Stop. Or I’ll shoot (because now I know how to handle a gun)!
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 I live happily together in a cozy duplex (I lovingly refer to as my 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 (window locks broken), 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), enough to get some sort of security…enough to get my ass a gun.
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). 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 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.
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 – at first I thought they were bullets – how blonde of me).
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 fingers after about 5 shots (insert excuses as to why my bullets were hitting the floor and ceiling instead of the target).
While taking a break from my cockiness of mediocre shooting ability, (and resting my throbbing hand and aching finger) I was able to pose for one more threatening picture:
And now for the grand tamale of my White Trash Wednesday (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 duplex.
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 since my security guard has hung on my front door, no mysterious incidents have occurred around my place…maybe they’re scared of a red neckish, unabashedly trashy girl with a gun.
So go ahead, make my day.