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Most incredible BarBQ you have ever put in your face orifice.

Issue Date: Friday, Aug. 19, 2005

My father is turning 65 on Monday and this weekend my mother is throwing one hell of a shindig for him. She’s having the party catered by this crazy guy named Sam who makes the most incredible barbeque you have ever put in your face orifice. The mouth one.

I normally call barbeque “barf-EEEEEEE!-que” because a fan? Yeah, not so much. But I am coming around.

But it wasn’t always this way.

I used to love barbeque when we lived in Marietta, GA because every year this family up on the corner, the Steeles, would go hog hunting and then come back and have a party to roast the hog. Now they wouldn’t just get the hog quartered and processed and then prepare it. No no nooo… my little lovelies. These people did it riiiight.

(please imagine my Georgia accent creeping into my voice as I get into telling this tale)

They would dig a pit on their property.

Ya’ll we lived in a Beaver Cleaver neighborhood. Somerset was its name. We each had easily a ¼ acre or more, and the Steeles were on the corner, so a pit that was large enough to bury a full sized man… in a coffin? No problem.

They would dig this pit, stack wood and coals in the bottom, light the fire and let it get really hot. They also had this iron grate that they would slide across the mid point to act as the rack. And then they would just place this gutted whole hog (or hogs) on the grate and then basically bury it and let it cook all damn day.

The whole neighborhood would show up with cucumber salad, beer, potato salad, Jell-O®, all these different desserts and we would have a party.

You could smell that hog cooking all day and it was divine. When dusk started falling, Mr. Steele and his son and who ever went hunting would uncover the hog(s) and they would start chopping the meat and serving plates. No sauce was needed… it was so succulent.

But this crazy Sam guy makes this ribs that… just… damn they are tasty. He has a place in Tyler and another right outside the city limits that he “experiments” with recipes.

My mother is getting a bit nervous because she is going to have about 40 people in her house on Saturday and Sam is the food guy. When Momma gets manic, everyone gets manic. Well, ok. Maybe I just get manic.

It’s contagious.

She’s worried about what to wear, where everyone will sit… Don’t Use the Bathrooms before people get here! Come already dressed! Can you bring some Valium? I’m askin ya’ll… can you?

Well, that and Mister is stressed to the nines at his office. He has a project that is six months behind schedule. It was probably further behind than that when he took it over, but because of the Type A (pun) blood running through his veins, he is wound tighter than an eight day clock.

He has been coming home for the past several weeks, around 7pm, and we’ll sit in the living room and I’ll ask him about his evening. This is always par for the course… but what isn’t par is the cursing and frothing at the mouth when he tells me about his day. I am sure his blood pressure is well over eleventy million right now and he is not sleeping.

I told Anne the other day that I had a new outlook on life. She asked me what it was and I told her that regardless of how bad my day is, I am glad that I have a job and that I am a low man on the totem pole. My ambition is lower than it has ever been because I figured out that the higher you are on the food chain… the more stress you have. My director just about driven insane by her low self esteem and the crazy politics and she is a cool lady with a lot going for her. Same with Mister… he’s awesome and yet he’s being eaten alive by the stresses of the office. Poor thing... keeps asking me when we're going to sell everything and go and live in a van down by the river.

Everyday I hear about what is going on in his office and I want him to download, but the constant wear and tear is getting to me…

[read: I’m hormonal.]

Yesterday Mister and I went to lunch, we were sitting there and the topic of conversation turned to… dum dum DAAAAA!!!!... his office. So after Mister finished talking and I asked a few questions and he answered them… My Mother called and asked Mister if he would give the prayer at my fathers party, “Oh, I am SOOO glad I caught ya’ll together! I would have hated to call Mister at work!” (she’s so cute.)… I thought I would talk about something other than work… And the fact that I left my wedding ring at home.

I took off my rings yesterday morning to put on Jergens Natural Glow lotion after I got out of the shower and left them in my little ring box that Amy got for me. I also left my glasses at home and I was one blind bitch all day. But at lunch Mister was teasing me and my little ringless finger with this comment, “What type of message are you trying to send out?” He was kidding. But my little feelings… yeah, that one over there on my sleeve? It was a little bruised.

Oh! I know! To lighten the mood I will bring up my upcoming trip to Chicago over Labor Day with my good girlfriend Jen to see my good girlfriend Sil! Yaaay! Sil! (Mini Ya Ya trip) It is a happy topic of conversation, it has nothing to do with my work, or Mister’s work… it is…”safe”.


Mister had forgotten that I was going, forgotten that I needed some petty cash for the trip as my ticket has already been purchased… forgotten that he had told me that he would take and pick me up at the airport.

Threw out a bunch of, “It’s okay, we’ll talk about it later.”s When he said, “I am not in a good place to talk about this right now.” I shut down because I knew what was coming. My bad brain was already saying stuff like, “not like I’m asking daddy to get another tattoo here fellas” and my good brain was noticing the straight set of his mouth and how utterly exhausted he was and trying to just get through the fucking day.

But yet?

Mister: What just happened here?
me: Nothing.
Mister: I just noticed a distinct shift in the force.
me: [praying silently to not cry… all the while looking at the table like it is interesting] It’s ok sweetie, I know you are strapped at work and everything.
Mister: But…
me: Nothing really… we’ll talk about it later. [bad brain: Or he can talk about his Director or his Project Manager or Lauuurra some attention starved lunatic on his team some more… Shut UP Bad Brain!]
Mister: Baby?
me: yes?
Mister: Is this because I forgot about your trip?
me: [openly crying … in a fucking restaurant again.] well… that and… ::sniff:: and I’m tired of hearing about David and Laauuurraaaa… and I forgot my ring at home this morning and my glasses and you don’t like my liiiiippppssttiiiiiiccckkkk [sob]

(Yes ladies and gentlemen… I’m pathetic.)

Mister: Baby, I’m sorry that I teased you about leaving your ring at home, I know you would have never done so on purpose. And it isn’t that I don’t not like your lip stick, it is just a little too bright before you blot.
me: ::sniffle::

Anyway… we finished up our meal. Decided to talk about all of my trips last night at home. Did so. I got my foot out of my ass. Stopped being so melodramatic and I should count myself lucky to have a man who even notices lipstick for goodness sake. Gah.

So… moral of the story? Full moon and raging hormones do not a pleasant lunch with a stressed out spousal unit make.

But damn I love cheese fries.


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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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