I know what you're thinking, "Did she fire six shots or only five?"

You always remember your firsts. Joe Catalano my freshman year. A corn dog at age eight (raised vegetarian until 12). Kool and The Gang at Six Flags Stadium. Escorted into the Ale -n- Wich pub at nineteen.

And yesterday will prove no exception. The in-laws hunt. At my second Thanksgiving table, new family members whispered, then turn to me, "Amber wants to give her new aunt a thrill. You ever shot a gun before?" Naturally, I answered truthfully and it was on! All of them were packin', too...

My brother-in-law and his daughter set up a target and pulled two rifles outta the car- a .44 and 270 with a scope. With the appoximate size of 300 yards away, I hit the buffalo with 50% accuracy (six rounds) and once in the "kill zone." But once is good enough, no? So now I'm like- I shot a rifle, my shoulder is sore a little, the power is a little scary, whatev.

I turn around, and there's my father-in-law standing with his .44 Magnum Revolver, "You wanna try this?"

HELL YEAH, I DO!

I'll be damned if that shit didn't make me want to run out and join the fucking NRA yesterday. My estrogen took a back seat right quick.

Now, I'm in this weird funk. It's all I can think about. SO scary and SO exciting. To become a more proficient marksman- you need to own one. The dilemma: I told my husband no guns in the house (before yesterday, obviously).

However, like a young Mike Tyson, dripping in gold, walking down the streets of Brooklyn at 2am, I'd leave the doors unlocked- daring someone to step inside....