Happiness is a warm gun, and I love a good bang.

The unthinkable happened to me over the weekend. No, I didn’t grow taller. I also didn’t publish my beer book. Even more unbelievable—I complained that gun laws in Maryland were too strict. I can hear my mother writing me out of her will now.

Let’s back up for a second. What am I doing in the same place as a gun? Shouldn’t my blood be liberal blue? I’m supposed to be the type of person who’d rather harpoon a whale than shoot a water pistol. Just because I have a legal right to own a firearm, doesn’t mean I should actually do it! (That being said, I’ve also taken advantage of many of the amendments, specifically voting and celebrating repeal of Prohibition. Although I wouldn’t mind quartering soldiers in my house, even if it isn’t war time).

Still, it got to the point where I was so hung up on guns that I realized I didn’t actually understand what I was against. My good friend Stephen was going to show me the light. As a Republican who owns guns, I’m surprised that he puts up with my hippy bullshit about welfare. While it wasn’t blatant pressuring, Stephen encouraged me to just try a gun out, even if I just held it. So, I decided to bite the bullet (no pun intended. You actually shouldn’t do that. There’s lead in those), and actually try shooting a gun. So we ventured to a place I’ve mocked for years—the NRA headquarters.

I was nervous. I kept thinking about people who go on shooting sprees. I imagined some mentally unbalanced person who had a vendetta against curly-haired girls in the lane next to me. Worse, I was terrified I was going to shoot myself in the shoulder. When we pulled into the parking lot for the NRA range in Winchester, Virginia, I almost told him to turn around.

The range looked very clean, and with the exception of muffled sounds of gunshots, it didn’t appear to be a place where one would shoot guns. I had to take a test to become range-certified. When I read through the material, I was surprised at how logical shooting a gun was. The NRA was so hung up on safety that it was willing to kick out people acting like jackasses. I always assumed the NRA was full of jackasses shooting up logs, but this place had more rules than a courtroom. How responsible!

After passing the test and getting a range card, we were ready to shoot. Stephen brought a Glock 19, your standard handgun. We were given eye and ear protection and targets. I was nervous again. I knew I was safe, but I had no technique. I was now scared I’d misfire and shoot Stephen. Plus, inside was much louder than outside. I kept jumping every time I heard a gun went off, which meant my feet were barely on the ground before I was airborne again.

Anyways, I was instructed on stance and aiming. I took the safety off and held the Glock for a couple of seconds. I was shaking a little and my aim was off. I squeezed the trigger and felt the small recoil. I didn’t even hit the target but I didn’t care. I was so relieved I actually did it and nobody died that I put the gun down. Stephen applauded me, but told me there were 9 more shots in the magazine. So I went through the motions again, and shot. I think I hit the paper. And then I shot again, and again. It was captivating. The recoil went through my arms right to my lady parts. I loved it. I am proud to say that from 15 feet away, I can seriously maim someone with a handgun.

I didn’t shut up about shooting for days after I went that first time. I flashed my non-NRA member card to everyone. I had dreams about shooting. So, I went again. I was armed with my friend Dani and Stephen’s roommate, Marc. Marc also owns guns, so our arsenal was expanded. This time, I shot a rifle with a scope.

I’ve only been in love once, but that was with a human. Rifle love is serious. There is so much trust involved. I felt that rifle in every fiber of my being. Looking through the scope was like touching the soul of a cherished being. The rifle looked so big in my tiny hands that I appreciated its awesome power. I couldn’t load it fast enough. I was ready for more

I imagine this is what I look like shooting a rifle. 

Enough gun pornography. Dani and I are both currently suffering from gun fever. I’ve Googled gun laws in Maryland and rifle prices. I am looking for gun shows nearby. I know I’ll never own a gun, but I still can’t stop. I want to feel the smooth rifle in my hands again.

I know that based on this same logic, I should probably try heroin or cow tipping, since I’ve never experienced either. After all, how can you be against something if you’ve never done it? I guess I’ll get a tattoo now. I’m not into those slippery slope Republican arguments (sorry Stephen). There’s a very good reason why gun laws are as strict as they are, but I’m at the stage in my life where I’m glad they aren’t illegal (sorry Mom).

Here’s how this is going to end. I’m going to chalk guns as one of my expensive hobbies, but not something I’ll do everyday. Like my love of rock climbing, Panera, kayaking, IMAX movies, and skiing, these are all costly activities that I will do occasionally but never more than that. They will lose their special aura if I did them all the time, and then I won’t be able to pay my taxes. Although, since most gun owners are against taxes, maybe I’ll fit right in.