I love guns

I love guns

To look at me, you’d think “Oh, now there’s a lady who loves puppies and shoes and Bobbi Brown winter travel palettes. “But you’d be wrong, but not about the things I just listed, those things are spot on. Ok, so you wouldn’t be wrong, you’d be almost right, because there’s one thing you’re missing when listing the four adjectives that sum me up completely. I. Love.Guns.

I grew up in Texas. In Texas, it ‘s kind of important that you know about guns so that you don’t get extradited to California, where you can live with the other “gun hating faggots” (Texas’ words, not mine). I held a gun in my hands while I still had braces on my teeth, making me the most bad ass 5 foot 11 inch, braces wearing teen lady who had the bold inclination to wear button down jean shirts with similarly rinsed jeans, and top that motherfucker off with a Mickey Mouse tie.

The first gun I ever held in my hand was a single action revolver. A cowboy from my high school took a liking to me and snuck me off during lunch to his piece of land, aka homestead, aka, property to shoot cans. The gun felt so natural in my hand, as if my palm had been developing in a way that one day would suit it to fit into this gun perfectly. That or that guns were made to fit into hands. Either way, it was love at first grip.

It would be 6 years before I would shoot another gun. This time it was a Jericho 941single action handgun. My boyfriend at the time, ex army, present AFLAC supplementary insurance salesman, had taken me into the woods so that we could consummate our love in nature. And so he could kill dear. While he was out murdering animals, I was loading a clip into a handgun that flooded me with the emotions like what I imagine it would feel like to be reunited with a child I had abandoned, but then found on Friendster, then met at a coffee shop and then kept in contact with.

Guns and I could have been great friends. But then my Hollywood aspirations got in the way. There’s no time in Hollywood to shoot guns. Not only that, I don’t own any guns or have access to the type of guys who own guns, who I could sleep with to get close to their guns. All I want in my life is to feel the soft grip of molded metal, and the power to take a human life, in my hands once again.

And for Scoops Ice Cream shop to be open past 6 on a Sunday. C’mon Scoops, people need their ice cream on a Sunday evening!