Monday, October 17, 2011


Sometimes, I'm just a bit of a deviant. As much as I hated to keep this a secret from Puff, I decided it was the type of scenario that was best played where I asked for forgiveness instead of permission.
One day, awhile back, I went to the shooting range with a co-worker on my lunch break. And it was fucking amazing.
For probably the past 10 years, I've had "Learn how to shoot a gun" on my bucket list. (Remember, I mentioned it HERE.) I even dated several Marines (and one soldier) back in the day, but none of them would ever take me to the shooting range. I had a neighbor for awhile who was a cop, but he chickened out on taking me as well. Even Kimhead bailed on ever actually planning to go with me when I told her it would be a fun girl's activity. Nope, every single person decided it was wisest to not let Gail shoot a gun.
Then I met a new friend who didn't know any better. ::Insert grin::
It was kinda crazy how easy the whole renting a gun was. I was really surprised. I watched a 10 minute safety video, answered a few random questions that were totally common sense ("Don't point a loaded gun at someone else") and was handed a pair of eyewear, some giant headphones, and was told to pick my weapon of choice. Since I was a "newbie" I told the clerk I would trust his decision. He picked out some type of revolver, but it wasn't what I had in the cop drama I was running through in my head. So I decided I needed a semi-automatic weapon. Preferably, a girly one with not much kickback.
A .22 caliber Ruger was "flagged" and put in the bin for me, along with a .9mm Glock. Two boxes of ammo and two body targets and I was ready to rock 'n roll. I felt like a badass motherfucking rock star. My co-worker had been shooting before so I let him take lead on loading the gun for me and showing me how to actually hold it. He shot one shot into the target to make sure the safety was off. Then, he handed it over. By the third shot, I was nailing the red "X" area in the center.
I swear I warned everybody this was not a good idea. I was much better than I expected to be. And, worse, I totally loved it.
After two magazines with the Ruger, I took down my target to make sure I brought it home for safe keeping. I let my buddy shoot for awhile, even though he totally jammed the Glock on the first try. Guess who never jammed her gun? ::Rock Star:: After he shot for awhile, he offered me the Glock. It was a lot louder and had a lot more kickback. It was also the type of gun I knew could catch your finger in the slide, if you weren't careful. Guess who needed a bandaid? Not me. Told ya. Rock star!
I decided to take a chance and shoot the .9mm. Why not? And you know what? I hit the red "X" on the second shot. I didn't do as great with that gun, especially since the casings were flying every which way. Including one that went down my shirt (luckily, I didn't burn my boobs) and another that went behind my eyewear. I was quick enough to lay down the gun and get the glasses off before it did any harm. But that was scary enough for me to finish out the magazine and switch back to my trusty Ruger. I even mastered loading it, taking off the safety, and all that other "pre-shooting" business. I was so proud of myself!
I take credit for all the smaller holes (from my Ruger) and for the larger holes toward the bottom. The rest were his. Oh, no, wait... a few of those large holes in the center were mine.
::Points finger at self:: ROCK STAR!

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