On Saturday a friend and I decided to hit up the gun range. She nor I had ever shot guns in our life, but being from Texas and Arizona respectively figured it must be in our DNA somewhere. So, we hopped in my car and headed to...Inglewood. You know, the one from the rap songs and the national news.
It wasn't until we approached the gun range, blasting music that I said out loud, 'you know, we are two white girls in a Jetta, blasting Ne-Yo and driving through Inglewood in the dead of night... do you perhaps think this is dangerous?' The answer was, apparently, no. So into the gun range we went.
We approached the counter and this is a brief recap of what happened when he asked what kind of gun we wanted to shoot: 'well, we're girls. Delicate, etc. So we want one that goes Tink Tink instead of Bang Bang. You know, like a wee little one.' Thus, we were given a .22 and sent on our way. I don't know why I was somehow operating under the illusion that we would be shooting blanks so I was a bit taken aback when given a giant box of bullets. My brain is a special, special place that is decorated in pink and rainbows.
Once we got the gun loaded (and had the guy come show us, again, how to actually make it shoot because we couldn't figure it out) the fear set in. What the fuck am I doing standing with a .22 in Inglewood? How did my life come to this? Then I started shooting and all that fear went right away. In it's place came adrenaline mixed with something I like to call 'Motherfucking Power'. Dudes, shooting guns is AWESOME. I LOVE IT. I was walking around like a serious bad ass, swagger, the whole 9 yards. Then came the moment when my true colors shined on through and I became an idiot.
You see, to go to the gun range I figured I didn't have to dress up, so I threw on a pair of jeans and a v-neck shirt. This was my ultimate mistake. Apparently guns discard bullet casings, who knew, right? And those bullet casings are Very, Very Warm. It was one of these bullet casings that somehow flew straight up in the air, went right down the lovely v-neck I was wearing and got lodged in my bra.
And this is how I flashed a gun range in Inglewood.
The arm flailing and bra pulling off was legendary. In fact I am sure the security camera footage is on its way to YouTube as we speak. Essentially I set the gun down gently (apparently even when being seared I have respect for firearms), pulled my bra away from my skin and screamed 'motherfucker! that hurts!' and then exposed my boobs. Well, at least the left one. I know this because it was the dude's on my left hand side that clapped and then couldn't look me in the eye. Good times.
Once I had dislodged the bullet I put my bra back on and finished up my round, then held my head high, walked on out and drove the hell out of Inglewood. On the plus side I now have the most bad ass injury of all time: a burn mark IN MY CLEAVAGE in the exact shape of a bullet. Oh yeah, that's how I roll.
Oh and boys? Be warned. I shoot to kill.