Annie Get Yer Gun

To ring in the early celebration of our eighth anniversary (which is officially next week) BC and I decided to treat ourselves to a night of blissful coupledom. While most people seem to celebrate anniversaries with moonlighted walks, couples massage, or slow dancing, we decided to up the ante a bit. For us, the best way to say "I love you baby" was down the barrel of a .357 Magnum. That's right. How very Mr. and Mrs. Smith of us (plus, since the pilot episode of Lost, I've had this secret feeling that one of these days I might end up on a beautiful deserted island with a whole crew of crazies and only 3 guns and I will NEED to know how to handle a handgun).

Gun Face

(Trust me, you don't want a piece of this!)

Look at those guns (and I'm not talking about the shiny silver one!)

And after our very first ever handgun training class the official verdict is: I'm freaking Annie Oakley. No joke. Not to talk myself up (ok, maybe a little) but I tore UP those bulls-eyes like it was no body's business! POW! BANG! POP! Those little paper target didn't even know what they had coming! I'm so ready to move onto heads of cabbage!

I'm a lady who can rock 4 inch stilettos and a .45, all while striding up the mountainside.

That's just the way it should be.

I feel like kicking some ass now.

Excuse me while I go break down a door somewhere.

*** Side Note (which has nothing to do with the contents of this post whatsoever) ***

In addition to stilettos, pistols and mountain climbing, I also bake a mean loaf of bread. I've been searching for the magical recipe for Honey Whole Wheat Bread that will change my life. I've got a few recipes that are nearing perfection, but if you have one that you'd like to share, please send it on to me! I gotta carb up to keep up the fire power!