Say Hello to My Little Friend

Stop. Or I’ll shoot (in your general direction).

It’s possible that I may not hit you. The bullet might nick your ear or rustle the hair on the side of your head and that’s OK…I just really want to scare the living shit out of you (well not you, actually).

My real live stuffed animal Ted and were living happily together in our old mini manse.  So when someone started messing around with my surroundings I wasn’t so much scared as I was territorial. And extremely pissed off.

Little mysterious happenstances occurred…it wasn’t that someone was harassing me outright but just enough to make me take notice (inside window locks broken, as if someone was trying to jimmy them open), enough to let me know they were around (a pile of cigarette butts by my car door in the morning that weren’t there the night before – and I’m not a smoker) enough to piss me off (smashed Halloween pumpkins on my sidewalk – and I lived around the rear of the building, so I knew someone was intentionally F’ing with me), enough to get some sort of security…enough to get my ass a gun.

Pink Patrol

OK, so maybe my .38 special revolver is a teeny tiny bit smaller than the ‘friend’ Al Pacino used in “Scarface.”

Upon acquiring a loaded firearm, I was feeling much more secure. So while I felt at ease, I had never shot a gun. Not even a bb gun (I couldn’t even make cool gun sounds – a capability all boys seem to be born with – when I was a kid).  And I thought maybe it would be a good idea to know how to handle the gun so as not to accidentally point and shoot at shadows, possibly hitting myself in my foot (which would be tragic, as I love my heels).

Sharing my need to obtain skills, my buddy found a ‘ladies shoot free’ day at a gun range near work.  So over lunch (only in the South would you be able to shoot guns over your lunch hour…how red neck of me…but let’s not forget I’m already fabulously trashy (see anything in my Grizzie category) therefore, I don’t give a rat’s ass what you think) we headed to the fancy gun range.

We arrived to a grimy, dingy, seedy (get the picture?) building, complete with bars on the windows.  After signing in, we received our ear (which look just like fancy headphones but sucked because they were communal. Yuck) and eye (snazzy yellow-tinted glasses) protection and headed downstairs.

CBXB Badass

Prior to actually shooting a gun, I was feeling very bad ass. Like a big, dorky, bad ass with kick ass accessories.

Image 16

Did you get that last shot? Do I look cool? Seriously, tell me.

The first few times I pulled the trigger I was startled not only due to the loudness of a shot but also due to the ricocheting casings that flew off the ceiling, coming back to bite me on the head (insert screams – as at first I thought they were bullets – how blonde of me).

Image 21

Focused on trying to hit the target…anywhere.

My trigger finger is apparently the weakest link on my body (why the hell does this look so easy on TV shows?) because I was having to use two digits after about five shots (insert my excuses as to why my bullets were hitting the floor and ceiling instead of the target).

Did I really hit it? Or is that just a black spec?

Image 23

Hells yes I hit it! And then almost shot my gunpanion in all of my excitement.

While taking a break from my cockiness of less than mediocre shooting ability, (and resting my throbbing hand and aching finger) I was able to pose for one more threatening picture –

What badass can't stop giggling?

Stop! Or I’ll shoot…if I don’t giggle you to death first (way too much red neck fun at the gun range…maybe I do have a little Southern blood in my veins).

And now for the grand tamale (I know, I know, how can I possibly top a lunch break at the gun range?)… I decided to display my moderate (but in my mind kick ass) abilities and scare the bejesus out of anyone lurking around my mini manse.

A poor gal’s security system. Scared, aren’t you?

Who wouldn’t be terrified upon seeing a target with actual bullet holes hanging on a front door (no one has to know I took aim 12,346 times to achieve the 22 bullet holes actually making contact with the paper). But upon hanging my security guard on the door, no mysterious incidents occurred again…maybe they’re scared of a red neckish, unabashedly trashy girl with a gun.

And when I hit the gun range again, I will be wearing my ultra fabulous, non-communal pink ear and eye protectors courtesy of my First Mate’s hubs. He thought I needed the fancy giddup to match the pink grips he gave me for Christmas. I wish he knew me better…

Gunslingers

Wouldn’t you be scared shitless of a girl giggling uncontrollably with pink eye and ear protectors, along with a pink gripped .38 special?

Go ahead, make my day.

CBXB

CBXB!

Weekend Weeks – Redneck Style

The South gets a bad rap for people doing stupid things and I wanted to jump on the bandwagon this past weekend. Doesn’t it make sense to have a couple of cocktails and then get guns out of the closet?

Red neck? Fabulously trashy? Ultra stupid to give me a machine gun?

Redneck? Fabulously trashy? Ultra stupid to give me a machine gun?

First Mate and Mr. Mate recently got home from vacation, setting up shop in their front yard. Naturally, I needed to go and see what the hell they’d been up to so we convened at their palace Friday evening.

You can see why we're friends, right?

You can see why we’re friends, right?

After a few rounds of Skinny Pirates, Mr. Mate decided it’d be a good time to show me a gun he recently handcrafted. Smart, yes?

Palm trees, cactus and a horse...what more could one ask for?

Palm trees, cactus and a horse…what more could I need? A homemade machine gun, of course.

Billy Bad Ass.

You can stop holding your breath.  This piece wasn’t loaded.

This is heavy.

Reacting to the heaviness of this metal –  I could never be Rambo.

Photo bombing Mr. Mate as he was trying to have a pic snapped of him. I'm such a bitch.

Photo bombing Mr. Mate as he was trying to have a pic snapped of himself and his weapons. I’m such a bitch.

Since I consider myself a professional photo bomber, I always love to see the work of other PBs in action. Look what my friend’s dog did to her sweet baby…

Cute baby bombed by Spanky the dog.

Spanky the dog should probably be my side kick.

You know how my kit cat Teddy has been such a shit about the entire moving process we’ve been going through the last month and refused to snuggle with me for weeks on end? Look what I woke up to on Saturday morning.  A wet nose, a tiny smile and major purring. We’re back together again!

He's baaaaack1

All is forgiven. FINALLY.

After my morning love fest, I took my rear outside and revamped a tired, light green wicker chair I inherited from my folks. One coat of metallic silver and poof! New life for the old chair (hope my parents never want it back).

Never met a spray paint I didn't like

Never met a can of spray paint I didn’t love.

My ever-constant hero, Dad came in to remedy a slight problem in my laundry closet. A washer and dryer that won’t let the doors slide shut. Oops.

Dad to the rescue!

Dad to the rescue!

Who needs doors when you can hang a shower curtain? Holla!

Laundry hero!

Laundry hero!

While I was busy making my dad sweat away,  my little cuties from Iowa were having a pool party. Looks like my niece B is taking after her Auntie CBXB. She can ‘turn it on’ whenever she sees a camera. My nephew B on the other hand, can’t quite figure the damn contraption out.

Camera!

Camera!

What the what?

What the what?

First Mate pimped out Mr. Mate on Saturday evening for all kinds of hanging shit up fun at my new mini-manse.

Husband honey do for some other chick is any man's dream come true on a Saturday night.

Husband honey do for some other chick is any man’s dream come true on a Saturday night, right?

Our (his) efforts were a huge success, as we got my ‘piece de resistance’ mirror up, centered perfectly (I had nothing to do with that) on the wall. Celebrate!

We wanted to capture the spirit of Johnny Cash. Did we do it?

We wanted to capture the spirit of Johnny Cash. Did we do it?

All of the bossing around on Saturday evening really wore me out, so on Sunday I busted a move up to the pool and there was no one else there!

Peaceful pool.

Private pool.  That’s how I roll.

Upon my return to the mini manse, I was greeted with water dripping out of my bathroom light fixture. You can imagine how thrilled I was – especially since this is the second leak I’ve had in less than a month.

Leaks are fun. Especially when you've had two in 30 days. Neat.

Leaks are fun.

Before using the saucepan above for a tiny swimming pool, I made my second supper in the new place. Skinny spaghetti, which inadvertantly ended up looking like Mickey Mouse.

Which strangely ended up looking like Mickey Mouse.

Sorry Minnie.

Ted remains completely famfoozled over the noises coming from above him (you know, neighbors walking around), so he parked it on the bar for the remainder of the weekend to de-stress.

Taking after his mother.

Taking after his mother.

Cheers to a fabulous week!

CBXB

CBXB!