Ahhhhh AR-15 :)

Good morning all! I hope you had as lovely a weekend as I did! We met at Ruth’s Chris for happy hour on Friday ($7 filet sandwich, YUM!!!!), I got my vacuuming and mopping done, Mike and I tried out a Jamaican restaurant down in Orlando (not QUITE as good as my Uncle Peter’s restaurant, of course, but the chicken roti and jerk chicken were quite delicious) —

— I played in the garden (and did NOT pick my biggest jalapeño, thanks to all your wonderful advice and pictures!), floated in the pool for an hour (first time this year!), and . . . range therapy!!!

I’m really not much of a rifle person. Pistols are more enjoyable for me; the long setup, structured breathing and use of scopes for precision rifle shooting just don’t interest me as much. That said, AR-15’s are FUN!! They kick enough for you to know they’re there without leaving you a shoulder bite.

It was the first time we’d taken this particular beast out and it was a helluva lot of fun. After we ran through all our .223 ammo we took turns plinking with Sigmund (Sig 229) wearing his .22 conversion kit. I’ve found that even just IMAGINING the pregnant pause and the BEEP of an IDPA match makes my aim suffer. I’ll need to practice more with some type of timer app.

I hope you all had a wonderful weekend and are setting up for a marvelous week!

The real value of an alarm system on your house

A few days ago I grabbed my cup of coffee, hooked my cooler handle over the crook of my arm, slung my elephant-sized purse onto my shoulder and opened the door to the garage.

BWAHBWAHBWAHBWAHBWAHBWAHBWAHBWAHBWAH

“Dammit!!!”

I hurried back inside and punched frantically at the alarm code box to shut up the godawful noise. Panting, I glared at it. (Rajah didn’t stir from underneath his blanket, if you’re wondering.)

“Dammit.”

I put down my things and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

About three minutes later the phone rang.

“Sunshine State Alarm System, do I need to send the police?”

“No,” I babbled, “my name is Lissa, the code is ****, false alarm, false alarm, thank you.”

She wished me a nice day, I hung up, and I dashed off to work.

Let’s add this up. Three minutes for the alarm people to call and check. At *least* another five minutes for the police; I’m sure they are a very good and dedicated force, but I live in the WAY back of our neighborhood. Unless they can get here as the crow flies, sheer geography says five minutes or more. That means eight minutes from when your door is kicked in to when your rescuers arrive.

So really, what’s the point of an alarm?

Actually, that’s quite easy. The point of the alarm is to give off an earsplitting shriek when someone opens my door or my windows.

I’m a pretty sound sleeper. I don’t know if I’d hear it were someone to pick my lock at 2:37 A.M. If they smashed something, I’d probably wake up; but then again I have yet to experience the true sleep deprivation that will come with kids, so give me a year and ask me again 🙂

In a nutshell – I really like my house alarm because it will wake me up if someone opens a way into my house. It’s not a signal for the cops to come rescue me — although that would be very nice, time constraints mean that serious stuff would have gone down long before they arrived. It’s a danger signal more than a rescue beacon.

Make sense?

GUN GIRLS

By way of Borepatch, found this at Yankee Born, Rebel Heart:

HELL FREAKING YEAH.

P.S. AKs and Cupcakes? This may be a kindred spirit…

“Alas, Babylon” revisited: You call THAT an arsenal??

Remember this review of “Alas, Babylon”? I re-read it yesterday and came across the following passage on page 129:

He stared at the gunrack on the opposite wall. Until very recent years guns had been an important part of living on the Timucuan. Randy guessed they might become important again. He had quite an arsenal. There was the long, old-fashioned 30-40 Krag fitted with sporting sights; the carbine he had carried in Korea, dismantled and smuggled home; two .22 rifles, one equipped with a scope; a twelve-gauge automatic, and a light, beautifully balanced twenty-gauge double-barreled shotgun. In the drawer of his bedside table was a .45 automatic and a .22 target pistol hung in a holster in his closet.

That’s all. THAT’S what was thought of as “quite an arsenal.”

Good lord. What does that make y’all’s collections? Batteries? Armories?

A disappointing IDPA classifier

It was not a skillful outing for Lissa.

I went out to the IDPA classifier and came out as a Novice. It wasn’t close, either; it wasn’t borderline Marksman.

It was frustrating as all get-out. I’d been to the range the day before and, while it wasn’t perfect, I was certainly hitting what I aimed at.

So why did I suddenly start jerking the trigger like it would earn me points? Why was it so hard to find a sight picture? Something about the competition nature of the thing sent my heart trip-hammering and blew my Good Gun Habits all to hell. I even had trouble sighting down the barrel; somehow I’d point too high or too low and it would take me a good second or two to get the front sight framed between the back sights. Why?

I didn’t do too badly at seven yards, but I did poorly at ten yards and just plain crappy at twenty yards. The shorter barrel and front-heavy muzzle of Siguette doesn’t help matters, but it was my poor demonstration of skills that sealed the Novice deal.

Oh well. The next classifier is in April. Lots of time to dry-fire between then and now!

I know how to shoot, thank you. Now kindly %*#€ off.

I really need to work on bringing out my inner bitch.

I tried out a new range over the weekend. It seemed nice enough — clean, well ventilated, with targets included and nice thick barriers between lanes — but it also came with That Guy.

Who happened to be one of the range officers.

I made the mistake of being friendly to Captain Knowitall. When he came by to check and see if everything was okay, I made the offhand remark that everything was fine, only my bill drill wasn’t as good as I’d like (shrug). Next thing I know the good Captain is in my shooting late, handling my guns, trying to correct my grip (“push-pull!”), and yammering the whole time about what an EXPERT he is at teaching, how he’s trained police and SWAT and Army — everyone but the Marines, because they know everything, right?

I should have told him politely but firmly that I didn’t want instruction at that time. Or less politely to mind his own business.

But he was so excited to “help” me and so enthusiastic about teaching that I just couldn’t figure out how to do it without being rude.

Sigh. I’ll be better prepared next time, you can be sure. I did mention it to the front desk and they apologized and said they had some problems with him. Oh, and I heard him doing it with other people after he mercifully left me alone, so it wasn’t just me he singled out for benevolent tutelage.

In all fields, it’s usually wise to ask people if want help and/or advice before liberally dispensing it. Doesn’t that go double when the recipient has a loaded gun in her hand?

Or is this the downside of an armed society being a polite society — difficulty telling Captain Knowitall’s to go pound sand?

Lissa gets her Annie Oakley on!!!!

The top two things I learned from the Practical Fundamental class:

1) You do not PULL the trigger, you PREP the trigger. Which means you prepare the shot by applying a tiny bit of pressure to the trigger … then you prep a little harder … and you prep a little harder … until – BANG!

2) The gun should be held more like an eggshell than a grenade with the pin out. The instructor showed us that he could fire accurately holding the gun with only his thumb and middle finger. You should hold it firmly enough that it doesn’t jump around for repeat shots but you should NOT be white-knuckled.

When done properly, then on your first shot …

… you can hit an edge-on playing card at five yards.

Worth the price of admission right there 🙂 🙂 🙂

P.S. Yes, despite the hole next to it, I did it on my first shot. That hole was there from a drill earlier. Look real close. See?

HE SHOT THE @&$@ING FLY

At seven yards. A fly landed on my target and he SHOT IT OFF. I will never be impressed by the Karate King chopstick thing again!!

Prepping the trigger

The morning has consisted of the basics – stance, sight picture, grip etc. A few shots just to mark where we’re starting. The wall drill and prepping the trigger. Dry fire is your friend!

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