Packin' Heat

I shot a 9mm last night.

It was my first time shooting a handgun, and I have to say, it felt AWESOME. Went to a moderately sketchy shooting range south of the city with a friend & a friend-of-a-friend who owned the guns and trained us in the rules of brandishing weapons. Some rules were common sense: don't point a loaded gun at anybody. Some I knew I was going to forget: __________. (See?)

Took a cab to my friend's house to meet up with the guys before we went to shoot. Most. uncomfortable. cab. ride. ever. This guy was either a serial killer, a big fat perv, or both. Speaking of fat, dudeman was obese with long wavy brown hair down to the middle of his back. Ponytailed. And he made a snoring sound every time he looked down, like when he was counting my change. After commenting that I looked "fit" right off the bat, he began prodding. "Where you headed?" "Going to shoot guns, scary man. So don't get any ideas." The word guns triggered a light in his eyes I've never seen before and would pay never to see again. Boy, was this guy a fan of firearms. He began giving me pointers about relaxing and planting my feet. He even drew me a diagram (while driving, mind you) of the sights so I could aim properly. Ponytail man kept getting out of breath from talking so much about guns. He'd stop mid-sentence and pant heavily a few times, then proceed. The panting silences were a-w-k-w-a-r-d. But things got really awkward when he began listing off the guns he owns and telling me the damage that they can do to the human body. "My Model 5 will peirce a tiny hole through your frontal lobe and exit out through the back of your skull, while my Colt Carbine A3 will splatter your lungs all over the inside of your very core." UMMMM. Should I text 911? Is 911 even capable of receiving texts? As we finally pulled up to my destination, obese whackjob left me with these stirring words of advice: "Shooting a gun is like having sex for the first time. At first you're really nervous, but once you find your grove, it feels phenomenal." UMMMM. YOU'VE had sex?!?!?!?

OK, so we drove to the range in friend's Camero, which - of course - felt totally appropriate. I was jammed in the back seet getting all nervous because I had suffered that ADD attack during the training and had already forgotten everything. I was warned to tell the employees of the range that I'd actually shot a gun before, so they didn't go through the whole lengthy tutorial with me.

"So, you've shot a gun before, ma'am?"

"Yes." Lie.

"You've shot a handgun before?"

"Yes." Lie.

"OK, here are your goggles." I need goggles? For what?! Am I gonna shoot my eye out like the little mcnugget from A Christmas Story?

So before I know it we're in there and I'm loading bullets one-by-one into the clip. I'm about to pee my pants. Something terrible is going to happen. I'm about to go from zero to felon in .5.

But no! Shooting this gun was one of the most exhilarating experiences I've ever had. I instantly felt like a bonafied assassin. And I immediately regretted not having worn stilletos so I could have felt like one of Charlie's Angels. Guys often relate shooting a handgun to having another penis. I fully felt that! I straight up felt like I had my very own D. (Not to sound crude). It felt awesome.

Take away whatever morsels of wisdom you want from this story, but I guess I'd just like to say that if you've ever thought about shooting a handgun, even if you're a girl like me, GO DO IT. Between meeting the dodgy characters who frequent gun ranges to the experiencing the feeling of holding powerful steel in your hands capable of injuring even the BADDEST of bad guys, shooting a handgun is way tight. Way tighter than some other things I've tried. Just remember to use your weapons only for good. PEACE!