Goin’ On

Dear Random Dude at the gas station,

You said, “I just gotta tell ya’, before I saw the ring. I was gonna flirt. But you outta know, you got it goin’ on. Your husband is a lucky guy.”

Thanks for that. Remarkably flattering today when I was rushing home to be closer to my own bathroom rather than defile the one in the office.

Nice as the compliment was, you might think about how your actions look.  I mean, staring at a much smaller woman as she walks inside to pay.  Still being there when she comes out even though it is clear you are finished with your transaction.  If she’s observant, you’ve put her on alert.  There’s a reason I had secured my purse with my non-dominant hand.  Funny, that’s probably why you noticed my wedding ring.  Wasn’t really expecting a confrontation, but I have to say you tripped an orange there.

For all I know, you spotted the tension.  Maybe that’s why you felt compelled to explain yourself.

Honestly, I appreciate the explanation, but I still watched as you pulled out of the parking lot and got far enough away that you couldn’t see which direction I went.  I certainly appreciated the compliment. And that was delivered like a real gentleman.  Good call keeping the open door of your car between you and me there at the pumps.  I knew it was impossible for you to lunge in my direction.  Kudos to you for just delivering your line, getting in your car, and driving away.

I wish you the best of luck.  And thanks for making me smile even though I wasn’t feeling so hot.


Hey Honey! Foot Doctors Say I Should Own More Shoes

It’s true.  I swear. See, here’s a link. It’s a bonafide thing I read on the internet.

Also, I’m immune to this

Scientists at the University of East Anglia recently warned that high heels could be to blame for flat feet, a painful condition affecting around 15 per cent of people.

I was born with flat feet and thus, they cannot get flatter. And it isn’t painful either. It’s my superhero power.  I am Stiletto Girl.

And since I am uniquely qualified to test and evaluate high heeled shoes, I believe Prada should send me these.

pic via AutoGuide.com

I like cars.  I can drive a standard in 4inch stilettos. I wear Italian size 38. I took a home defense shotgun class in 3 inch heels.

So, Prada marketing person, email jennifer AT injennifershead DOT com so we can work out the details.

We’re Winning

When one article can go from this

I am afraid of guns; they scare me to death. Even in movies or on TV, the sight and sound of the gun being fired makes me tense up. Even though I have handled a gun with trepidation on a shooting range, (my dad is a graduate of Annapolis and he shooter enthusiast), I don’t think I would want a gun in my house. Regardless of the statement put out by gun owners that “Guns don’t kill people, people do”, I still feel that if criminals were unable to get their hands on guns no one would get killed.

to this

I may not like it but society has very likely made women and guns a necessity. Even I see the reasoning behind knowing how to protect yourself with a firearm. If a gun is what I need then I’m going to make sure I train well and practice my shots. I also know that I have to keep it loaded. Having to take time to load a gun when danger presents itself is ludicrous.

We win.  Go read the whole thing.  I promise, it’s worth it.

Apparently, she just missed A Girl and her Gun’s giveaway, but she is exactly what we all want to see.

And something those who have been following for a while will be pleased to know, since the acquisition of the S&W 617, my mother wants to go shooting again.  She still doesn’t see having a gun in her house, but she actively wants to shoot again.  She wants to know more.

I’m not giving away my copy of Glock: The Rise of America’s Gun because she wants to read it when I am finished with it. Seriously people, this is exciting.

For The Ladies

A Girl and Her Gun is making a very generous offer of paying $300 towards the training of some lucky woman.  Zercool and the always awesome Gun Blog Black List have sweetened the pot with some ammo.

I can’t enter.  But you can.

Why are you still here? Go there.

Not Intimidated

I was having a conversation with a woman at a social event recently and the subject turned to guns, as it often does. It was by no means a gunnie event, but enough of the regulars know that we are shooters that it comes up. (I know, I’m being vague.)

So anyway, this woman makes the comment to me that she wouldn’t carry a gun because she’d probably use it. I respond with something to the effect of being glad to have it should the situation ever arise that I’d need to use it, God forbid that ever happen. This moves the conversation in the direction of situational awareness and carrying yourself in such a way as to not look the easy target. You know, head on a swivel rather than buried in your phone sort of thing.

And she proceeds to tell me that no one would ever mess with her because she’s got some sort of attitude. That she can just give those thugs a look and they back down.

Uh huh. Great. Yes, the vast majority of bad guys do not want to be identified and so looking at them directly will deter them. But I’d rather not count on it.

Particularly not when said look is a weird crazy eyed stare directed up at 5’4″ me. It took a minute for me to figure out that she was apparently demonstrating her magical force-field look on me. She had to take a couple of steps into my personal space before it was obvious that she was trying to stare down the gunnie girl.  And she was enough of a non-threat to me that I didn’t really care that she had closed the distance.

I should win some kind of award for restraining the eye roll. Seriously, I’m not known for having that kind of restraint.


Don’t depend on your posture and attitude to keep you safe, and you just look crazy trying to stare me down.  You’re probably a lot less dangerous than you think you are. Your attitude and facial expressions don’t make up for the disparity of force between you and a 300 pound rapist.

Also, for future reference, when meeting new people that you know are armed, demonstrating your powers of intimidation is a bit less than brilliant.  You may think you’re moving up the power ladder, but really, I’m not intimidated and you look like an idiot.

I Was Hoping For Extraordinary*

But apparently, my breasts are normal.  At least according to the doc that read my smash and scan today.  And they don’t want to see me again until I’m 40. (7 years and 10 days from today, if you’re counting.)

It was corporate smash day today, so I got to share the event with my female coworkers.  You know, a real bonding experience.  The good people from the imaging center picked us up and drove us down there.  They served fruit and cheeses while we waited, and then provided massages after the smash and scan before shuttling us back to work.  And really, the smash and scan wasn’t nearly as bad as I was afraid.  It wasn’t a big deal, honestly.  If you’re scared, don’t be.

We were talking about massage on the way back to the office, and I mentioned that hubby needs to get his hands worked over fairly regularly due to his line of work.

Driver nurse: So what does your husband do?

Me: Leather work.  Holsters mostly.

Driver nurse: Does he sell to a lot of police and that sort of thing?

Me: Some.  He mostly sells to conceal carry permit holders.

Coworker in front seat: It’s surprising how many people have their permits now.

Me: Quite a few people do.

Coworker in front seat: It’s scary.

Driver nurse: I’ve got mine.  My husband has his too.

Me: Me too.  See me where it isn’t prohibited, and I’m likely carrying.

Silence from the coworker in the front seat.

It wasn’t a freaked out silence either.  More contemplative.  Like the idea of regular people carrying just became a little more real and a little more normal. And that’s how we win.

*They’re really not.  Any evidence to the contrary is an illusion. And the engineering of underthings.


Sometimes, You Get A Wild Hair

And I get a lot of them.

But really, I shouldn’t be so selfish with my wild hairs.

Because Pantene beautiful lengths can use it for people that lost all their wild hairs fighting cancer.  Too many people in my life have lost that battle recently.  So in honor of Donna, Pat, and little Madison, I’m sending this off to Pantene Beautiful Lengths.

Wanna see the back?

FarmDad doesn’t like it, but he likes why I did it.  Others loved it.  I have to admit, I enjoyed the shock value of walking up the drive-way into a group of people that almost didn’t recognize me.  I did this just before leaving town for Blogorado.  Actually, we hit the road immediately from the salon.  Tom of Color Correction Salon cracked up that we showed up with the car all packed.  Tom has been cutting my hair since I was 16.  He’s awesome and enjoys the dramatic as much as I do.  This is not the first time I’ve chopped this much off at once.  Always gets shocked gasps from the room.  And hey, who doesn’t want to drop a few pounds before seeing old friends 😉

Work should be fun tomorrow.  Only a few co-workers read the blog.

Remember folks, it’s breast cancer awareness month.  My boob smash day is this Thursday.  I am giving my hair for chemo patients.  What are you doing?

The Only Reasonable Explanation

So an odd thing happened on Saturday when we left the range.  But I gotta back up a bit.

We are rather spoiled in that we have a fantastic range here in Oklahoma City.  H&H Gun Range is located right off the highway, has a great indoor firing range, and is a great retail establishment. They even have a great little cafe.  We know everyone there.  Heck, they employ my sis-in-law.

They also happen to be conveniently located near a well air-conditioned establishment frequented by those of he male persuasion that just so happen to carry lots of one dollar bills.  Could there be overlap in clientele?  Yeah, probably.  But hey, the performers have a convenient place to practice for their own defense too.  This is Oklahoma, after all. Our strippers carry guns.

As we were pulling out onto the street after leaving the range, an SUV pulled into the intersection across from us.  The young woman in the passenger seat of the SUV turned around and stood up through the sun roof. Unusual, but it was a beautiful day out.

And then she pulled her shirt up and flashed the car behind her.  Random Saturday afternoon boobies!! She had a lovely set, too.  It’s just not everyday you see them displayed so publicly.  At least, not so much around here.  Even the strippers wear pasties.  Sorry, I was not fast enough with my camera.  Bad blogger, I know.

So I figure she must have seen the antics of all the guys participating in Kilted to Kick Cancer and decided she’d kick off Breast Cancer Awareness month in a big way.  You know, because you’re not going to think about the boobies unless you’re reminded, right?

My mother is a breast cancer survivor.  I lost one of my employees to breast cancer earlier this year.  The biggest difference? Mom’s cancer was detected early.  She was able to beat it with prompt and early treatment.

We encouraged all the guys to bend over last month.  It’s our turn ladies.  Get your boobies smashed.  My appointment is scheduled for the 13th. It’ll be my first, and you are sure to get an after action report.