Today, with no sleep under my belt and freezing temperatures outside, is a day to show no mercy and take no prisoners.
Body count later.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Don't buy the toys that make the noise!
So, when I had Daniel, my family bought EVERYTHING. Clothes, blankets, crib sheets, car seat, all SORTS of stuff.
Everything but toys, because, well, it would be a while until he needed toys. A few months, at least.
Well, so far, we've been getting by without toys. But today, while at Country Kitchen with my friends Zak and Crystal, with Daniel enjoying sitting up in the high chair and being a big boy, he got bored. And when he gets bored, he gets LOUD.
Zak looked at him with wide eyes, then told me, "You know, I never got you anything as a baby shower gift. How about I make up for it and buy him toys?"
Sure, that works. I could use them.
So, when Zak took Crystal to pick up her kids, they swung by WalMart and bought toys. And when they came back, I got handed a plastic bag full of toys.
Teething rings, a rattle-thing, a soft toy that pulls out and rattles back in on a line... and a ball thing with rings around it.
That lights up and sings at the slightest touch.
"Whyyyyyyyyy?!"
"Don't look at me, girl. I was on the phone with my mom and Crystal grabbed it. Not my fault.
God damn it.
Title is a quote from Denis Leary
Everything but toys, because, well, it would be a while until he needed toys. A few months, at least.
Well, so far, we've been getting by without toys. But today, while at Country Kitchen with my friends Zak and Crystal, with Daniel enjoying sitting up in the high chair and being a big boy, he got bored. And when he gets bored, he gets LOUD.
Zak looked at him with wide eyes, then told me, "You know, I never got you anything as a baby shower gift. How about I make up for it and buy him toys?"
Sure, that works. I could use them.
So, when Zak took Crystal to pick up her kids, they swung by WalMart and bought toys. And when they came back, I got handed a plastic bag full of toys.
Teething rings, a rattle-thing, a soft toy that pulls out and rattles back in on a line... and a ball thing with rings around it.
That lights up and sings at the slightest touch.
"Whyyyyyyyyy?!"
"Don't look at me, girl. I was on the phone with my mom and Crystal grabbed it. Not my fault.
God damn it.
Title is a quote from Denis Leary
Monday, November 30, 2009
Going Mobile
Well, Blogger has this thing you can do: mobile blogging. And given how many random ass thoughts I have during the day, where I immediately think, "Wow, that's pretty cool, I should blog that later."
And then, yanno, I forget.
So, I'm gonna set up the mobile blog thing, and every now and then, BAM! Snark's Mouth content on the go.
Means you don't have to follow me on Twitter, cuz I know how irritating some people find it. Now, you can just check back here to see what I'm pondering/doing/whatever during the day when I'm away.
Neat, ain't it?
And then, yanno, I forget.
So, I'm gonna set up the mobile blog thing, and every now and then, BAM! Snark's Mouth content on the go.
Means you don't have to follow me on Twitter, cuz I know how irritating some people find it. Now, you can just check back here to see what I'm pondering/doing/whatever during the day when I'm away.
Neat, ain't it?
Song O Teh Week - Fuck You
To celebrate the end of Hug-A-Gay Month (thanks for random info, Facebook!), I bring you a song saying 'Fuck You' to bigots and close-minded fools.
Lily Allen - Fuck You
Look inside,
Look inside your tiny mind
Now look a bit harder
Cause we're so uninspired,
so sick and tired of all the
hatred you harbor
So you say
It's not okay to be gay
Well I think you're just evil
You're just some racist who
can't tie my laces
Your point of view is medieval
Fuck you (Fuck you)
Fuck you very, very much
Cause we hate what you do
And we hate your whole crew
So please don't stay in touch
Fuck you (Fuck You)
Fuck you very, very much
Cause your words don't translate
And it's getting quite late
So please don't stay in touch
Do you get,
Do you get a little kick out of
being slow minded?
You want to be like your father
It's approval your after
Well that's not how you find it
Do you,
Do you really enjoy living a
life that's so hateful?
Cause there's a hole where
your soul should be
Your losing control of it and
it's really distasteful
Fuck you (Fuck You)
Fuck you very, very much
Cause we hate what you do
And we hate your whole crew
So please don't stay in touch
Fuck you (Fuck You)
Fuck you very, very much
Cause your words don't
translate and it's getting
quite late
So please don't stay in touch
Fuck you, Fuck you, Fuck you,
Fuck you, Fuck you, Fuck you,
Fuck yooooou
You say
You think we need to go to war
well you're already in one
Cause it's people like you
who need to get slew
No one wants your opinion
Fuck you (Fuck You)
Fuck you very, very much
Cause we hate what you do
And we hate your whole crew
So please don't stay in touch
Fuck you (Fuck You)
Fuck you very, very much
Cause your words don't
translate and it's getting
quite late
So please don't stay in touch
Fuck you, Fuck you
Fuck you, Fuck you
Fuck you, Fuck you
Lily Allen - Fuck You
Look inside,
Look inside your tiny mind
Now look a bit harder
Cause we're so uninspired,
so sick and tired of all the
hatred you harbor
So you say
It's not okay to be gay
Well I think you're just evil
You're just some racist who
can't tie my laces
Your point of view is medieval
Fuck you (Fuck you)
Fuck you very, very much
Cause we hate what you do
And we hate your whole crew
So please don't stay in touch
Fuck you (Fuck You)
Fuck you very, very much
Cause your words don't translate
And it's getting quite late
So please don't stay in touch
Do you get,
Do you get a little kick out of
being slow minded?
You want to be like your father
It's approval your after
Well that's not how you find it
Do you,
Do you really enjoy living a
life that's so hateful?
Cause there's a hole where
your soul should be
Your losing control of it and
it's really distasteful
Fuck you (Fuck You)
Fuck you very, very much
Cause we hate what you do
And we hate your whole crew
So please don't stay in touch
Fuck you (Fuck You)
Fuck you very, very much
Cause your words don't
translate and it's getting
quite late
So please don't stay in touch
Fuck you, Fuck you, Fuck you,
Fuck you, Fuck you, Fuck you,
Fuck yooooou
You say
You think we need to go to war
well you're already in one
Cause it's people like you
who need to get slew
No one wants your opinion
Fuck you (Fuck You)
Fuck you very, very much
Cause we hate what you do
And we hate your whole crew
So please don't stay in touch
Fuck you (Fuck You)
Fuck you very, very much
Cause your words don't
translate and it's getting
quite late
So please don't stay in touch
Fuck you, Fuck you
Fuck you, Fuck you
Fuck you, Fuck you
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Blogorado, Day Four - Monday's Good-byes
Monday. Most of us were heading out today. I woke up greatly saddened by this fact. I had enjoyed myself so much, had so much fun, and made great friends with people I had never dreamed of meeting. I didn't know when I would next have the chance of seeing any of them, and I was dreading saying good-bye.
My mind was packed full of the memories we had made this weekend: the guns, the laughs, the sheer amount of fun. It should have been illegal to have that much of a good time in one weekend.
Don't get me wrong: I missed my home and those in it, but these crazy people with guns on their hips and smiles in their steps were a whole other family for me, and I missed them already.
I made sure my bags were packed, stacked in a corner and ready to go after breakfast was done with, and donning my sweater, I ambled over to the cafe.
People filed in, and I don't know if saying good-bye weighed as heavily on their minds as it did on mine (or maybe I'm just a softie like that), but they didn't let it stop anyone from having one last good time.
More jokes, more crude humor, lots of laughs, good food and coffee were had, while several of us exchanged phone numbers for keeping in touch. Many had not wanted to give out their numbers, no matter how close we had gotten without coming face-to-face, but that weekend had changed all of it.
Phlegmmy and LawDog were the first to leave, for they had a longer drive than we did and had things to do. I gave them each a hug, opined about how truly amazing it was to have met them, and bade them farewell, only to find out a few minutes later that they had picked up mine and FarmGirl's tab.
Hearts of gold and very giving people, these folks were.
FarmGirl and I announced that we had to be hitting the road, for it was a long drive to the airport for me to get home. More hugs were had all around, a few more pictures were taken, and everyone was gushing about how great it was to finally meet each other, or how awesome it was to see someone again. I almost felt as if I would cry.
The drive to the airport was not as quiet as the one to the FarmHouse was, being more comfortable in each other's presence as FarmGirl and I had grown. She talked about her horse, Monkey, and what it was like at her school; she told me of the other blogmeet she had gone to that Phlegmmy had hosted, and a variety of other subjects.
Before too much longer, we arrived at the airport, FarmGirl dropping me off at the curb, and I checked my bags in. The flight was uneventful, but I had a copy of AD's book to read on the ride home, so I wasn't too horribly bored.
Kansas City is beautiful from the air, I will say that much. A sea of glittering lights.
I had a great time, and I sincerely hope that some time in the near future, I can repeat the experience: meet new friends, see old ones again, shoot a lot of guns, and laugh until I feel my sides will split right open.
The range is hot!
My mind was packed full of the memories we had made this weekend: the guns, the laughs, the sheer amount of fun. It should have been illegal to have that much of a good time in one weekend.
Don't get me wrong: I missed my home and those in it, but these crazy people with guns on their hips and smiles in their steps were a whole other family for me, and I missed them already.
I made sure my bags were packed, stacked in a corner and ready to go after breakfast was done with, and donning my sweater, I ambled over to the cafe.
People filed in, and I don't know if saying good-bye weighed as heavily on their minds as it did on mine (or maybe I'm just a softie like that), but they didn't let it stop anyone from having one last good time.
More jokes, more crude humor, lots of laughs, good food and coffee were had, while several of us exchanged phone numbers for keeping in touch. Many had not wanted to give out their numbers, no matter how close we had gotten without coming face-to-face, but that weekend had changed all of it.
Phlegmmy and LawDog were the first to leave, for they had a longer drive than we did and had things to do. I gave them each a hug, opined about how truly amazing it was to have met them, and bade them farewell, only to find out a few minutes later that they had picked up mine and FarmGirl's tab.
Hearts of gold and very giving people, these folks were.
FarmGirl and I announced that we had to be hitting the road, for it was a long drive to the airport for me to get home. More hugs were had all around, a few more pictures were taken, and everyone was gushing about how great it was to finally meet each other, or how awesome it was to see someone again. I almost felt as if I would cry.
The drive to the airport was not as quiet as the one to the FarmHouse was, being more comfortable in each other's presence as FarmGirl and I had grown. She talked about her horse, Monkey, and what it was like at her school; she told me of the other blogmeet she had gone to that Phlegmmy had hosted, and a variety of other subjects.
Before too much longer, we arrived at the airport, FarmGirl dropping me off at the curb, and I checked my bags in. The flight was uneventful, but I had a copy of AD's book to read on the ride home, so I wasn't too horribly bored.
Kansas City is beautiful from the air, I will say that much. A sea of glittering lights.
I had a great time, and I sincerely hope that some time in the near future, I can repeat the experience: meet new friends, see old ones again, shoot a lot of guns, and laugh until I feel my sides will split right open.
Friday, November 27, 2009
Blogorado, Day Four - Sunday
Sunday! Last day of shooting! Not gonna lie, I was chomping at the bit to get back out to the range. If you listened to the Brady Bunch, that horrifying bloodlust that accompanies shooting a gun had seized hold of me, and I was thirsty for the liquid life.
Which is a load of complete bullshit, but I was eager to enjoy some more shooty goodness.
Dinking around on the computer while Christina took a morning shower, I forgot that the time on my computer's clock was different from local time. It said it was almost 9 AM, so I hustled my keister over to the cafe for breakfast, to discover the place nearly empty, with only three people there.
FarmGirl introduced me and I shook hands with MattG and JPG, in awe of the gentle giant and his charming father. More quiet conversation was had as people slowly trickled in, ordering coffee to fuel themselves up for the day. After all, we were planning to exhaust ourselves out at the range.
I stepped outside for a cigarette where Salamander informed me that he would not be able to join us for today's festivities. The Newt was still sick and he had to be getting home to tend to his child. With a farewell hug, we sent him on his way, then began the migration out towards the range.
YAY!
Breda was immediately handed the biggest handgun I had yet seen, and I stared in awe as this little slip of a woman fire round after round, watching what looked like recoil from hell after each shot. And then the other shooty n00b took a turn: Christina! I would show pictures, but some people like to remain anonymous on the internet, and I shall respect their wishes. :) I do have a picture of the gun in question though.
Super Blackhawk, wut?
A picture that would make the Brady Bunch spontaneously combust!
Yummy!
Mizz Phlegmmy deemed it safe to pose for a picture, so I immortalized her in digital form, displaying all of her charm in one smile.
I felt truly blessed to have met her, I really did. I adored her! I mean, I adored everybody, but she was something else, she really was.
It wasn't too much longer before I was drawn to the rifle range again, eyeballing Jim with his AR once more. That's right, I wanted another turn at that pretty pup, and he was kind enough to oblige me while Breda was nice enough to take pictures with my camera.
I f*cking love that gun. Maybe Santa will bring me one for Christmas? I promise, I've been good!!
Breda rocked the SKS like nobody's business, of course....
My shoulder was aching at this point. After spending all day shooting guns I was unaccustomed to, and then sleeping on it, I was in a fair amount of pain. But oh, it hurt so good. The lovely librarian saw me rubbing at the red spot on my skin, and pulled her shirt down to show some lovely bruises.
Of course, it got Jim's attention, and he immediately took pictures, as did I.
And of course, this picture was taken accompanied by words that Jim repeated often enough during the weekend: "Okay, give me angry, I want to see angry!"
Then I realized the very appropriate shirt that Stingray was wearing and had to take a picture of it.
We adjourned for lunch then, most of us bickering over the limited chairs that were available. AD stole my spot, then sweetly offered his own chair to me, with the Longhorns logo emblazoned across the back of it. I badmouthed the foul team, raising nine kinds of hell with AD for even thinking to offer that seat to the daughter of an Aggie, and then KatyBeth chimed in, agreeing with her father. She was too cute to punish for her impudence, though.
Right as everyone was finished stuffing their faces, a couple of the gentlemen reappeared, announcing that for the snipers on the rifle table, there were new targets set up on the opposite side of the range: 55-gallon barrels were placed at 500 yards and 950 yards, and most people took turns at them. I was not brave enough to try, but I did stand back and cheer folks on as they rotated through the snipers. Memorable quote of the moment came from Stingray, directed towards Breda.
"Almost a thousand yards, and you got it on your second fucking pull!"
There's a reason we call her the World's Most Dangerous Librarian.
Afterwards, I don't know what possessed AEPilotJim, but he decided he wanted to play dress-up with Breda.
That's Jim's M14 she's holding (which is almost as long as she is tall), and that sash she's wearing? Yeah, that's his belt and holster. We couldn't cinch it up tight enough to fit around her waist, so she had to wear it like that. We were all giggling about these pictures, of course.
Breda decided she would mosey back over to the pistol range while it was deserted, and I chose to follow, making a quick stop where everybody was set up with the clays and shotguns to ask Mr. Stingray if he would be so kind as to let me shoot his hand cannon. The day before it was quite intimidating, but I knew I'd be kicking myself for eternity if I didn't shoot it at least once. He said he'd be over shortly, because I was not familiar with wheelguns and did not know how to load it.
Whilst waiting for him to come down to let me play with his toy (boy, that sounds dirty, don't it?), I gazed quite longingly at Alan's full-auto. "Can I shoot it?" I asked.
"Here," he said, and handed me a box of ammo and a magazine to load.
And then he fired a magazine, I fired one, and Breda shot it once more.
SQUEEE!!
Oh, that was fun to shoot.
Back over on the rifle side, they called the range cold and tacked up a bag of Tannerite to one of the target backdrops. Christina and I each took position on a rifle and they cut us loose, telling us to hit the black bag on the wooden board.
KABOOM!
I nailed it that time, and when it exploded, my grin was positively feral, I was so thoroughly pleased.
This is what was left of the board the tannerite was stuck on, once we tore down the range.
And yes, that really is Jim's face. I was SHOCKED, I really was. But he's so damned cuddly!
After we called both ranges cold and the FarmFam announced it was time to pack up and go home, before it got too dark to see, Jim made a brass call.
"Anybody want to help pick up these shells, for those of us that reload ammo?"
I stared at him stupidly. Then snuck away to Alan's truck, where Breda was resting, and chatted with her amiably for a few minutes. I mentioned the brass call.
"Is he fucking serious? After all we've fired? Are you kidding me?"
Yeah, that's what I thought too.
KatyBeth decided she wanted to ride back into town with Mizz Christina, so I piled into AD's truck with him and GayCynic, and promptly passed out in the backseat.
Hey, I was TIRED, man!
Then there was the deer incident (See also: here, here, here, and the best of all, here).
Once everybody made it back into town, Christina and I with custody of little miss KatyBeth, we knocked on Breda's door to inform her and Alan (because those two seemed to be attached at the hip sometimes) of what had happened. Then we high-tailed it over to the FarmHouse, laptop in tow because I just had to be the first to blog about the deer incident, just as LawDog and Phlegmmy arrived. Phlegmmy asked if I had uploaded the pictures, and asked ever-so-politely if she could borrow my laptop to put up a picture. I, being the ever-giving soul that I am, allowed her, resulting in this lovely post over here.
We had pot roast, potato casserole, and delicious vegetables for dinner, with more of the diabetic-coma-inducing cheesecake brownies, and Atomic Beer, of course. The Nerds arrived with a freshly-cleaned AD, sporting the best tacticool attachment for any rifle EVAR.
Many jokes were had about "Super Scrappy Nibbles", and then we all settled down to BS some more, stuff our faces with delicious home cooking, and Christina vanished to give more massages, as she did every night.
Time wore on, people called it a night, and FarmGirl dragged out the fire pit to set up outside the garage. Stingray, Labrat, Jim, and I, all huddled around the flame, trying to avoid a faceful of smoke. Talk was quiet, moods were restful, all was well.
The temperature kept dropping, and I was running out of energy, so I asked Jim if he would walk with me back to the motel. We chatted more as we walked and said goodnight outside of our respective motel rooms.
Christina still wasn't home yet, so I crawled into bed and passed out. I had to get some sleep, for early in the morning, FarmGirl and I had to get on the road to the airport so I could go home.
Which is a load of complete bullshit, but I was eager to enjoy some more shooty goodness.
Dinking around on the computer while Christina took a morning shower, I forgot that the time on my computer's clock was different from local time. It said it was almost 9 AM, so I hustled my keister over to the cafe for breakfast, to discover the place nearly empty, with only three people there.
FarmGirl introduced me and I shook hands with MattG and JPG, in awe of the gentle giant and his charming father. More quiet conversation was had as people slowly trickled in, ordering coffee to fuel themselves up for the day. After all, we were planning to exhaust ourselves out at the range.
I stepped outside for a cigarette where Salamander informed me that he would not be able to join us for today's festivities. The Newt was still sick and he had to be getting home to tend to his child. With a farewell hug, we sent him on his way, then began the migration out towards the range.
YAY!
Breda was immediately handed the biggest handgun I had yet seen, and I stared in awe as this little slip of a woman fire round after round, watching what looked like recoil from hell after each shot. And then the other shooty n00b took a turn: Christina! I would show pictures, but some people like to remain anonymous on the internet, and I shall respect their wishes. :) I do have a picture of the gun in question though.
Super Blackhawk, wut?
A picture that would make the Brady Bunch spontaneously combust!
Yummy!
Mizz Phlegmmy deemed it safe to pose for a picture, so I immortalized her in digital form, displaying all of her charm in one smile.
I felt truly blessed to have met her, I really did. I adored her! I mean, I adored everybody, but she was something else, she really was.
It wasn't too much longer before I was drawn to the rifle range again, eyeballing Jim with his AR once more. That's right, I wanted another turn at that pretty pup, and he was kind enough to oblige me while Breda was nice enough to take pictures with my camera.
I f*cking love that gun. Maybe Santa will bring me one for Christmas? I promise, I've been good!!
Breda rocked the SKS like nobody's business, of course....
My shoulder was aching at this point. After spending all day shooting guns I was unaccustomed to, and then sleeping on it, I was in a fair amount of pain. But oh, it hurt so good. The lovely librarian saw me rubbing at the red spot on my skin, and pulled her shirt down to show some lovely bruises.
Of course, it got Jim's attention, and he immediately took pictures, as did I.
And of course, this picture was taken accompanied by words that Jim repeated often enough during the weekend: "Okay, give me angry, I want to see angry!"
Then I realized the very appropriate shirt that Stingray was wearing and had to take a picture of it.
We adjourned for lunch then, most of us bickering over the limited chairs that were available. AD stole my spot, then sweetly offered his own chair to me, with the Longhorns logo emblazoned across the back of it. I badmouthed the foul team, raising nine kinds of hell with AD for even thinking to offer that seat to the daughter of an Aggie, and then KatyBeth chimed in, agreeing with her father. She was too cute to punish for her impudence, though.
Right as everyone was finished stuffing their faces, a couple of the gentlemen reappeared, announcing that for the snipers on the rifle table, there were new targets set up on the opposite side of the range: 55-gallon barrels were placed at 500 yards and 950 yards, and most people took turns at them. I was not brave enough to try, but I did stand back and cheer folks on as they rotated through the snipers. Memorable quote of the moment came from Stingray, directed towards Breda.
"Almost a thousand yards, and you got it on your second fucking pull!"
There's a reason we call her the World's Most Dangerous Librarian.
Afterwards, I don't know what possessed AEPilotJim, but he decided he wanted to play dress-up with Breda.
That's Jim's M14 she's holding (which is almost as long as she is tall), and that sash she's wearing? Yeah, that's his belt and holster. We couldn't cinch it up tight enough to fit around her waist, so she had to wear it like that. We were all giggling about these pictures, of course.
Breda decided she would mosey back over to the pistol range while it was deserted, and I chose to follow, making a quick stop where everybody was set up with the clays and shotguns to ask Mr. Stingray if he would be so kind as to let me shoot his hand cannon. The day before it was quite intimidating, but I knew I'd be kicking myself for eternity if I didn't shoot it at least once. He said he'd be over shortly, because I was not familiar with wheelguns and did not know how to load it.
Whilst waiting for him to come down to let me play with his toy (boy, that sounds dirty, don't it?), I gazed quite longingly at Alan's full-auto. "Can I shoot it?" I asked.
"Here," he said, and handed me a box of ammo and a magazine to load.
And then he fired a magazine, I fired one, and Breda shot it once more.
SQUEEE!!
Oh, that was fun to shoot.
Back over on the rifle side, they called the range cold and tacked up a bag of Tannerite to one of the target backdrops. Christina and I each took position on a rifle and they cut us loose, telling us to hit the black bag on the wooden board.
KABOOM!
I nailed it that time, and when it exploded, my grin was positively feral, I was so thoroughly pleased.
This is what was left of the board the tannerite was stuck on, once we tore down the range.
And yes, that really is Jim's face. I was SHOCKED, I really was. But he's so damned cuddly!
After we called both ranges cold and the FarmFam announced it was time to pack up and go home, before it got too dark to see, Jim made a brass call.
"Anybody want to help pick up these shells, for those of us that reload ammo?"
I stared at him stupidly. Then snuck away to Alan's truck, where Breda was resting, and chatted with her amiably for a few minutes. I mentioned the brass call.
"Is he fucking serious? After all we've fired? Are you kidding me?"
Yeah, that's what I thought too.
KatyBeth decided she wanted to ride back into town with Mizz Christina, so I piled into AD's truck with him and GayCynic, and promptly passed out in the backseat.
Hey, I was TIRED, man!
Then there was the deer incident (See also: here, here, here, and the best of all, here).
Once everybody made it back into town, Christina and I with custody of little miss KatyBeth, we knocked on Breda's door to inform her and Alan (because those two seemed to be attached at the hip sometimes) of what had happened. Then we high-tailed it over to the FarmHouse, laptop in tow because I just had to be the first to blog about the deer incident, just as LawDog and Phlegmmy arrived. Phlegmmy asked if I had uploaded the pictures, and asked ever-so-politely if she could borrow my laptop to put up a picture. I, being the ever-giving soul that I am, allowed her, resulting in this lovely post over here.
We had pot roast, potato casserole, and delicious vegetables for dinner, with more of the diabetic-coma-inducing cheesecake brownies, and Atomic Beer, of course. The Nerds arrived with a freshly-cleaned AD, sporting the best tacticool attachment for any rifle EVAR.
Many jokes were had about "Super Scrappy Nibbles", and then we all settled down to BS some more, stuff our faces with delicious home cooking, and Christina vanished to give more massages, as she did every night.
Time wore on, people called it a night, and FarmGirl dragged out the fire pit to set up outside the garage. Stingray, Labrat, Jim, and I, all huddled around the flame, trying to avoid a faceful of smoke. Talk was quiet, moods were restful, all was well.
The temperature kept dropping, and I was running out of energy, so I asked Jim if he would walk with me back to the motel. We chatted more as we walked and said goodnight outside of our respective motel rooms.
Christina still wasn't home yet, so I crawled into bed and passed out. I had to get some sleep, for early in the morning, FarmGirl and I had to get on the road to the airport so I could go home.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Blogorado, Day Three - Saturday
Saturday morning dawned as comfortable as the previous days, though I did not wake up at the ass-crack of dawn this time. Christina was going about her morning ablutions, and I was sprawled across my bed, wasting time in the GBC like I always do. Salamander announced that he had made it into town last night (or some time in the wee hours of the morning, same thing) and that he was at Such-and-Such Motel... right behind mine!
So, of course, I wandered over and stood around, waiting for him to come outside, because I did not know who I was looking for. I had never met these people before, and though I recognized a few from pictures I'd seen on the internet (or met in real life that one time), this was a whole new ball game for me. The managers of the motel yelled across the parking lot if I needed help, seeing me standing there lookin' all lost and retarded, and I yelled back that no, I was just waiting for a friend to come out because I did not know which room he was in. And then, out stepped Sal!
We greeted and hugged, and stepped into his room while he squee'd all over the GBC about meeting another blogger, before logging off to accompany me to breakfast. We moseyed (is that even a real word?) over to the little cafe where everyone had agreed that we would breakfast every morning, and upon arrival, I announced, "Look what I found!" Introductions were made all around, coffee was ordered by everyone except AD and his daughter, and then the FarmParents showed up with their grandson, FarmGirl's nephew, in tow, who would be there to play with KatyBeth. It's so nice to have someone your own age to play with, right?
After breakfast, we all caravaned out to the FarmFam House once more, drank some more coffee, and stood around shuffling our feet for only a little bit. The message was clear, written on everyone's faces: we were anxious to go get some much-loved recoil therapy. Finally, the message went out: Load up! Let's go!
And out to the range we went.
AD had informed me on the ride back in the day before that he had brought several guns specifically for teaching me and Christina how to shoot, so I knew who to stick close to. That, and I knew him the best, considering how I fangirl'd over him for so long and met him a few months back. He's my buddy, it's true.
For a while after we got to the range, everyone was doing last-minute set-up: loading magazines, organizing ammo and guns on tables, and people were wandering from truck to truck to see what was offered before it all got laid out. Christina and I, seeing as we didn't have any guns to shoot of our own, stood around looking useless before volunteering ourselves for mag-loading duty. AD set a box in front of us and several magazines and set us to task, and pretty soon, all was ready.
Some people decided they wanted to shoot at the rifle range first, so I stood around to watch and take some pictures for a moment before boogeying over to the pistol range to let some rounds fly.
That AR-15? Yeah, I fell in love with that pretty baby. I gotta get me one of them!
After a few minutes of watching them shoot the rifles, I followed the crowd over to the pistol range, where AD began to give lessons to Christina and I on the various guns he had brought for exactly that reason. We shot several .22s, and then he broke out his Glock 17 and handed it off to us. We took turns putting rounds through it, and my hand stung slightly afterwards, not being used to the recoil of something more than .22.
I saw Sal standing back at the table, and I peeked over his shoulder to see what he had.
"I only brought my new 1911 and enough ammo for this."
That, my darling readers, is a handful of happy. What a pretty sight!
People would step up to the lines, take aim, and fire, going for either paper targets, fall-down poppers, or metal plates on a shelf. After everything was down, someone would call the range cold, and while they were picking up plates and poppers, everyone else would shuffle back to the table to reload or pick up a different firearm to shoot.
At some point, I migrated back over to the rifle range and parking area, breezing right past a table set up with leftovers for lunch, to see a few folks sitting around chowing down. "Where's the food at?" "That table you just walked by."
D'oh!
Fixed myself a plate and sat down, chewing the fat with FarmMom while chewing her delicious food, when I happened to look up and see a cloud of dust up on the road.
"Somebody's coming."
"That's probably Phlegmmy and LawDog."
Omigawd! Christina was about to flip her shit, for sure. Her and Phlegmmy are great friends, and they were excited about finally getting to meet face-to-face.
They arrived, and Christina did the honor of introducing me to Phlegmmy while LawDog bounced around from person to person. Another one of the first bloggers I read, was he, and I was a might nervous about meeting him, and said as much to Phlegmmy, who promptly called him over for introductions.
Such lovely people!
While we all ate, and the newcomers set up their offerings to the Gun Gods, Salamander raised his pants legs for an interesting shot of his knee beards.
(Picture courtesy of Stingray)
Uhm. Interesting growth there, Sal.
After stuffing our faces, we were eager, of course, to return to the shooting. Back on the pistol range, Alan broke out this pretty toy:
I wouldn't get to shoot it until Sunday, but it was nice to gawk at. Fully automatic, wut.
My head is just... spinning with all the different guns that were shot, I can't even begin to keep them all straight, I really can't.
Over at the rifle range once more, I watched AEPilotJim shoot his AR-15 once more, and when he emptied the magazine it was holding, he turned to see a forlorn expression on my face.
"You want to shoot it?"
"I thought you'd never ask!"
He showed me how to load the magazine and snap it into place, where the safety was, and how the sight worked, then turned me loose to have some fun.
Oh. My. God.
I'm in love.
Want. Want very bad. WAAAAAAAAANT.
Breda took a seat at the rifle table in front of one of the M24 snipers, and went to town at the 240 yard half-size target (effectively a 500 yard shot, I'm informed). Couldn't resist snapping a pic of that, of course.
While everyone was gathered around watching Breda on the sniper, I saw Sal sneak off by himself to the pistol range, and being the nosey little brat I am, followed to see what the deal was.
He was getting some one-on-one time with his Les Baer 1911, which he offered to let me try. Seeing as I had not yet had the opportunity to shoot something in .45 ACP, I gratefully accepted, and got 5 out of 7 on the popppers. First magazine through the first .45 I ever shot, not bad.
I now know which side of the Glock vs. 1911 argument I fall on, that's for sure.
At one point, I glanced over to discover that KatyBeth had grown bored with playing NCIS with someone her own age, and decided she wanted a turn, too!
People were migrating to and from the two ranges quite often, myself included, as once again I was back over at the pistol range. The sun was beginning to set, and everything had a lovely warm glow.
LabRat was standing off next to the pistol table, and I stepped up next to her, looking at all the guns spread out before me. "I want to shoot something, but I don't know what," I said to her.
"How about one of the wedding rings?" she asked, lifting the lid on a case that held the two beauties.
Don't gotta ask me twice.
I picked up the darker of the two and was informed it was Stingray's. I went to set it back down and go for hers, not wanting to offend the man I did not know very well by shooting his gun without permission, but she shook her head and handed me a magazine to load. "It's cool, just go for it."
I handed over my camera and stepped up, aimed, and fired! So nice!
Aim, squeeze... click. "What the?"
Rack the slide back, ejected the shell it didn't want to let go of, try again.
Click. Looked over at LabRat nervously, who approached to help me sort out this problem. "Papa Baer's been kind of bratty here lately," she said, handing me the gun back.
Okay, let's try one more time.
Aim, squeeze.... click. Wail. "LabRat! He hates me!"
She growled and manhandled Stingray's gun, uttering death threats before handing it back to me with a dark smile. After that, the gun behaved. Always fear Mama, for she has the power to END YOU.
The sun was dipping lower on the horizon and a chill was starting to set in, so we loaded up for the trek back into town. I rode back in with Salamander, bullshitting about this, that, and everything in between during the ride.
At one point, still on dirt and gravel road, we saw everyone had stopped. Alan and Breda had pulled off to the side, set the truck in park, and were sitting there contently watching the most beautiful sunset I have ever seen. "We'll be back into town shortly," they told us, and on the rest of us went.
Being covered in dust and dirt, most of us stopped by our respective motel rooms to tidy up first. Christina, though she is a darling, always seems to take forever, so by the time we got over to the house for dinner, everyone else had arrived.
AD held out a platter to me. "Try a scrappy nibble."
And I made the mistake of trusting him. Little bite-sized deep fried chicken-nugget looking things. Can't be that bad. Popped one into my mouth and chewed. Chewy. Still, not too horribly bad. And then I saw the look on Breda's face, and Alan next to her trying so hard not to laugh. Realization dawned.
"What is this stuff?" I asked.
"Just finish eating it," Breda said quietly.
My eyes got big. "What is it?" I repeated urgently, slowing my chewing.
Breda shook her head, Alan looked like he was about to explode if he didn't let out his laughter, and AD said from (a safe distance) across the garage, "How you like those testicles, Snarky?"
I raged. I cursed. I gagged. God damn it!
Of course, Mamaw grabbed my arm a few minutes later after I had finally choked the Rocky Mountain Oysters down. "You want some more?"
Oh god no!
"Before you knew what they were, they tasted good, right?"
I feared I had offended her cooking. Of course ma'am, they were very good!
"Then eat some more. Regardless of what they are, they still taste good."
She had a point. So I ate some more. I will admit, they tasted good, but just the fact that I knew I was chewing on what used to be some calf's family jewels was a very off-putting thought.
More delicious food was consumed, this evening's meal being chicken fried steak, and we all made fun of Breda for never trying it. What do you expect of a Yankee?
I had not burned that much energy in a long time, and I was exhausted. I was not the only one: little KatyBeth was getting cranky from being tired as well, so after much ribbing about being a lightweight, for I had only drunk half a beer, and my indignant protests of bodily exhaustion and not drunken exhaustion, I caught a ride back to the motel, only to fall asleep with my laptop in my lap.
So. Damn. Tired.
But it was a good kind of tired.
I needed my rest. There was more shooting to come the next day, and more company. MattG and JPG were due to arrive the next day!
So, of course, I wandered over and stood around, waiting for him to come outside, because I did not know who I was looking for. I had never met these people before, and though I recognized a few from pictures I'd seen on the internet (or met in real life that one time), this was a whole new ball game for me. The managers of the motel yelled across the parking lot if I needed help, seeing me standing there lookin' all lost and retarded, and I yelled back that no, I was just waiting for a friend to come out because I did not know which room he was in. And then, out stepped Sal!
We greeted and hugged, and stepped into his room while he squee'd all over the GBC about meeting another blogger, before logging off to accompany me to breakfast. We moseyed (is that even a real word?) over to the little cafe where everyone had agreed that we would breakfast every morning, and upon arrival, I announced, "Look what I found!" Introductions were made all around, coffee was ordered by everyone except AD and his daughter, and then the FarmParents showed up with their grandson, FarmGirl's nephew, in tow, who would be there to play with KatyBeth. It's so nice to have someone your own age to play with, right?
After breakfast, we all caravaned out to the FarmFam House once more, drank some more coffee, and stood around shuffling our feet for only a little bit. The message was clear, written on everyone's faces: we were anxious to go get some much-loved recoil therapy. Finally, the message went out: Load up! Let's go!
And out to the range we went.
AD had informed me on the ride back in the day before that he had brought several guns specifically for teaching me and Christina how to shoot, so I knew who to stick close to. That, and I knew him the best, considering how I fangirl'd over him for so long and met him a few months back. He's my buddy, it's true.
For a while after we got to the range, everyone was doing last-minute set-up: loading magazines, organizing ammo and guns on tables, and people were wandering from truck to truck to see what was offered before it all got laid out. Christina and I, seeing as we didn't have any guns to shoot of our own, stood around looking useless before volunteering ourselves for mag-loading duty. AD set a box in front of us and several magazines and set us to task, and pretty soon, all was ready.
Some people decided they wanted to shoot at the rifle range first, so I stood around to watch and take some pictures for a moment before boogeying over to the pistol range to let some rounds fly.
That AR-15? Yeah, I fell in love with that pretty baby. I gotta get me one of them!
After a few minutes of watching them shoot the rifles, I followed the crowd over to the pistol range, where AD began to give lessons to Christina and I on the various guns he had brought for exactly that reason. We shot several .22s, and then he broke out his Glock 17 and handed it off to us. We took turns putting rounds through it, and my hand stung slightly afterwards, not being used to the recoil of something more than .22.
I saw Sal standing back at the table, and I peeked over his shoulder to see what he had.
"I only brought my new 1911 and enough ammo for this."
That, my darling readers, is a handful of happy. What a pretty sight!
People would step up to the lines, take aim, and fire, going for either paper targets, fall-down poppers, or metal plates on a shelf. After everything was down, someone would call the range cold, and while they were picking up plates and poppers, everyone else would shuffle back to the table to reload or pick up a different firearm to shoot.
At some point, I migrated back over to the rifle range and parking area, breezing right past a table set up with leftovers for lunch, to see a few folks sitting around chowing down. "Where's the food at?" "That table you just walked by."
D'oh!
Fixed myself a plate and sat down, chewing the fat with FarmMom while chewing her delicious food, when I happened to look up and see a cloud of dust up on the road.
"Somebody's coming."
"That's probably Phlegmmy and LawDog."
Omigawd! Christina was about to flip her shit, for sure. Her and Phlegmmy are great friends, and they were excited about finally getting to meet face-to-face.
They arrived, and Christina did the honor of introducing me to Phlegmmy while LawDog bounced around from person to person. Another one of the first bloggers I read, was he, and I was a might nervous about meeting him, and said as much to Phlegmmy, who promptly called him over for introductions.
Such lovely people!
While we all ate, and the newcomers set up their offerings to the Gun Gods, Salamander raised his pants legs for an interesting shot of his knee beards.
(Picture courtesy of Stingray)
Uhm. Interesting growth there, Sal.
After stuffing our faces, we were eager, of course, to return to the shooting. Back on the pistol range, Alan broke out this pretty toy:
I wouldn't get to shoot it until Sunday, but it was nice to gawk at. Fully automatic, wut.
My head is just... spinning with all the different guns that were shot, I can't even begin to keep them all straight, I really can't.
Over at the rifle range once more, I watched AEPilotJim shoot his AR-15 once more, and when he emptied the magazine it was holding, he turned to see a forlorn expression on my face.
"You want to shoot it?"
"I thought you'd never ask!"
He showed me how to load the magazine and snap it into place, where the safety was, and how the sight worked, then turned me loose to have some fun.
Oh. My. God.
I'm in love.
Want. Want very bad. WAAAAAAAAANT.
Breda took a seat at the rifle table in front of one of the M24 snipers, and went to town at the 240 yard half-size target (effectively a 500 yard shot, I'm informed). Couldn't resist snapping a pic of that, of course.
While everyone was gathered around watching Breda on the sniper, I saw Sal sneak off by himself to the pistol range, and being the nosey little brat I am, followed to see what the deal was.
He was getting some one-on-one time with his Les Baer 1911, which he offered to let me try. Seeing as I had not yet had the opportunity to shoot something in .45 ACP, I gratefully accepted, and got 5 out of 7 on the popppers. First magazine through the first .45 I ever shot, not bad.
I now know which side of the Glock vs. 1911 argument I fall on, that's for sure.
At one point, I glanced over to discover that KatyBeth had grown bored with playing NCIS with someone her own age, and decided she wanted a turn, too!
People were migrating to and from the two ranges quite often, myself included, as once again I was back over at the pistol range. The sun was beginning to set, and everything had a lovely warm glow.
LabRat was standing off next to the pistol table, and I stepped up next to her, looking at all the guns spread out before me. "I want to shoot something, but I don't know what," I said to her.
"How about one of the wedding rings?" she asked, lifting the lid on a case that held the two beauties.
Don't gotta ask me twice.
I picked up the darker of the two and was informed it was Stingray's. I went to set it back down and go for hers, not wanting to offend the man I did not know very well by shooting his gun without permission, but she shook her head and handed me a magazine to load. "It's cool, just go for it."
I handed over my camera and stepped up, aimed, and fired! So nice!
Aim, squeeze... click. "What the?"
Rack the slide back, ejected the shell it didn't want to let go of, try again.
Click. Looked over at LabRat nervously, who approached to help me sort out this problem. "Papa Baer's been kind of bratty here lately," she said, handing me the gun back.
Okay, let's try one more time.
Aim, squeeze.... click. Wail. "LabRat! He hates me!"
She growled and manhandled Stingray's gun, uttering death threats before handing it back to me with a dark smile. After that, the gun behaved. Always fear Mama, for she has the power to END YOU.
The sun was dipping lower on the horizon and a chill was starting to set in, so we loaded up for the trek back into town. I rode back in with Salamander, bullshitting about this, that, and everything in between during the ride.
At one point, still on dirt and gravel road, we saw everyone had stopped. Alan and Breda had pulled off to the side, set the truck in park, and were sitting there contently watching the most beautiful sunset I have ever seen. "We'll be back into town shortly," they told us, and on the rest of us went.
Being covered in dust and dirt, most of us stopped by our respective motel rooms to tidy up first. Christina, though she is a darling, always seems to take forever, so by the time we got over to the house for dinner, everyone else had arrived.
AD held out a platter to me. "Try a scrappy nibble."
And I made the mistake of trusting him. Little bite-sized deep fried chicken-nugget looking things. Can't be that bad. Popped one into my mouth and chewed. Chewy. Still, not too horribly bad. And then I saw the look on Breda's face, and Alan next to her trying so hard not to laugh. Realization dawned.
"What is this stuff?" I asked.
"Just finish eating it," Breda said quietly.
My eyes got big. "What is it?" I repeated urgently, slowing my chewing.
Breda shook her head, Alan looked like he was about to explode if he didn't let out his laughter, and AD said from (a safe distance) across the garage, "How you like those testicles, Snarky?"
I raged. I cursed. I gagged. God damn it!
Of course, Mamaw grabbed my arm a few minutes later after I had finally choked the Rocky Mountain Oysters down. "You want some more?"
Oh god no!
"Before you knew what they were, they tasted good, right?"
I feared I had offended her cooking. Of course ma'am, they were very good!
"Then eat some more. Regardless of what they are, they still taste good."
She had a point. So I ate some more. I will admit, they tasted good, but just the fact that I knew I was chewing on what used to be some calf's family jewels was a very off-putting thought.
More delicious food was consumed, this evening's meal being chicken fried steak, and we all made fun of Breda for never trying it. What do you expect of a Yankee?
I had not burned that much energy in a long time, and I was exhausted. I was not the only one: little KatyBeth was getting cranky from being tired as well, so after much ribbing about being a lightweight, for I had only drunk half a beer, and my indignant protests of bodily exhaustion and not drunken exhaustion, I caught a ride back to the motel, only to fall asleep with my laptop in my lap.
So. Damn. Tired.
But it was a good kind of tired.
I needed my rest. There was more shooting to come the next day, and more company. MattG and JPG were due to arrive the next day!
Monday, November 23, 2009
Reasons I'm Awesome, Pt. 632
Scene: Sidewalk, after dark. Streetlights are on, stars are out, faint sounds of traffic in the background. A young man of the dumbshit emo variety, and a perky female of the yuppie variety are standing on a section of sidewalk in front of a house, talking. Our hero, Snarky, enters from the end of the street, humming a song to herself and smoking a cigarette as she approaches the young couple.
Snarky: Hum de dum dum. *puffs*
EmoFuck: *glares at approaching person, sees cigarette* You know smoking will kill you, right?
Yuppie: *rolls her eyes and puffs on her own cigarette*
Snarky: *exhales big plume of smoke* Yep. That's why I do it. *flicks ash*
Yuppie: Me too! *giggle*
EmoFuck: *sneers as Snarky gets closer* That stuff is so bad for your health.
Snarky: *takes another puff and flicks the cigarette away, walking up to EmoFuck. Exhales smoke in his face and smiles darkly* And me without it is bad for your health, pal. If you have a problem with it, take a number and go fuck yourself.
EmoFuck: *coughs, hacks, sputters, calls Snarky a stupid cunt, and wanders in the opposite direction of Snarky*
Yuppie: *giggles the whole time*
I didn't say I was in the best of moods.
Snarky: Hum de dum dum. *puffs*
EmoFuck: *glares at approaching person, sees cigarette* You know smoking will kill you, right?
Yuppie: *rolls her eyes and puffs on her own cigarette*
Snarky: *exhales big plume of smoke* Yep. That's why I do it. *flicks ash*
Yuppie: Me too! *giggle*
EmoFuck: *sneers as Snarky gets closer* That stuff is so bad for your health.
Snarky: *takes another puff and flicks the cigarette away, walking up to EmoFuck. Exhales smoke in his face and smiles darkly* And me without it is bad for your health, pal. If you have a problem with it, take a number and go fuck yourself.
EmoFuck: *coughs, hacks, sputters, calls Snarky a stupid cunt, and wanders in the opposite direction of Snarky*
Yuppie: *giggles the whole time*
I didn't say I was in the best of moods.
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