Bang Bang

Let me preface this by saying that other than dinky little orange plastic water guns - I HAVE NEVER SHOT A GUN.

That being said, Brett and I went shooting last weekend. Our friends Matt and Jillian (who both have their carry permits) belong to a gun club, and they offered to host Let's Watch Caroline Shoot the Ceiling 2012. So, I got all dolled up in a jean skirt and cowboy boots (what else would you wear to play with guns??), and we met them at Sharp Shooters. Then I was forced to wear giant ear phones and safety goggles. No one mentioned there was a dress code.

Us in our rental gear. Matt and Jillian brought their own custom made headphones. They were monogrammed. Snobs.

So we're all suited up, and Matt pulls out a small arsenal of no less than 74 handguns - loads one - and hands it to me. I mean, this doesn't look difficult. You point, you shoot, you hit the Zombie-Brandishing-a-Machete target, you congratulate yourself on a job well done, and you tell your friends what a badass you are. Right?

Fuck no.

Every time I pulled the trigger I closed my eyes. IT IS EFFING LOUD. I suppose I understand the headphones now. And when I opened my eyes I saw a huge hole in the zombie target! Not really. Matt told me I hit the ceiling. I hit the ceiling a lot. In my defense, the target was 10 WHOLE FEET away. Way too far away for a novice like myself. YOU try hitting the ceiling six times in a row! I was the only one who did that. So that in itself is a success, and I rule at guns.

Now my dear sweet HUSBAND on the other hand was too busy showing off to teach me how to shoot correctly.

Brett Eastwood

He's nonchalantly nailing bulls-eye targets from 25 feet away. He can be a real jerk sometimes. At one point, Brett pulled himself away from his "Do You Feel Lucky, Punk" montage and came over to watch me. After I fired off an entire round from 5 FEET AWAY, and impressively hit the ceiling EVERY SINGLE TIME, he says: "Exactly WHAT are you aiming at?" Seriously? What the hell do you think I'm aiming at? The target, motherfucker. So then he asks me if I'm lining up the three dots. Three dots?

To make a long story short, my sneaky husband and two ex-friends all ganged up on me, and ON PURPOSE did not tell me that you had to line up these "three dots" in the sight thingy on the gun ... then line that up with the target ... then open your eyes ... then pull the trigger. I'm totally sure that if I had known that, I would have nailed the target with just as much finesse as I nailed the ceiling.

Unfortunately, by that point my face was cramping up from trying to close one eye. So I managed to pull the trigger once more, keep my eye open, and hit some part of the target. What part, I have no idea. But it wasn't the ceiling. Or the air. So I figure I did okay.

J-Poop & I being way more badass than Charlie's Angels

Then we invited Matt, Jillian, and their two kids over for dinner. Then Wyatt (age less-than-2) fell down the hill in our backyard. And then Jillian pulled out her gun and shot me.

Just kidding.