If You Got A Gun Up In Your Waist, Please Don't Shoot Up The Place

I fired a gun today for the first time. I actually fired two guns (not simultaneously, but how Tomb Raider cool would I have been if I had?), about thirty times. And... it was pretty great.

(Not me.)

This was not my idea -- CC has guns left to her by her grandmother, I guess, and our mutual high school friend, Karina, wanted to go to the shooting range sometime, so I went along. I met up with CC at her car in South Philly, and we took her guns (in nice leather cases) over to the indoor range. I was uncomfortable at first, and practically wanted to hide behind CC's skirt (if she ever wore skirts) the whole time. But we had some time to kill before the people in front of us vacated a lane (just like bowling!), so the owner-type guy gave us a quick lesson on how to handle, load, and shoot the guns.

I was scared, at first, to handle the gun I started with, a .22 revolver. To hold a lethal explosive weapon in my hands was daunting. But I guess med school has prepared me to face scary situations by focusing on the instructions, so before I knew it, I was gripping the gun correctly, with my trigger finger extended out away from the trigger, and my left hand was wrapped under the handle with my left thumb over my right thumb, and I was cocking the gun, aiming, breathing, and slowly squeezing the trigger. After a few rounds, I felt like a pro. It felt like bowling, really, trying to see how accurate you could be, playing side by side. Afterward (and AFTER putting the guns away in the car), we went out for margaritas and burritos. Suh-weet.