My body, my choice, my means of protection

Stay healthy, eat right and exercise, they tell me. Do relaxing things like yoga and swimming, don’t push yourself too hard…if it sounds fun (rollerblading, running) don’t do it. So I guess a day at the theme park is out. I’m not even allowed to lift more than 25 pounds! Yeah, okay…unfortunately, the doctor was right about that. As I sat in my doctor’s office, I noticed that the shooting sports weren’t mentioned. Is that because once you become pregnant you suddenly lose all your 2nd Amendment convictions?

Oh no! There’s a gun…I’m pregnant!! What do I do!?!?!?

Being pregnant isn’t a handicap. Sure, your center of gravity is different and will continue to change over 9 months. Your hormones are going to be raging. You might break down crying at the range because you’re out of ammo and you realize that you left the other boxes sitting right there on the kitchen counter.

You are not going to go postal at the range just because you have a firearm. You are not going to shoot the cashier at your local grocery store because you are carrying. Just because you have a screwdriver in your hand to fix a drawer doesn’t mean that you are going to shove that screwdriver into your loved one’s ear.

When doing a google image search for “pregnant women shooting” don’t expect  images of full term pregnant women shooting AK47′s.  That will not be an image search I will be doing again any time soon.

After clicking page after page of results, I finally found this picture of Olympic Competitive Shooter Nur Suryani Mohamed Taibi on, of all sites,…but then I realized of course this would be the picture that they published. Subliminal anti-gun message accomplished. I am sure this was a publicity shot and I don’t want to hear the bullshit. Here’s a much nicer article from The Blaze.

It’s a nice profile shot of her baby bump. And I think it is beautiful. I will hereby be rooting for the 8 month pregnant shooter from Malaysia.

I can’t help but wonder what restrictions a US doctor would put on her. I don’t really want to know, but I do wonder.

Pregnant women aren’t unstable. If anything, they (most) will value life more and want to protect their families, their growing bellies and themselves. After scrolling through all those horribly gruesome Google images and reading the articles (because I just could NOT stop myself), my internal refusal to be a victim just went up infinite levels.  One woman wanted a baby so desperately, she literally cut the baby out of the mother and left her for dead. Another article…a pregnant woman left her abusive husband and he beat her belly so bad that the baby almost died. And another, a small group of thugs jumped a pregnant woman in a parking lot because they looked at her as an easy target.

We live in a scary world. I’m not saying that I think any of that will happen to me.  I’m more worried about a zombie apocalypse than being looked at as an easy target.

A big ol’ pregnant belly might be just the right amount of concealment that my handgun needs. Maybe I’ll be able to conceal a rifle, too.

To compete, or not to compete

The new issue of American Rifleman came in and the feature was the guns from the battle of Antietam. After reading the article and drooling over the rifles and muskets, I realized that the chapter in my life where I competed with holy black is over. I will not be going back to the N-SSA, but I will cherish the memories and lessons I’ve learned over the years. I just logged into my old email account that I created when I was Adjutant and Paymaster on my team and was surprised by the number of emails wondering where I was and how I was doing. I replied back to a few with a short explanation, wishing them the best.

I feel the need to compete again.

The problem is that I’m not quite sure what I want to compete in/with.

You have Cowboy Action Shooting where you get to create your own identity from the Wild West (but not based on any historical figure) and shoot period correct firearms. Not unlike the N-SSA except your identity was your team and your team was a true unit from the Civil War…sure, as a Skirmisher, you still shot individual paper targets, but the fun part was the team events where you stood on the line (in a skirmish line) with every other team and shot at clay pigeons, pots, tiles at 25, 50 and 100 yard intervals in 3-5 minute timed events.

To me, the only major difference I  can see between the two (besides the guns & costumes) is in HOW the competition is done. With CAS, it looks like you run between stations that are set up in the style of the old Wild West with different scenarios. Fun, no?

It seems that more and more shooters that I know are getting into IDPA, and to be honest, it kind of looks a tad boring. I said a TAD! Don’t get all upset. I just wonder how I would like going from shooting 5 days worth of events with 4 different firearms to just shooting a pistol for a day. However, it does look to be something that I would like to do at least once, especially because their competitions simulate real-life scenarios and will prepare you in case you need to defend yourself with your firearm (although, if you are going to the range like the good shooter you are you already know how to defend yourself).  Still fun.

Then you have USPSA, a division of IPSC, a station by station competition on a much larger scale. This is the sport where you recognize the competitors names, such as Julie Golob, Maggie Reese and Travis Gibson. I am not quite ready to compete at this level, even though this looks to be something I may be interested in doing in the future.

Every time I purchase a new firearm, I take it apart as soon as I get home. Then I put it back together and throw as many rounds down the range as time permits me. I practice my own drills, give myself speed and accuracy tests and if I have a shooting buddy we give each other encouragement by talking smack. Every little bit helps.

What it all comes down to is the biggest shooting competition out there is the one I have with myself. It doesn’t matter if I join another organization. It will always be between me and my sight picture.



Cookies & Milk

I stumbled upon this article on Drudge today.

Apparently, Putin doesn’t care for strong, female punk rockers. Especially the kind that take over a church pulpit and chant “Mother Mary, drive Putin away” and dance around. The judge extended their sentence for this ‘hooliganism’, as the paper puts it and they face up to 7 years imprisonment.

We are well on our way to being locked up for our own good old American ‘hooliganism’. But at least we’ll still have our guns. #sarc

Don’t get distracted by the cookie while they poison your milk.


Burgers and “Chicken”

For lunch today, I decided to treat myself to some McD’s. I got a Double Quarter Pounder with cheese and bacon, and I gotta say…next time I am going to Wendy’s for a Baconator.

Maybe something happened to my taste buds since going paleo, but the DQP did not taste as yummy as I remember it being. It didn’t even look like the picture.

The Baconator, the last time I had one (about a month ago) was downright delish. AND IT LOOKED LIKE THE EFFING PICTURE. It also helped that the burger actually tasted, well, fresh.

That being said…I still ate the DQP because I was hOngry. It has now turned me off DQP’s forever. So,I guess, mission accomplished in some sort of way.

Before I went to McD’s…I had to stop by the Winn Dixie for some garlic and peppers because I am about to make the most awesome sweet and sour chicken for dinner tonight. Granted, I’ve never made it before, but it is extremely rare for me to make something to eat that isn’t just downright scrumptious (unless I get distracted and forget an important ingredient like the chicken.)

This is not the Sweet & Sour chicken I am making.

I’ve been noticing a phenomenon in parking lots lately. And it is really pissing me off. When did the memo get sent out that once you hit your teenage years you no longer have to look where you are going when there are cars around? You just walk straight out of whatever store you are in (Wal-Mart, Target, McD’s, Winn Dixie, the MALL, whathaveyou) straight into oncoming traffic in a parking lot.

It’s not just the teenagers…the adults are worse! I just watched a man and his kids walk right out of Winn Dixie into the parking lot and they almost got hit by a big pickup truck. The man turned and cursed out the driver. Really? WHY DIDN’T YOU LOOK WHERE THE FUCK YOU WERE GOING??? What happened to teaching your kids to look both ways before crossing any street.

An adult will maybe get a few broken bones if hit by a car driving at 5mph in a parking lot. A child can die. You are taught from the moment you learn how to walk to not run into the street because THERE COULD BE A CAR COMING. WTF happened???

Don’t these people realize that they ARE TINY compared to a vehicle? Have they forgotten that said vehicles have BLIND SPOTS?  Stopping your feet from walking is faster than a car can stop. How the eff am I supposed to see you walking directly next to my car while I am backing out of my parking spot? Are you playing “chicken”?

Is it really too much of me to ask that people be more conscious of where they are going? You can’t wait an extra 30 seconds for the vehicle to pass you? No…you have to take your sweet ass time walking as slow as possible not paying attention at all to your surroundings. 

I am installing a speaker system on my Jetta along with some 50 cal machine guns and if people refuse to abide by my “GET OUT OF MY WAY” I will clear my own path…because after all, I forgot…we are living in a litigious society and I may as well help them on their way to the hospital without getting any scratches or dents on my car.




It wasn’t us; the hose made us do it

What happens when you work from home and put the puppies out back because you are facing a looming deadline?

You forget they are puppies that just won’t stay out of the garden. Especially when the hose is on.

yum! mud!!

I’ve come to realize that the quieter they are, the more shenanigans they get themselves into.

mud...the new, improved formula for a nice & shiny coat.

You would also think, being that they loved the mud so much, that bathing them would be a breeze. Not so…no. Not at all. They do not like warm, clean water. Oh, no…only the best mud puddle for them.

They are now sleeping nicely this morning in my home office, not a trace of mud left on them.

Unfortunately, Otis is still kinda sticky because I couldn’t get all the soap rinsed off him. A trip to the groomer is in their future.



Why can’t I?

I’ve been blessed with some mad skills. Cooking and baking skills. From the perfect pot roast to the most delectable lasagna to moist cupcakes, there is nothing in the world of cooking that I cannot master.

Except baked potatoes and hard boiled eggs. You people have no idea how many hundreds of dollars I’ve wasted in trying to master baked potatoes and hard boiled eggs.

Baked potatoes are, I’ve heard, the easiest item to cook. Hell, you set the oven and bake the thing for however long. I’ve followed multiple step-by-step instructions and no matter what, the potato is either severely under-cooked or so dried out that no amount of butter and sour cream can salvage it. I’ve been cooking for myself for the last 7 years and I’ve bought a sack of potatoes religiously on every weekly trip to the grocery store, only to destroy them all in the oven. Hence…I no longer like baked potatoes.  I can’t even order them when I go out to dinner. Not that it matters anymore since I went Paleo.

Now for the eggs. I remember sitting at the kitchen table after my father boiled x-amount of eggs watching him peel the eggshell off in one fluid motion. Okay…maybe two fluid motions.

About 6 months ago, I decided to make some hard boiled eggs for the first time. Should be easy enough – boil the eggs in water, cool them off a bit, peel and eat. NOTHING HAS EVER BEEN EASIER SAID THAN DONE!! The eggs literally stuck to the eggshells and I just created more of a mess trying to peel the eggshells off the sections of egg that I “salvaged”.  Yeah…until I bit into one and felt the crunch. Turned me off hard boiled eggs for a while.

Recently, I received a request to make pickled or red beet eggs. My excitement to try something new was immediately dampened when I realized I was going to have to boil and then peel at least 2 dozen eggs. So I used the Google and after sifting through pages and pages of conflicting opinions “only use week old eggs”, “only use fresh eggs”, “use a teaspoon of vinegar in the water”, “don’t use vinegar, use salt in the water”, I found what I thought was a great step-by-step instruction…it even had pictures!! OF PERFECT EGGS!!! I managed to have about 10 eggs by the time I was done peeling. 2 dozen to 10!  My guy made the vinegar mixture for the eggs and they came out great.

When the pickle jar was empty – the request for more came again. Unfortunately…not one egg was peel-able. So I did what I should have done in the first place: I called my parents.

My mom answered the phone…as soon as I told her I had a cooking question, she put my dad on the phone. I could hear the disappointment in my fathers voice…out of every cooking question I had, it had to be about how to boil eggs. (Not to mention his resolve in trying not to laugh…I’s a hard boiled egg for goodness sake). He told me his method, repeated it for good measure then I asked him about how old the eggs have to be. According to him “I’ve been cooking for 50 years” the fresher the eggs the better. He advised to start with 4 eggs. Is he kidding me? 4 eggs? Pfft. I’m going for the full 18 that I bought that day.

Into the fridge I went. I took the 18 eggs out of the carton, placed them in the bottom of my macaroni pot because that pot is not just for making spaghetti, covered them with about 2 inches of water and waited for them to boil.

Then I realized…I never asked him how long to boil them. Instead of calling him back, I did  what I did the first time and as soon as the water started to boil, I took them off the stove and covered them with a lid for 12 minutes. Meanwhile, as I was waiting for the water to boil, I checked my twitter account and there was a link from my mom that stated that the eggs should be a week old. HA! See? Conflicting.

According to my dad, I was to pour the hot water out and cover the eggs with cool water, pour the water out again and repeat until they were cool enough to handle. This went totally against all the results that Google pinged back. Most of the results either had the eggs sitting in an ice bath or in the cool water for a bit. I resigned myself to the fact that I was going to be going to the grocery store again in the morning.

I bounced the first egg gently on the counter. I rolled it and bounced it so the shell cracked all the way around. I started to peel at where I thought the air pocket was and there was the elusive perfect egg.

The science behind my failures? The eggs cooled so much that that skinny lil membrane adhered itself to the egg and the shell. The egg also expanded as it cooled. As long as the eggs were still warm to the touch, they were easily peelable.

Now if only I could perfect the baked potato, I’d be able to take my cooking on the road.






This entry was posted in Food.


Holy chit people…I am away from my blog for 2 weeks (longer, maybe?) and I am regretting not installing that spam filter/killer and now I have way, way, way too many comments to sift through. I deleted them all. My apologies if you did comment on a post. I need to fix that.

The new puppies have arrived a few weeks ago.

They are now about 8 weeks old. Their play time is getting longer and they are sleeping through the night.


Out of all the toys I have purchased for them – balls, stuffed animals, chewy rings – one prefers a fresh roll of toilet paper. Within seconds that roll is shredded all over the house.  The other is content with a small rawhide or a rope. Unless they see that they want what the other one has and a fight to the death ensues.

The Toddler’s Creed comes to mind when observing these two:

If I want it, it’s mine.
If I gave it to you and I change my mind later, it’s mine.
If I can take it away from you, it’s mine.
If I had it a little while ago, it’s mine.
If it’s mine, it will never belong to anyone else, no matter what.
If we are building something together, all the pieces are mine.
If it looks like mine, it’s mine.
Brother and sister, they are trying to find their place in this household. They have learned “sit” and now do so on command without treats. OH THE POWAH. I have found my minions.



This entry was posted in puppies.