1. Saturday night I got drunk. Like meathead drunk. I was sloppy and slurry, and at the end of the night I felt very awkward when Apples definitely pulled me in for a long hug, smelled my hair and whispered, "I love you so much" while his girlfriend stared at us.
2. But Apples is an awkward guy, and making people feel awkward is pretty much his job. I've never met anyone better at making people feel awkward than Apples. Regardless, in my drunken stupor it affected me deeply and irrationally, and I wondered what he meant by it other than the usual and freaked out.
3. So I met up with M.E.'s girlfriend at a shitty Puerto Rican thug bar called Lockdown and complained for awhile about how "skulls are so mainstream" and "ironic t-shirts are for pussies" and overreacting with worry regarding Apples, because I was fucking hammered. It lasted an hour, maybe, before I crawled home at 3:30 and started making mahfuckin' stroganoff, what what.
4. My buzzer rang twenty minutes later because Al the Landlord forgot his keys and saw that our lights were on, so he came over and we cracked some more beers and woke up CrazyLiz around four, who grabbed a beer and cheers-ed in because she's a fucking rock star. Al was pretty shit-faced himself and he didn't want to wake up his girlfriend (who was asleep in his place upstairs) and we talked about toilets.
5. After much laughter and camaraderie, AltL grunted, "Check this out," slammed his foot on the coffee table and dragged up his pantleg Dreyfuss-style, and all I could think was, "YES! battle-scars!" but instead he slid a handgun out of his ankle holster and laid it moderately delicately on the coffee table. So there was a gun in my apartment.
"And there's my gun," he laughed, like it was nothing.
"Fyou think we're playing Russian roulette," I slurred, "then you got a 'nother think. Sthera rule bout cops n guns? Can you even do this?" AltL is also a cop.
"Ha! I know, I know. S'not loaded." He pressed a button or something to prove it to me.
I stretched out my hand and grabbed at the air. "Gimme, please."
AltL held the handle out towards me and I grabbed the gun like a light in the dark, but my motor skills were all scrambled and boozy.
"Cock it," he said.
I turned the gun over in my hand, gripped barrel and looked at him. "Is this the barrel? Do handguns have barrels? Or is that just shotguns?" He answered, but I did not pay any attention since I was holding a fucking handgun. I'd never held a gun before. I shot my first BB gun in like December, shit I think I saw my first handgun like a year earlier. One time I shouldered an antique rifle.
My mom is the Queen of the anti-weapon-people. We weren't even allowed to have water guns. I don't think I even used a sharp knife until I was eighteen (this is probably because I am an idiot, and not really the work of my mom). Which is stupid, I think, because it does not lead to careful respect for firearms, it leads to wonder and complete irresponsibility. At least for me.
So drunken Rassles held a handgun and tried to cock it like a pro. But I forgot how hammered I was, and my hand slipped off the barrelgrip and I jammed my finger and pinched my thumb in some snappy invisible crevasse, dropped the gun, and then snatched it midair like a slippery little fish because I have wicked good catching skills but sloppy, fidgetty fingers.
CrazyLiz gasped and carefully wrestled the gun away from my cold, drunk hands.
"Snot loaded, Liz," I scoffed at her. "Give it. I'm fine."
"I don't give a shit," she explained. CrazyLiz, the guffawed voice of reason. "You aimed it at me, and now you lose your gun privileges."
"Horseshit. I did not aim atchoo."
"Yeah, you kinda did," AltL laughs like an oafish donkey putz. I like AltL.
"I like you, Al," I say, and my head lolls. "Sors. I don't not know...I know I don't...I don't, um. I know not what I fucking do, man." My head collapsed on the arm of the couch because my neck stopped working, and I looked at AltL with heavy eyes. "Sors."
I closed my eyes slowly. "Liz. LIZ!"
"What? I'm right here."
"I am sors for pointing guns."
"It's okay, sweetie."
"You don't call me sweetie. You are being...pphhhh something."
There was a series of serious of lock-n-load clicks and snicker-snacks, and I glazed over at CrazyLiz, who mobilized the gun like a soldier and passed it back to AltL with discerned respect. "You should put that away before she hurts herself." I wanted to grab it out of her hands and just cuddle it like a teddy bear.
Al reaches for his gun, and nods, smiling. "That's prolly a good idea."
"Fuck you guys and yer guns."
AltL looks at CrazyLiz, I think. My eyes were closed. "So she's never held a gun before."
"No, she hasn't."
"But you definitely have."
"I learned how to shoot when I was in elementary school," CrazyLiz did her CrazyGiggle. "My dad is kind of a fanatic."
"My parents are accountants," I interjected. Loudly. "They do Lord of the Rings puzzles and taxes." I realized how lame that sounded, so I had to add something badass and huntery. "But I can gut n' skin a rabbit in a minute."
"What'd she say?" AltL asked Liz.
"To feed the tigers," I slurred. "We put 'em in pumpkins."
"She worked at a zoo," Liz translates, "like eight years ago. She thinks she's an expert."
"Tiger blood. Hehe. What? If tigers eat rabbits do they have rabbit blood? AltheLandlord! you should take the test. I bet you'd be a eagle. What? Stop talking. Shhhh." I opened my eyes and looked up. "Can I see the gun again?"
Oh, and BITCHES. New header. Give me compliments. Jeeze.