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.

As Lilu always says: ***Alright, folks, you know the rules. Join us all in humiliating the crap out of yourself every Thursday by sharing some completely tasteless, wholly unclassy, “how many readers can I estrange THIS week??” TMI story about your life. Or hell, about someone else’s!

Make sure you check out Lilu’s site today for her special post secret TMI edition, and check out her TMI Thursday archives for all sorts of hilarity!

***Carissajaded here. As today is my best friend LA’s Birthday, and I am poor, I granted her the only wish I could. Oh yes, I have handed my blog over and given her the opportunity of a lifetime, to tell the most embarrassing story she can about me. And she knows a lot. I am not allowed to edit this story in any way. I now hand the mic over to LA!

It might have been a regular hungover Sunday afternoon.  Either way, it’s a great story.

I should take this one small moment to say, this is not a CarissaJaded.  I was given an opportunity today to “guest blog” because it’s my birthday. I’m taking full advantage.  Karma is a bitch.

And without further ado… I need to start at the beginning.

We had a friend who was soon to be married.  I know, I know… To many, that’s the scariest part of the story - it gets better – trust me.

We, of course, did what every best friend does and threw a bachelorette party.  To mix things up, we decided to go to the River Walk in San Antonio, TX.  There were 8 of us in total and I will leave it up to your imagination as to whom the star of this story is.  However, this is obviously CJade’s blog so I’ll go ahead and make the point that she was definitely a witness to what happened (insert dubious smile here).

It was a wonderful night filled with stories about exes, “do you remember the time you”, and about twenty or so shots.  You know?  The norm.  At around 2am we went back to the hotel because it was closing time.  Everyone, of course, cozied in for the night.  (Note to the reader: I may or may not have omitted some key moments that occurred this evening.  Excessive drinking may or may not have occurred after 2am.  Because I have not chosen to write a blog about my life, I do not necessarily want to share those things with the world.  I am, however, giving you the option to read between the lines and use your imagination about what could have possibly happened… until around say…5am that following Sunday morning.)

We all awoke that Sunday, hungover and wishing we were dead bright eyed and bushy tailed.  It was a 3 and 1/2 hour drive northward – not a big deal- and we were all at that point in a vacation where you just want to be home.  This is when it gets scary.

We had an hour left to go.  Wait, did I forget to mention that at hour 2 we stopped at the “Beef Jerky Farm” to buy a pound of habanero beef jerky?  Who wouldn’t?  Duh!

We’re cruising right along (45 minutes left) when I notice that something isn’t right.  My nostrils are twitching. They have somehow caught wind of something that my brain has yet to catch up to.  It’s unmistakable.  It’s a fart.  Yes, I said it.  It’s a fart.

I immediately do what EVERY person does when one is laid in their car.  I roll down the windows and yell.  “Eeeeew!!!! You are soooo disgusting!!!  You have to warn me before you do that!!!  What did you eat (habenero beef jerky)???”  And after a few seconds of us laughing and fake vomiting, I roll up the windows.

The windows are up.

My nose begins to twitch again.

I’m confused.

I look at her curiously.

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She looks at me with a look of horror.  “OH MY GOD!”

The look is unmistakable.  In that one instant I knew what she could not say.

I yell, “LIFT UP! LIFT UP! DO NOT SIT ON MY SEAT!”

She says, “PULL OVER! PULL OVER!”

I say, “GET SOMETHING! PUT SOMETHING UNDERNEATH YOU!”

And I did.  I pulled over to the nearest exit.  And she did.  She grabbed the paper sack the beef jerky came in.

I should also mention that there is a third party in the backseat at this time, the bachelorette, who has been laughing so hard that her her shrieks and tears could easily be mistaken for those of someone in labor.  Mine however, could not be.  I was of course, very worried about my light beige cloth seats.  Neither one of us, the bachelorette or myself, are of any help at all.  All I can do is yell and shove my passenger from my car.  All the soon-to-be-married girl can do is gasp between her laughter and tears.

And this is where the story ends my friends.  I pulled over at the closest, yet most inconvenient place.  She got out and changed her pants using my car door and the nearby dumpster as her cover.  We met our friends who were driving in front of us (and wondering about the hold up) at the Chili’s that was an exit ahead of us.  ”She” passed on the queso they’d just ordered.  Amidst her embarrassed tears and nervous laughter she retold the story just as I’ve now told you.

I love you friend for allowing me to put this story out for all to read.  And oh yeah, you deserve it.