Happiness Is(n't) a Warm Gun

Last weekend, Chris and I met a couple that we are good friends with at a shooting range (yes, you read that correctly). The occasion was a birthday celebration. The birthday boy (our good friend) enjoys shooting handguns (apparently he and his dad used to go shooting together), so his girlfriend (also our good friend) set up an afternoon at the range for his special day (which I thought was incredibly nice of her! If Chris had asked for a day at the shooting range for his birthday, I would have been like, "ok, that's nice, wouldn't you rather go sailing instead?" to distract him from wanting to shoot guns). So, like I said, we met our friends for a friendly afternoon of friendly shooting. Happy Birthday- BANG! See? Friendly.

Chris was extremely excited to go. He brought his shotgun, which he rarely gets to use. I, on the other hand, was pretty nervous. I have shot a shotgun a couple times, and I didn't like it. In fact, here's a picture of me shooting a gun for the first time ever (can you tell I was nervous?):

You don't wanna mess with these kids...

Anyways, I've mentioned before how well I do with unexpected loud noises, and well, a shooting range just isn't the place for a person who jumps ten feet when their fuzzy pet rabbit manages to sneak up on them (true story). We got there, rented our guns (weird), bought our ammo, and then were outfitted with safety goggles and headphones that are supposed to block out a good deal of the noise. Well, mine didn't really fit my head very well, and they blocked out nothing. So, when we first walked into the dark, cold, scary warehouse that is the shooting range, I was immediately clinging to the ceiling that I had jumped up to (after gasp!ing), and trying to cover my ears.

So, both of us girls went out and demanded ear plugs, of which they were out. So, the man gave us their much nicer headphones, which actually sat on my head correctly. Why wasn't I given those right off the bat? It's a mystery. Anyways, that helped immensely, though, I still jumped every time an unexpected loud noise occurred, which was often. Mainly it was when someone was shooting a gun of the large variety.

Also, as I mentioned above, the warehouse was dark and cold, so I had to wear my winter coat and gloves the whole time. Ryan+Cold=Frowny Face.

The first gun we rented was a .22 revolver. Apparently this is a "sissy" gun. So, I shot that one (yes, I learned to load and shoot a gun all by myself) several times. At a Nazi Zombie target. I HATE Nazi Zombies! So yeah, a .22 kind of goes "Piff!" instead of "Bang!" which is what I really liked about it. And that was the only gun I shot. The birthday boy got a Walther PPK, a .38 (I think), a .45, and some giant revolver handgun with a frickin' scope on it.

Me shooting the .22 revolver

Chris bought some slugs for his shotgun (they don't let you shoot shot at a shooting range... ha, say that five times fast), which was kicking like a bull at a rodeo (ok, I recognize how lame that metaphor is, but I'm leaving it there). So I didn't get near that. I value my shoulders, thank you. Chris is a pretty good shot, and I think he had a great time.

Chris shooting the shotgun

Anyways, the point of all this is that we kicked that Nazi Zombie's Nazi Zombie ass! And that's all that really matters.

Ah, Nazi Zombie!

So, I've now had a new experience, though it was one I will probably not go out of my way to try again. I was much happier having lunch and drinking a beer at a bar (where the heat was turned on) afterwards.

But, if a Nazi Zombie trys some shit with me, you better believe I'll shoot him: Piff! You're dead.