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Firey Pits, Poopin Dogs and Panties

Issue Date: Friday, Jan. 09, 2004

I used the grill.

I USED THE GRILL! … aaaaaaaaaaaaaannnnnnd… [This is the best part.] I didn’t burn down the apartment or cause any sort of critical trauma/drama in the interim.

This may not seem like a large feat of purpose to you my dear friends. But to me… this is as sweet as reaching the peak of Everest with no members of my group being eaten due to hungry Yeti or hungry mountaineers (a la’ Smokey Robinson,… wait, I mean the Swiss Family Robinson.. or was it that movie Alive?).

Ok, maybe it is not that big of a deal. But I was pretty darn proud of myself.

Why was it a big deal you ask?

You: I didn’t ask you that.
Me: Oh hush… you did too… with your eyes. Heh.

Well, I have, in the past mind you, been known to change a flat tire or two. Maybe work with my Daddy-O and his radial saw to create some pretty bitchin shelving units for my college roommate and myself. Change out parts on an older model dump truck to get it purrin like a kitten. Ok, the purring thing was a side effect of the kitty-2000 I installed in the flux capacitator.

I digress.

You: No… Really? You? Digressing from a point? Naw… say it ain’t so!
Me: I thought I asked you to hush.

Annnnnnyway, I have been known to do things that most women do not take on. Not like taking on Stone Cold Steve Austin or anything like that. Just mainly things that may be viewed as icky, sweaty or mechanical. I like a good project. But for as long as I can remember, I have had an aversion to large metal boxes with fire shooting out of them that are used for cooking food.

Mister… now, he is a grill- … Master. He can smack the flip flop on a steak and make it sit up and beg for Momma. Pork chops, Portobello mushrooms, chicken, you name it. He can cook it all on the grill. I, however, have never even tried to cook on the fire-y hell unit.

I have always been afraid that I was going to let too much propane out and cause the ozone layer to bust open over Dallas or that I would … oh hell, I don’t know… pass out from the fumes then blow up when the cigar smoking neighbor* came out for his evening walk with his dog.

*This guy. What a piece of work. We live in an apartment complex. This man and his wife (who never leaves their apartment dressed in anything other than her bathrobe) have a HUGE Rottweiler named Dexter. Dexter is a happy enough chap. He just leaves fecal piles the size of Mini-Me in the small strips of grass our complex tries to landscape nicely. Does Cigar Guy or Bathrobe Wife clean up after the voiding of Dexter the Wonder Shit? No. Of course not. At least Dexter has the good graces to look embarrassed.

Back to the grill.

I found a recipe online that I wanted to make last night. It seemed straight forward enough. It looked good. It fit within the guidelines of our ‘diet/lifestyle change’ and it did not require me to make a huge purchase at the local grocery store.

It DID require me to fire up the grill.

The worst part. - - >> Mister wouldn’t be home for this foray into the fire. I would be alone with only the instructions on how to operate the blasted thing in my memory. Dim memory. Considering the fact that I didn’t want to learn about the man grill or how to operate the man grill because I should never have to use it alone. Cha… right.

I was in charge of dinner.

We had plans for the evening starting at 7:30 pm.

I got home before Mister.

It was fate. I was destined to use the grill.

I did it…. And it was goooooood.

Yay me.

On another note, I just went to the restroom. When I pulled up my lady under garments the legs stayed on my thighs and the waistband came up to my armpits. I am not a granny panty wearer. I just never knew these things were so stretchy.

Too much information?

Sorry.

Everyone say Hi to Clarice. She has joined the ranks of readers (all two of you). Maybe we’ll let her do a guest entry.

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Please switch to the Suzannadanna.net site. - Friday, May. 23, 2008

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C'mon y'all - Friday, Feb. 22, 2008

C'Mon! - Wednesday, Feb. 13, 2008

- - Friday, Dec. 28, 2007


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To understand this dear reward (above) at all, you must hie thee on and read gatsby’s grape ape entry and my comments.

And because of said comments he sent me my very own dream turtle in an email titled wee gift with these words attached, “my purple monkey is booked solid so i ordered you a tangerine turtle. hope he proves helpful.”

The Graphic Below Courtesy of Papernapkin.


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