Category Archives: Guns

“I’m sorry, my hands are full of this .22, so I’m gonna need you to call in your own impending arrest.”

My new hero is this woman:

State police said an 85-year-old Lake Lynn woman is being credited with stopping a would-be thief after she caught the teen in her home Sunday afternoon.

Smith said she had just come home from church when she noticed a door open at her home and an outer door broken.

Oh no. She bitterly clings to religion.

Lieberum said Smith immediately realized someone was in her home and decided to retrieve her handgun and went looking for the intruder.

Uh oh. Religion *and* guns. She’s 85, she notices someone has broken into her home, and she decides to just handle up. It gets better:

“I saw him move by my keyboard near the wall but I just walked right on past him to the bedroom and got my gun,” Smith said, noting that she started keeping the .22-caliber revolver by her bed after a burglary at a neighboring home several weeks ago.

I love that she heard about other burglaries and decided to protect herself and her home.

Smith ordered the teen to turn around and not to run and then had him pick up the telephone and dial 911.

That’s my favorite part. “I’m gonna continue to stand here and point my gun at you while you call the authorities on yourself.” And then, the humiliations galore.

Officials from 911 stayed on the telephone with Smith as she had the boy lay facedown and spread-eagled on the floor.

Just in case he thought he might try to take on the gun-totin’ granny. And I love her response to the incident. It was exciting for her, and she just hopes she’s put a stop to all of the burglaries around town.

Congratulations, Leda Smith, on being my new BFF and also on totally pwning that kid.

(story found at Technicalities)

What’s that I smell?

Sweet, sweet gunpowder.

Yesterday was a good day for people who want to own guns for self-defense but have been oppressed by their over-stepping local governments. I heard about the Heller decision just as I was leaving for work in the morning, and I smiled gleefully all the way to work.

I’ve gotta tell you, I was a little worried after the Supreme Court decided this week not to allow child molesters to be thrown into the incinerator given the death penalty, since child molestation doesn’t involve intent to kill (unless, you know, the evil pig dog takes it half a hair farther and does, in fact, kill). Apparently, intent to kill a child’s spirit doesn’t count. That travesty notwithstanding, I started skipping around when I heard that Scalia wrote the opinion on the gun case. That meant we had won.

The good (if somewhat puppy-blending) professor brings up a great point about the decision:

But winning in the Supreme Court is just the beginning of the story. Even the biggest civil-rights victories have taken years to percolate through the lower courts, often in the face of foot-dragging or outright resistance from lower-court judges, states and municipalities.

Brown v. Board of Education declared racial segregation unconstitutional in 1954, but it took a decade or more of slogging to make its promise bear fruit – and even then Congress had to give things a boost by passing the 1964 and 1965 Civil Rights Acts.

By contrast, in the 1990s the Supreme Court decided a series of cases narrowing Congress’ powers to regulate all sorts of things under the rubric of “interstate commerce.” But there were no hordes of public-interest lawyers to pick up on those decisions and bring new cases in the lower courts.

Glenn goes on to point out that the lack of new cases allowed the lower courts to ignore the Supreme Court’s rulings in the ’90s and that law-abiding gun owners will need to bring carefully litigated lawsuits into the lower courts if we’re not going to hose this one up. I’m thinking it’s time to join and donate to the NRA and get Frank signed up again (he wasn’t not signed up on purpose, just because I kept forgetting to renew him).

Anyway, yay guns and freedom!

They now have less to fear

wRitErsbLock emailed and asked me what’s up with Palm Bay lately — Palm Bay being where we lived in Florida. What’s up with all the crime? she asked. She was prompted by this story about a waste of DNA who tried to kidnap a girl while she walked to school. That and the fact that all those wildfires were started by an arsonist.

Well, the answer is simple, WB: The people with the most guns moved to Idaho. There are still lots of guns in Palm Bay, but our move seriously depleted the town’s shiny count.

for the record, I am not his girlfriend

Some guy over in the GameSpot forums is claiming to be my boyfriend. Frank just said, “I’m pretty sure he’s not.” Me too!

And what’s even funnier is that RamboSymbiot (apparently Canadian) got caught by jt222_us.

Um…. two questions. Is that pic of her and the gun 3 years old and do the two links listed below create any suspicions as to the credibility of this posting? Are the two links of the same lady? Just wondering? Because according to the ‘about me’ section of the 2nd link, the lady says she’s married and doesn’t go off rambling about guns???

Hahahaha! I do love me some guns, though.

And it’s an S&W .357 magnum, if you must know. It’s not mine, it was just for the pics. I prefer my Walther P99 and Mr. Shiny, the 1911 that sleeps next to me. And my little carry revolver (Taurus SS Ultra-lite snub-nosed .38 special) is pretty great too.

I just can’t tell y’all how amused I am by this.

Thanks for stopping by, fellas!

UPDATE: Welcome, GameSpot peeps (sorry, don’t know if you have a special name)! I’ve been following the thread over there, and I will answer your questions.

*That is a real picture, not fake. The gun is real, not fake. There are many more pictures of me modeling my husband’s tshirts over here.
*You can buy the t-shirt here (no oogling my sister!). And this is why Nuking the Moon is a realistic plan for world peace.
*I have pretty decent aim. I am, after all, a girl. :-D
*I do have a concealed weapons permit, and I do carry. Because self-defense is logical.
*My husband (not Rambo) buys me guns for Christmas. Ok, one he bought me, the other one he gave me (in a most harrowing way).

getting really close

We’re almost there with the house. By the end of the week, my plan is to have only the garage to finish (and a little bit of landscaping and cleanup of the back patio). And by the end of the month, all of that.

See, we have goals. Spend a little time at Disney when we’re done, just relax for a few days. We have leftover days on our passes from when the evil fake sarahk came to visit, and we intend to use them before they expire in August. Also, I’m anxious to go shooting. We haven’t been in a while, so there is ammo just waiting waiting waiting for us to explode it. And targets just waiting for me to shoot the centers out of them.

And my truck is waiting to be fixed or sold. We can have it in really good shape for about $550 (the Ford dealership near us keeps sending me these coupons — replace all of my tires for $175 total!), or we can sell it and start a car fund for my next car. I have driven it maybe five times in four months, and I’m thinking we could be a one-car family at least until we’re in Texas and maybe longer. Then again, $550 isn’t bad… and Pinky’s had remarkably few problems for a domestic car with 125K miles on her. Replace a battery, replace struts, replace thermostat, replace tires, oil changes, and a tune-up… that’s all I think she’s needed. And now she needs a windshield (which I can get for $175), tires ($175), a starter (roughly $75), and my transmission needs servicing ($80). Throw in an oil change, and she’s running very nicely for a couple of years. Ack. Don’t know what to do there.

And then we sell this house. And it’s really looking great these days. One day I’ll show y’all pictures. For reals. (I have to clean everything first.)

Anyway, it’s all coming together. Not bad, considering I was operating at about 25% capacity (if that) for the first three months of this project on a nasty gluten challenge (it’s been going on four months), and Frank has spent a lot of his time working hard for the sweet, sweet blog money so we can pay the bills (and then picking up my slack when he’s not blogging). And especially considering all the repairs and other things we had to learn to do.

lunchtime inanity

*I can have the glutenous Clamato at this current moment in time. So I am (with a few shots of Louisiana hot sauce). This pleases me.
*I can also have my non-glutenous vitamins. Hooray for that, hooray for fish oil and B-vitamins, hooray for near-future motility and nerve improvements.
*I have almost finished The Summer Garden. This makes me sad, because I can’t find either of my copies of The Bridge to Holy Cross. I already re-read The Bronze Horseman, before I started The Summer Garden. But no middle part of the story. After we get the house all sold and get all settled in in Austin, I believe I shall buy a hardback (if they have hardbacks yet) of Tatiana and Alexander (the British title of The Bridge to Holy Cross, of which I originally ordered two copies from Australia on the release date) and read all three again. That is, after I have finished all six Harry Potters. Because the 7th comes out two days after my birthday, because Ms. Rowling wishes me a happy birthday.
*I fell asleep hard yesterday as soon as lunch ended. Fell asleep with my head slammed into my laptop (we eat on the couch with TV trays, and our laptops are on the arms of the couch). Today my forehead has a painful little bruise on it. Also, when I woke up from said nap, I could not cool off until this morning.
*We haven’t turned on the A/C in two weeks. I can’t wait to see what our electric bill will be this month. If it isn’t below $100, Blinky and I are going to have a serious talk.
*The internet is awesome. Especially when you’re in the DIY business.
*Saturday night I dreamt a film noir. You’d think that awful excuse for a movie Sin City would have put me off the genre forever. And Frank Miller, for that matter, but I have reluctantly agreed to see 300 with Frank, just because it’s violent and makes liberals become extremely unhinged.
*Today it’s your breath. Tomorrow the Supreme Elite Arrogant Court and the EPA will find a way to outlaw guns based on noise pollution or the amount of lead output from the firing of bullets. And I shall become an outlaw, because I believe in the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of 1911s.

because i figured it’s not your business, officer

So yesterday afternoon, I was driving home from Wal-Mart with my groceries. Went looking for lingerie, came home with groceries instead. Typical. Note to self: Target for lingerie, Wal-Mart for groceries.

Driving down a road that should have a 50 mph speed limit, I was going somewhere around 40-ish. I wasn’t really paying attention to my speed until I saw a police car parked next to a canal bridge, the nose of the car pointing right out to the street, which meant the officer must be lying in wait for speeders. I tapped my brakes slightly and then looked down at my speedometer. 37-ish. Which means I was probably going faster than that since I hit my brakes and then looked at the speedometer, duh, but that fact didn’t register with me until I was on my way home later. But 37-ish. Then I looked up for speed limit signs. THIRTY? ARE YOU KIDDING ME? IT’S A FOUR-WIDE-LANES ROAD! By this time I was passing the police car, so I didn’t hit my brakes any more, I just took my foot off the gas pedal until I got down to 35. I’m not one of those dufuses who sees a cop and starts going at or under the speed limit. I’ve had too many cops pass me for going too slow, so I stopped that madness long ago. I’ll go 5mph over if I’m being stalked by the brass. (I love calling it that. The brass. I got that from CSI. And y’all nodded your heads, because you watch CSI, too.) So I slowed and kept eating my Doritos (I was hungry and had eaten only two Larabars for lunch, so the Fiery Habanero Doritos didn’t make it out of the Wal-Mart parking lot), watching in the rearview mirror for the police stalker.

Aaaaaaand the police car turned onto the street from its parking spot next to the bridge and started following me. Fantastic. I kept looking at my speedometer, still hovering at 35-ish, and I was still not going to slow to 30, because any cop who will pull you over for going 35 will also pull you over for going 30 and is a complete jerkface. And I kept watching the rearview mirror. And the lights went on, and I pulled over onto a side street. Lovely.

I put the Doritos in the passenger floorboard so I wouldn’t look like a total pig. Who eats Doritos in the car? Out of the big bag? Or for breakfast at 8:30, for that matter? Not that I did that today. Ahem. I also took a look around to make sure everything was in order. Straightened my water bottle in the water bottle holder. Put the car in park. Turned off the car. Thought about how a ticket is not in our budget. But whatever, I like cops, they’re not paid enough, insert usual pleasantries here.

I was watching in the rearview mirror when the officer got out of her car. Ah lousy luck, she’s a girl. I say that, but the two previous times I’ve been pulled over by girl cops, I’ve not gotten tickets.

She got to the door and knocked on my window. From this point forward, my thoughts that were only in my head will be in italics. If it’s not in italics, I actually said it out loud.

SARAHK: I have to open the door.
GIRL COP: Ok. Your window doesn’t work?
SARAHK: No.
GIRL COP: Well, I pulled you over for going 41 in a 30.
SARAHK: Nuh-uh! Oh. My thing said 37, but that’s still speeding, so… ok. I was speeding. If you’re being technical.
GIRL COP [looking at me a little askance, not sure if I'm being ornery, which I'm not -- out loud]: I… probably clocked you before you saw me.
SARAHK [looking straight ahead, mouth closed]: I’m just gonna shut up now.
GIRL COP [glancing into the back seat]: Just coming home from the grocery store?
SARAHK: Oh. Yes. Would you like a bag of Doritos, officer? A nice red pear? Why is she asking about my groceries? Maybe she’s letting me know that she realizes I don’t want to sit with my frozen food for too long? It’s a friendly gesture? What? Or she notices I can’t afford to fix my car window and I shop at Wal-Mart for groceries? So I can’t afford a ticket? I hope she’s focused on that, because a ticket is not in the budget. Colonoscopy Friday has taken all the padding out of the budget this week.
GIRL COP: Can I see your driver’s license, registration, and proof of insurance?
SARAHK: Sure. Ok, purse. Opening driver’s license pocket. No gun there. Here’s my driver’s license. Glove box, no gun there, ok to open that. Here’s my registration. Opening driver’s license pocket of purse again… looking for insurance card… I know my insurance card is in here somewhere.
GIRL COP: Do you also have a cracked windshield? How long have you had that?
SARAHK [looking at the windshield, then her, then grinning]: Um… well… a rock hit it quite some time ago and it’s just been…
GIRL COP: You know, if you have insurance, full coverage, the insurance company will pay twice a year to replace your windshield.
SARAHK:Yes, well I dropped the comp coverage on my car a few months back… Oh, um, is it… illegal to drive with a cracked windshield?
GIRL COP [grinning!]: Yes. Plus it’s unsafe. If something hit you, then…
SARAHK: Yeah. [I made the motion of my head getting chopped off and thought about the big black semi that almost hit me on 2/26/2007.]
GIRL COP: Exactly.
SARAHK: Oh! Here’s the insurance card. [I handed her the card and then realized it was the one that starts in a few weeks right after I handed it to her.] Oh. I think I gave you the wrong card. [Looking for the current card...]
GIRL COP: Yes, this one isn’t effective yet and is for a Hyundai.
SARAHK: It doesn’t have both cars? I thought all the cards had both cars on there. [Now frantically looking for the current card.] Oh. Maybe the current card is in the other pocket. With my gun. Eek!
GIRL COP: I’ll tell you what I’m gonna do. I’m not going to give you a ticket for the speeding.
SARAHK: Thank you.
GIRL COP: But the insurance…
SARAHK: Actually, I might have the current card in this pocket of my purse. But there’s a gun in there.
GIRL COP: Okay…
SARAHK: So… I just didn’t want you to think I was pulling a gun on you if I open the pocket.
GIRL COP: Yeah, that would be good information to have. You probably should have told me you had that.
SARAHK: Well, it’s not your business, officer. I’m a law abiding citizen, I have a permit for it, I’m not going to use it on you, and unless there’s a chance you’re going to see it and think I’m possibly attacking you, I have no reason nor requirement to tell you about it. Oh. Well, I know I’m not required to tell you about it, so… [Note: I said this very politely and sheepishly. But my thoughts were not polite and sheepish.]
GIRL COP: Uh… Ok, well, go ahead and open the pocket, but don’t pull the gun out, ok? Is this the only gun you have in the car?
SARAHK: Ok. Yes, it is.
GIRL COP: I’m going to take the gun out and away, and then you can find your card. And then when we’re all done, I’ll give it back to you. Ok?
SARAHK: As long as you use proper gun safety, officer. Mmmhmm.

BTW, she looked nervous now. Like I was a shifty criminal. I mean, I did tell her about the gun. Maybe she thought it was booby-trapped. But it’s a revolver, a double-action one that was not cocked if she looked at the hammer. She was still friendly, though. I find that the girl cops in our town are (that’s twice I’ve been pulled over by girl cops in our town, and twice they’ve been very friendly, so statistically that’s 100%). She took the gun out of my purse and held onto it, pointing it down at the pavement.

SARAHK: I have a permit for that, by the way. Why is she not asking for my permit? The gun isn’t just in my car. It’s in my purse. I guess technically it’s in my car, I wasn’t carrying it outside the car, but it’s not in a separate, locked compartment in the car. It’s in a purse. I’m pretty sure I need a permit to have it like that. Why doesn’t she want my permit? Do you want to see it? Why am I volunteering stuff? Sarah, just shut up. She’ll ask for whatever she wants. Yep, here’s the insurance card. I thought there was a chance it might be in this pocket, but I didn’t want to open it, because I didn’t want you to think I was pulling a gun on you or something. Oh, just stop with the nervous talking thing, SarahK.

I handed her the insurance card, she said yes to the permit.

GIRL COP: Ok, I’m going to go back to my car, run your license and the serial number on the gun, and I’ll be back in a minute.
SARAHK: Ok. Where are you taking my precious Pop-Pop? I gave it to you so I wasn’t holding it while I was digging around it in my purse. I didn’t say you could have it.
GIRL COP: None of the windows roll down?
SARAHK: The passenger windows do, just the driver side window is broken.
GIRL COP: Ok, you can roll down the passenger window and I’ll come back on that side. That way you don’t have to sit here with your door open.
SARAHK: Ok, thanks. Especially since we’re on this unknown street in a semi-sketchy neighborhood, and you just took my gun away.

Girl Cop went away for a while, and I sat, sat, sat… Girl Cop finally came back, passenger side.

GIRL COP: Ok, here’s your license, registration, insurance back.
SARAHK: Thanks. Where’s my Pop-Pop? There it is. I see it. The finish had better not be marred! ;-)
GIRL COP: Ok, I’m going to put this on the floorboard here, and after I clear you, you can pick it up and put it back in your purse. Are you law enforcement?
SARAHK: No.

Am I law enforcement? Don’t you think I would have mentioned that? I guess not if I was undercover or something, but why the question? I wonder if she asked that because I didn’t volunteer the fact that I had a weapon? Before I took my concealed carry class, I had always heard from my Texas carrying friends that if you’re pulled over, you present your driver’s license and your concealed weapons permit to the officer. But when I took my class, the instructor, who was excellent, told us that it is not a requirement to tell an officer in a routine traffic stop if you have a weapon. And the Florida Statutes just state that you have to present your license to the officer if the officer demands to see it (so I was being nice when I volunteered my permit):

The licensee must carry the license, together with valid identification, at all times in which the licensee is in actual possession of a concealed weapon or firearm and must display both the license and proper identification upon demand by a law enforcement officer.

– F.S. 790.06 (1)

GIRL COP: Ok, well in the future, we need to know. Because if we’re sitting there with someone with a loaded firearm, that’s information we need to have. [Still friendly.]
SARAHK: Yes, you’re right. I’m sorry, I should have told you up front. Not your business. You only need to know that I have a gun if I’m planning to use it on you or have a mental condition that would cause me to snap and start waving it in your face for no reason, such as having PMS. ;-) So what’s the problem. If I were a criminal, my telling you about the gun wouldn’t help you anyway, because I would probably tell you about it when I was about to try to use it on you. I only told you just now for my own protection, not yours. My telling you only helps you to know that a law-abiding citizen who is not planning to harm you is carrying a weapon. I just didn’t think about it until I was looking for the insurance card. Which is true.
GIRL COP: No problem. Take care. Slow down driving home.
SARAHK: Ok. Sorry about that. The fast driving, not the concealing of the gun. It’s not your business. I shouldn’t even be required to have a permit to carry one. But that’s another blog post about inalienable rights.

She was nice, though, so when I was thinking in italics in my head, I wasn’t thinking with my acidic sarcastic tone. I was using my polite sarcastic debate tone. So if y’all read that in the acid tone, you need to go back and read it again.

When I called Frank on the way home, driving 35-ish, I told him I can’t wait for him to draw a comic of the incident. :-D

world’s biggest tease

I got pulled over on my way home from Wal-Mart this afternoon.

My gun (the Taurus .38 special) changed hands.

More tomorrow!

doctor

So I see the new gastro tomorrow. His website says he has a particular interest in gut motility disorders. I’m hopeful.

I also see the endocrinologist.

I think it’s wrong to be weighed on doctors’ scales twice in one day. Maybe at the endo’s, I’ll just tell them what the gastro’s scale said and tell them to write that down on their little humiliating sheet.

BTW, I weighed at Publix early this week, and the big scale there said 150, which would bring total weight loss to 12 pounds. And that was in the afternoon. I’m skeptical about that, even though I was able to get into my size 8 lavender suit pants (not zipped, no, but on all the way — I’ll take it), and even though the belt I bought in December has to be tightened all the way and is still too loose and the jeans are still falling down. They’re such cute jeans, too. Don’t get me wrong, they don’t fall in the butt and thigh area. Just the waist. But that’s cool, because that means I can now wear this and carry my P99 on my person, and my purse won’t be so heavy. Excellent.

uh oh

I just discovered Guns & Ammo TV on the Outdoor Channel. That can’t be good.

pow pow pow! angry shooting!

This morning Frank’s old man made us breakfast, then took Joe and Denise and Frankie and me to Cabela’s. We looked at guns and the aquarium and bought lots of ammo and headed off to the range. Only Frank, Joe, and I wanted to shoot.

I was so happy to shoot my P99 again, it’s been a couple of months at least. I did well two-handed. Pretty dismal right-handed, had a couple outside of the target area. Left-handed, I had at least 4 outside of the target area, which was completely backward. I’m usually much better lefty.

Frank made his

Frank was excited to shoot his 30-30 over/under rifle that’s 75 years old or something like that. I was going to shoot it too. Frank loaded it for me. I cocked the lever action, which was really neat-o, and got it all ready and up against my shoulder… got the sights lined up… but then I chickened out. I know. Bwock bwock. I’ve never fired a rifle or a shotgun. I was so afraid the butt of the rifle was going to hit me in the face when I fired it. So I put it down and gave it back to Frank and immediately had a seizure. I’ve been having an electrical storm in my face ever since, no lie.

After the rifle debacle, I fired Old Faithful and was terrible with it. So terrible that I needed to angry shoot my P99. Oh yeah. Angry shooting is good. Angry shooting is accurate.

I have pictures of the targets, but I can’t get the dumb photo gallery thingy to work. Plus, it’s 2 a.m. and we’re getting up at 7.

And after the angry shooting, we went back to the parental household. Old Man (Man Comma Old) made baby back ribs. They were so good, and the meat fell off the ribs. Frankie’s mom made baked potatoes and salad and bread, and we had a lovely meal with the whole family, and Grammy came over for the dinner too.

In the Trivial Pursuit rematch, the men won. Joe & Denise left, and Team Sarah played Frankie and his mom. Old Man played Rover. Team Sarah won.

Then Frank and I came back to the room. He surfed while I packed. Goodnight.

he would have disengaged the thumb safety

This is great. I was watching Season 2 of ALIAS yesterday (I’m on Season 3 now), and there was the episode where Vaughn is supposed to be an arms expert. So he’s standing there talking to his arms dealer contact, a Texas oil tycoon-looking fella with cowboy hat and bolo tie. Of course, because all gun folk are good old boys.

The arms dealer says, “You’re supposed to be an arms expert, yet I’ve never heard of you.” The guy behind Vaughn points a gun at Vaughn’s head and cocks the hammer like they always do in movies and TV shows because no one in Hollywood knows anything about guns, or they assume that the viewing public doesn’t know anything. So the guy cocks the hammer, and the arms dealer says, “If you’re such an expert, you’ll be able to tell me what kind of gun is pointed at the back of your head.”

Vaughn says, “An M1911. But if he were really going to shoot me, he would have disengaged the thumb safety.”

There are so many things wrong with that. Shall I ‘splain? Good.

First of all, I’ve gotta give props for the TV people actually knowing that the 1911 has a thumb safety. It’s about all they get right.

When you chamber a round on a 1911 by raking the slide, the hammer cocks. There is no physical cocking of the hammer with your thumb once a round is chambered. If you chamber a round and want to de-cock the gun, there is no de-cocking button on a 1911. You have to hold down the grip safety and hold back the hammer, then pull the trigger while still holding those two (the only way to get the hammer to lower), and lower the hammer slowly so as not to drop it on the bullet and shoot something. Nothing you wanna do with a loaded chamber. We only do it when we’ve just removed the magazine and emptied the gun (and checked the chamber three times), because the other de-cocking option is pulling the trigger and dry-firing the gun. No no.

Second, you can’t engage the thumb safety on a 1911 until the hammer is cocked. So the guy would have had to cock the hammer and put on the safety while the gun was pointed at the back of Vaughn’s head, and since they fully planned to shoot Vaughn if he wasn’t who he said he was, it seems a little dumb to engage the safety.

Bottom line: Vaughn and a 1911 in the same scene… who cares if it’s all wrong?

guns are heavy

you’d think they were partially made of metal or something. being a 2nd amendment lover is hard.

a Frank and Sarah Thanksgiving weekend tradition

we went shooting Saturday. it was so much fun!! because shooting is fun!!

i fired my carry gun one-handed for the first time ever (ok, i fired one-handed period for the first time ever), and i’m really proud of the results! wow, shooting left-handed feels weird to a righty.

the guns we fired:

Read more »

Friday — pow pow pow!!

we slept in Friday because we could. when we finally got up, we decided to go to the shooting range. i was trying not to act as excited as i was, because i didn’t want my enthusiasm for firing guns to scare Frank; he kept asking why i was turning cartwheels, but i think i set his mind at ease by telling him i was so happy to see him. i’m not sure why he flinched every time i got near the guns.

we loaded the guns — poor choice of words. we packed the heat — hmm… we put all the guns and ammo in some bags and placed them in the car, and we were off!

having never fired a gun before, i couldn’t wait to get started. btw, that’s the big confession. Friday was my first time to ever shoot a gun. anyway, Frank got the range lane all rented and stuff, and i stood by gawking at just how sexy he is when he talks about guns. it’s true, i can’t lie.

anyway, we got inside the range and Frank started explaining things to me.

i had a blast firing all the different guns. Frank fired first (unlike Han — oops, i mean… unlike the other guy), and we started off with the .22 so i wouldn’t freak out. i mastered it quickly, and Frank did pretty ok with it too, so we moved on. at that point, the Sheriff that was training the baby Sheriff (who couldn’t have been over 21 years old) learned that i was a gun baby, so he gave me a training potty sticker paid for with tax dollars. :-) that helped, because i couldn’t see a thing when i was firing. the target was 10 yds out, and without my glasses, all i knew until we moved the targets back in was that i hadn’t shot the hanger and had injured no one, not even myself (yay, progress for Klutzerella!). so i liked the training sticker, because i could see where i hit the target.

i really liked firing the Walther P99, it felt good and was the 2nd prettiest of all the guns, which is very important. Frank was really good with that one, and so was i; i only got to fire 5 shots from it, though. after the 2nd misfire in my 10-rd magazine, we decided to move on to the .45s.

the first .45, Frank’s Old Faithful, was my favorite to fire, though it wasn’t the prettiest, which made me sad and made me want to decorate it with a pretty purple ribbon or something. i really liked shooting the .45s; it was kinda empowering. i could just see myself saying “get out of my house, criminal, before i fire this cannon in your general direction!” the .45s were loud with lots of kick, and i loved that. i really liked the feel of these bad boys, they all felt great, though the trigger on Old Faithful was the best. but the Springfield, that was the best-looking gun, so i wanted to love it most of all. i did ok shooting those, but not as good as Mr. Man.

when Mr. Wonderful pulled the first .45 targets off the hangers (here’s his), he dropped mine (includes the 5 shots from the P99) into the range and said, “oops, that one’s gone. my bad.” i said, “no no! you go get them and tell them to get it for you! that’s a cool target, and i hit it lots of times!” “okay, t-shirt babe.” we were the only ones in the range, so it wasn’t like they had to stop down the whole place for it. after my target was retrieved, Frank got all sexy and fired dual .45s (* swoon *). then i had to wipe the drool off the floor by my feet.

Frank fired the cowboy gun, the Ruger, briefly, but we decided i wasn’t growed up enough for that one yet. isn’t he cute?

we shot the .44 magnum Colt Anaconda, and it was so heavy that after firing 12 rounds with that, not all of which hit the target, my arms felt like they were going to fall off. it was neato anyway. Frank was much better with it (have i mentioned how safe i feel with Mr. Wonderful?).

last was the 380 Keltec, a neat little gun with neat little bullets and a big fat kick. here are some gratuitous shots of me with the Keltec. Frank tried to make me quit after one magazine, but i was having too much fun. “pow pow pow! more bullets, please! yay for shooting!” all the good shots on the target were mine, but Frank was all over the place. poor fella.

we stayed for about 2 hours, and when Frank got tired, we packed up to leave; i was really good and didn’t cry, unless you count the lone glistening tear on my pwetty wittle cheek. “ta, gunrange,” said i, and Frank kissed away my tear. “it’s okay t-shirt babe; i’ll let you clean the guns later.” that cheered me up, and so did the fact that Frank paid for everything, because i wouldn’t have wanted to fork over the dough for that.

the owners of the range were happy to see that i hearted it so much. they said that a lot of ladies walk out of there mumbling something about “you better take me out for a really nice lunch.” but me, i told Frank to take me to Steak & Shake. and it was good.

UPDATE: here’s Frank’s version. he left out all the stuff about how sexy he is, but he calls me precious, so it’s all good.