Tuesday, February 28, 2012

Chelsea's Packin' Heat, Bitchessss

Yeah, not really.  I mostly just enjoy saying 'packing heat'.  Because now I sound badass, don't I?  

Right. Anyways. 

Shawn has a shotgun, and we've gone shooting a few times.  And let's just say that aiming isn't my forte (Holy understatement, Batman.).  I haven't killed or shot anyone in the face yet, so I suppose I can't be that bad, right?  I blame my terrible shot on the fact that I can't focus on something without my right eye going crossed.  I can barely put on makeup sometimes, let alone shoot a flying orange frisbee in the air to smithereens.

I kept telling Shawn that I was pretty sure that I'd do better with a handgun.  I had never actually shot a handgun before, so it was all naive assumptions at the time.  This last weekend, we finally got to go to a handgun range.  And I was stoked.  We got all our equipment, and the gun dude taught us how to not kill anyone, and sent us on our way.  We were using pretty standard, simple guns.  A 22 and a 9-inch, I think?  Geez, I don't even know what they were called, nor do I really care - because I felt pretty bitchin' in my ear muffs and safety glasses holding a handgun.  


We got the targets ready on the moving thinger, (which was my third favorite part of the whole experience)... And we started shooting.

Lo and behold, the results of my first target shoot were probably the most embarrassing thing in the history of ever.


Three bullets hit the paper.  Two of them weren't even on the damn target.  I'm not even going to tell you how many bullets I shot total.  

My second round wasn't any better.  In fact, I blew the shi out of the clip that was holding the paper up.  And all the big, macho men next to us cracked up.  Mortifying.  

Betcha can't guess where the clip was.

I started getting semi-peeved that I was sucking so bad.  So I started to pretend that instead of shooting a target, I was shooting crap I hate.  Like infertility, and sucky drivers, and snow, and birth control, and bills, and flooding toilets, and just all-around shitty people in general.  And whattya know...

Worked like a charm.

My final round was my best one, naturally.  Not really anything to brag about.. at all.  Nevertheless, I was pretty proud of myself, considering where I was three rounds before.

I can totally see why people go to shooting ranges to let off steam.  I felt pretty dang good afterwards.  My husband was probably just a teensy bit concerned at just how much I liked it.   But I did.  And I fully intend on returning - and someday shooting a machine gun (speaking of badass).  How could that not be on my bucket list?  Chelsea shooting a machine gun?  Awesome.  I'll save that one for a really bad day.

So my advice to you, if you're ever feeling overly steamed (or you know, if you're bored): Go to a range, and shoot guns.  And if you suck, it's okay.  Because I probably suck more.

Stellar advice, eh?

Happy My Birthday Eve Eve Eve, Internet.

(Note: Chelsea may have used the third person a little more than usual.  You should probably just go with it.)


  1. Chelsea may have used the third person more often than she normally does, but Pearl was fine with that.



  2. I want to go!! Sounds like fun!!