing it out.
I always found it suprising when my friends or family find out I’m into shooting. You see, I’m orginally from NY. The-we-allow-you-to-have-firearms-but-we-declare-them-evil-so-if-you-want-one-you-must-go-through-hoops-to-register-it-and-pay-a-hefty-fee-plus-hope-the-local-liberal-paper-does-not-publish-your-name & address-so-everyone-knows-what-you-own-because-its-really-just-a-matter-of-public record. Part of the reason why I have a rebel heart. There are those who think its really awesome. I find some kindred spirits. Some ask me how I got into shooting when I was never around firearms growing up.
They ask to come to the range. Then there are the others. They tell me things like: I can’t picture you shooting or you don’t look like shooter (what exactly does a shooter look like), shooting is unbecoming for a woman OR (this one is the BEST) wow…that’s really cool…just don’t tell my kids/show my kids/don’t even put the idea in my childs head that guns aren’t bad/I am not giving you permission so do not teach my child how to shoot just teach them how to make cupcakes.
The last comment always bothers me. For those that know me, I would never put a child in harm’s way. I have always been the first one to put myself in harms way to protect a child. I once had to swallow my fear that one day a poisonious snake was going to bite my ankle and I’d lose my whole entire leg. I was being interviewed at a little Italian restaurant when I was about 24 years old. It was a HOT day. The AC was broken, the ceiling fans were on…you could smell that sweet marinara wafting through the parking lot. The owner’s 2 year old grandson was playing with something in the lobby while I was waiting on a stool at the bar. Being that I never saw a live snake my whole sheltered life (except maybe in a zoo), it did not occur to me that this child was NOT in fact playing with a rattle, but a RATTLER. I don’t know if I spelled that right. Anyway. Thank God the restaurant’s front door was propped open to alleviate some of the heat from the kitchen (and no one was blocking the door or walking in at the time) because I hopped down off my stool at the same moment the childs mother noticed what her son was within inches from and froze in fear. I can honestly say I had no idea what I was doing…I got to the kid just in time as the snake kinda arched itself back, scooped the baby up with my left hand, grabbed the snakes head with my right and hurled the fucker out the door. Then I heard the screaming…for a second I thought the baby got bit…so I start basically undressing the kid in front of an audience to check for bite marks (like I really knew what I was looking for) only to realize I was the one being yelled at for being so stupid. Needless to say, I got the job. No interview necessary.
In fact, when I do have kids, they are going to be raised like I was. My parents made sure that we knew that it was archaic to shove a person into a particular role. Just because I had brothers didn’t mean they weren’t expected to do laundry or some other “womanly” activity. I was not in any way treated like a Princess. The moment I tried to be…well…lets just say it didn’t happen often. I was tossed outside to rake leaves.
The only exception is that guns are going to be a major part of growing up. They will be taught to respect firearms; the dangers and the great responsibility that a firearm brings. It wasn’t unusual to come to my house and see me mowing the lawn and one of my brothers cooking dinner. Except my kids are going to know how to strip an AK and bake cupcakes. And their momma will teach them. Their daddy can teach them how to hunt.
I am what you would call a late bloomer…I shot my first gun when I was 19. It was a run of the mill bolt action 22. My guy was shooting a variety of rifles because when we took a trip to the range, it was a waste to take just one because it was so far away. While I was shooting the .22 at 25 yards I glanced over at him and he was shooting a Mosin Nagant. That looked like a hell of a lot more fun.
I will never forget how self-conscious I felt when the guys at the range saw my guy load the Nagant & hand it to me…Ignore them he said to me…Its just you and the rifle. How was I supposed to ignore 20 something men put down their rifles, step back away from their shooting benches just to see me flinch?
My heart was pounding…he talked me through what I had to do…I’ve played with this rifle in the house…sliding the bolt, aiming, etc. but never fired it before. I was relaxed with it in my hands but I was the only girl at the range that day and all those eyes watching me made me so nervous.
Nose to thumb was the last phrase I remember my guy saying to me before I closed my eyes and raised the rifle to my shoulder. It felt so natural…I remembered to breathe…I inhaled, opened my right eye, hugged the rifle a little closer, exhaled as the target came into focus and fired.
I didn’t realize how quiet & still the range was until I busted out laughing…I was hooked!
Taking a cue from my brother and pushing from a few friends I’ve decided to blog. About what? I’m not exactly sure. But then again, what is a blog if not random posts about nothing in particular.
I hope to post often enough to make this interesting. Although, I tend to sign myself up for things then say fuck it halfway through and wind up forgetting about it til months later at which point I’ll revisit it and wonder what the hell I was thinking in the first place.
I’ve moved across 2 state lines which forced me to become a little more self-sufficient. Which, I suppose, is a good thing.
I’ve become a better cook, baker, laundry doer…I’m getting in touch with the country life. I’ve embraced hunting and canning. I’ve gotten used to having to do without the mall. Yes, it’s a little slower and I find I’m missing out on the newest & latest & greatest movie/gaming console/fashions/etc., but I’ve become more centered and finding out who I am without any outside influences pushing me one way or the other.
I’m not sure how this is going to turn out. But I need to get some pancakes & bacon on the griddle. I’m hungry.