Guns don’t always scare me. I’ve shot them from time to time, and I’ve actually enjoyed it. I am from Texas  after all.

I do however, have an extremely deep seated fear of being shot with one, despite the fact that  (Mom, Auntie Linda, and P.J.) please skip over the next sentence) I once played a game of indoor Human Duck Hunt- a game where my friends and I shot each other in the backs with a BB gun.

I can actually pin point the exact moment when my fear came along, and as jokey as I might be whilst telling this story, you have to realize that this was, quite literally, scariest moment of my life.

A few years ago on St. Patrick’s day, a few friends and I went to a bar in Ft Worth that was in walking distance from LA’s apartment. There was a patio out back, and we spent the night drinking green beer and having a blast. A few of our guy friends decided to take off a little early, but LA, Moops, Sally and I all decided to stay back and have one more drink.

By the time we left, we were all quite tipsy… or if I’m really honest, we were down right drunk. We stumbled out the door and proceeded to make our way across a dark parking lot towards the apartment complex. When we were about half way there, LA and I, in our usual fashion, started hitting each other with our purses. Every once in a while, when the moon is right, we are struck with the desire to wrestle, (don’t get happy boys) for entertainment purposes only. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw 2 people walking toward us, but I didn’t think much anything of it at the time.

By the time they approached us, we were so caught up in seeing who could de-foot the other first, that we didn’t get any weird vibes from the two. In any right state of mind, one of the four of us would have thought it strange that the two young people who were not wearing green were standing uncomfortably close to our circle. But no, we kept right on laughing and swinging our purses like drunken asshats.

When one of them tapped me on the shoulder, I assumed it was someone who Lauren knew. I laughed and casually slapped  their shoulder, thinking they were just enjoying the show. After a few more seconds I finally realized that Moops and Sally were laying on the ground, belly down, and one of strangers were standing above them.

I was about 2 sticks away from being this naive.

It wasn’t until saw the gun that I truly realized what was happening. From that point, everything started moving in slow motion. I saw then that they were both holding large, silver guns, and that they didn’t look happy. There was a boy and a girl, both in their twenties. The girl was wearing a large sweatshirt with the hoodie pulled over her face, and the boy was wearing a beanie low on his forehead. Just as I started taking it all in, the girl put a gun up to LA’s head and demanded that she hand over her purse. I watched dumbly as she quickly followed her directions without a protest.

I was then the only one left standing. I can’t remember who, but one of my friends grabbed at my ankle and angrily whispered to “get down.”

“Gimme your purse and get on the ground,” the guy demanded.

Even though I knew what I was supposed to do, I couldn’t make myself move. When I finally remembered how to make my arms work, I struggled with getting my new Beatle’s purse, which had been tightly wound around my wrist for the fight, loose.  When I got it free, I had the thought that I should retrieve my credit card before handing it over. Making what could have been the dumbest decision of my life, I slid my hand into the purse, grabbed the card with my cupped hand, and swiftly put the card in my pocket before thrusting the clutch in their direction.

The guy robber asked me angrily if I had taken something out, and I shook my head to say no before I got on the ground. Luckily they believed me. As we all lay on the ground, the robbers stood over us for what felt like an eternity. Even though my eyes were tightly closed and I couldn’t hear anything except for my own heavy breathing, I could feel the burning of the gun on my back. I was sure that every second would be my last.

After what felt like an eternity, LA shouted  “RUN!” and took off. She was halfway to the gate before the rest of us had even gotten off the ground, but we all followed quickly behind her. I was roughly 250 lbs at the time, but I ran faster than I had ever ran in my life.

Once we were in the apartment, we all got quite emotional. One of my friends who had left the bar early was quick to call one of our stolen phones. The mugger answered and some words (that I won’t repeat) were spoken. The police came and our cards and phones were cancelled.

Looking back, it was quite funny that in the short time it took us to cancel our phones, rap song ring tones had already been purchased and downloaded.

You can bet your sweet ass that none of us slept that night, or slept easy for many nights to come.

So you can probably understand why I got so freaked out when I heard a loud bang out my window the other night. Within seconds LA had rushed out of bed and met me at the office door.

“That was a gun shot, I’m sure of it,” she said.

I screamed something like “OHHOLYFUCKINGSHIT” and ran to the hallway where I slid butt first to the ground. “GET DOWN AND DUCK!!!!”

LA stood above me and calmly told me to get up. “It’s not a drive by, it was just a gun shot. I’m calling the cops.”

So I got up off the ground and dramatically tweeted that gun shots were being shot in my neighborhood. LA went back to bed and I sat up for hours fantasizing about the dramatic shit that went down just across the street. When I drove home for lunch the following day and a moving man and about 4 men mowing the lawn and moving stuff out, I’m pretty sure I was right in my conclusion.

I don’t know the details, but if my imagination serves me correctly, the scenario involved a midget, some drugs, the CIA, and an underground sex tape. I hope I’m wrong.

Anyway, it really got me to start thinking once again about my own blog, and whether or not I really feel comfortable sharing my thoughts with everyone that I know in “real life.”

Although there are some days that I really wish I had a private blog that I could spill all of my secrets to, I think that I am pretty happy being able to share my most of my secrets to anyone who cares to read.  In fact, it does feel pretty damn good to just put most of that shit out there. I’ve said it before, but sometimes it sucks that I have no idea who knows what about me, but for the most part… you’re eventually gonna find these things out, so I might as well tell you off the bat, right? I have a constant case of word-vom anyway, and within five minutes of being in my company I’m likely to share everything I write here anyways. I can sometimes be a freak, and if you’re gonna judge me- you might as well do it soon.

In fact, sometimes I wish that everyone I knew kept a blog.

It got me thinking about all the people that I have met, that I wished that I could have instantly known everything about them…

For example.

Nearly a year ago,  a friend and I were out for a night of karaoke when I spotted an attractive gentlemen at a booth across the way.

I sat talking to my friend about nonsense, all the while, making crazy eye contact and “bedroom eyes” with said gentleman as he held his own conversation with his own friends (a boy and a girl) at his own booth, that just happened to be in perfect view from my own.

After a while, the “gentleman” (lets call him Corey, because that was his name) came over to my booth and asked if he could sit down.

“Of course,” I said.

We got to talking, and I immediately started really liking this fellow. He was extremely personable and we had a lot in common. (meaning that he too, knew all the words to Meatloaf’s Paradise by the Dashboard Light.)

Eventually, the girl from his booth came over and introduced herself as Jenny. Corey explained that they had been best friends since high school. She seemed nice enough, though a little on the edge- and said that they were about to leave but that my friend and I should accompany them to another karaoke bar nearby. My friend and I didn’t really have anything better to do, (and I practically got on my knees and begged her) so we agreed to go.

We do, and the night starts to turn into a damn romantic comedy. Corey and I sing several songs together, and share  a few kisses at our table not caring that his friends are watching. Eventually, the bar is closing and we reluctantly said our goodbyes.

After we left, Corey and I continue a heated text conversation, and I was down right smitten.

The next morning I woke my friend up and made her listen to all of the details of my late night conversation with Corey, prompting my questions…

“Do you think he’ll call??” “What do you think he meant when he said he doesn’t always know when his free time will come about.” “Did you think that girl was a bit creepy?”

I swear, if I had known his last name, I would have googled that shit.

Corey did call. We talked for a few days, and I thought he seemed like a genuinely nice guy.

Eventually, the conversation came around to my living situation…

Me: “Yeah, I basically live with a bunch of people. Some of them are gay… It’s like a constant party…”

Corey: “Well… my living situation is way more unique than yours…”

Really? Ohholyshitthisisfuckingsarcasticallyawesome.

I prepared myself for him to tell me that he lived with his parents, both sets of grandparents and his 12 cats.

Nope.

Corey: “Yeah… I live with my wife and our child…”

OPEN MOUTH GUFFAW

Corey: “Soooo… I probably should have told you earlier… you actually met my wife. She was the girl…. at the bar with me… I guess we’re in what you would call…  an open relationship .. BUT I reallllly like you. And she did to… and I wanna hang out!!!”

Me:  “You’re wife… being the girl who pulled you away from me as we were leaving the bar???”

Fucking swingers.

If that’s you’re style, more power to you…  I’m not one to judge. But I quickly came to the conclusion that I don’t want to date a guy whose wife witnessed our first kiss.

I never saw him again, but I totally talked to the dude a few more times. Not because I still wanted something to happen, but because I had a million questions about their life style and how it worked. I’m curious! What can I say? (I eventually told this story on the radio while he was listening which swiftly ended our interview-like relationship.)

If he would have had an open blog, I’m sure I could have found out all the answers by myself without wasting several weeks of his (and my own) time, and could have simply read about all the details on my own.

And this is why I have come to the conclusion that keeping an open blog is a good thing, and everyone else should too.

So if you have a freak-flag, wear it proudly… some people may be into that shiz.

And also, if you are a swinger/have more than 1 spouse/have 18 children/are a midget/have decided to change you skin color (I’m talking to you Sammy Sosa)/have appeared on the reality show “Obsessed” or in one of the more interesting episodes of “Intervention”/are in a cult/ have 2 sets of genitals/have an addiction to something outlandish… you should definitely start a blog and send me the link, pronto. I want to read all about your sordid lives.