Celebrating My Birthday In Style or How I Received My First Gunshot Injury

Yesterday was my birthday. My fortieth birthday. There were several things that I wanted to do in order to have a proper celebration of entering my fourth decade: be on (and win) a game show, camp out in an Ikea for the weekend with my friend Kendra, and meet Paul Newman.

None of those things happened, but I still managed to have a pretty rockin' birthday. My day started not with gifts and accolades, but more of a reminder that I am getting older and both God and Elvis still love me.

My husband took the day off from work to indulge me and my birthday whims. He's a good guy like that. We stopped at a local restaurant to grab a quick breakfast before heading to the bakery to pick up some birthday cupcakes. It was upon leaving the bakery that I realized I had left my jacket hanging on the back of my chair at the restaurant.

Forgetting my jacket shouldn't have surprised me. I'm old and old people forget stuff.

The realization that I am old didn't bother me once I walked into the bakery and discovered concrete proof that both God and Elvis still love me.

Behold. My proof.

Elvis cupcakes for sale on my birthday? Yes please.

To clarify, they were banana cupcakes with peanut butter frosting. They were inspired by Elvis, not made with pieces of him. And, as far as peanut butter and banana cupcakes go, they were quite tasty.

After breakfast and cupcake purchasing, my husband and I headed out to the gun range to shoot stuff.

It's at this point in my story that I'd like to add that we almost never left the house because someone (who shall remain nameless) didn't approve of his wife's carefully chosen shooting stuff attire.

So sue me. I've never been to a gun range before and therefor had no idea how to dress for such an occasion. It took me half an hour to pick out what I thought were acceptable accessories (diamond stud earrings and a sparky silver necklace). I thought I looked stunning.

Right down to my socks. 

Best. Birthday gift. Ever.

Excuse me, are those capes hanging off the back of your knee socks, ma'am? Why yes. Yes they are capes hanging off the back of my Wonder Woman knee socks. Thanks for noticing.

Once again, I thought I looked amazing from my sparkly silver necklace to my caped knee socks and black plaid Sperry topsiders. Amazing and ready to shoot stuff.

I had planned on posting some photos of me looking all bad ass-y and stuff while taking aim at a paper target while sporting protective eye and ear wear, but the gun club had strict rules against photography of any kind and cell phone usage. I don't know exactly why there is a ban on cell phone usage at the shooting range other than the gun range dude said it interfered with their security system.

Cell phones interfere with a lot safety stuff, don't they? They mess up an airplane's navigation system which is, as it turns out, less fun that it sounds like. And they monkey up stuff in hospitals too. I'd really hate to be on the receiving end of a quintuple bypass that went horribly awry because some yahoo was yakking on his phone in the lobby about the lack of sporks in the hospital cafeteria and it screwed up the robotic arm that was fixing my blocked arteries, but I digress.

Shooting targets was a lot of fun, especially because I got to choose my own target. They had several to choose from, including three different zombie targets and a menacing man one. The menacing man one was very realistic, but reminded me too much of my 7th grade Science teacher, so I went with a traditional bulls-eye. My husband (the show off with better than perfect vision) went for the target with four small bulls-eyes on it.

After choosing our paper targets, we headed into the firing range. It was at this point that I was overcome with excitement and started chattering on about how this situation felt exactly like the opening scene to every episode of Charlie's Angels. Then I really got worked up and yelled "I call being Sabrina!" while waving my hand in the air like a lunatic.

It was at this point that my husband gave me the stink eye and refused to hand me a loaded weapon until I'd calmed down. Outwardly I settled down, but on the inside I channeled both of my shooting heroes: the aforementioned Sabrina Duncan and Axel Foley.

And guess who hit the bulls eye!

Sigh. It wasn't me. It was my husband. But I did manage to hit the target several times and that was my goal.

Axel Foley I am not … yet.

Fun fact about guns: They have a recoil or "kick" that will hurt you if you aren't prepared for it.

Fun fact about me yesterday afternoon: My shoulder was incredibly painful. I wasn't fully prepared for the recoil and wham! The butt end of the gun rammed itself into my shoulder.

No. Not really.

I walked into a door frame at the gun range yesterday and severely injured myself. The kick thing sounds better that walking into a door frame, so I'm going with that version of the story.

Best. Birthday. Ever.

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