We’re carrying on over here. Bread gets a free turkey from work (some people get money, he’s appreciated in poultry). He requested he be allowed to cook the turkey in our home, for the family, on Thanksgiving. A little bit of history here-Bread loves meat. He loves to cook meat. And so, given the opportunity, he wants to either fire up the old BBQ or the stove to make a large bird, in this instance. We’ve been gone a ton lately so I’m happy to stay home. And, I am even happier to be in charge of the desserts.
Bread has been diligently working on his meal plan for the past few days. I gave him a deadline for his list because, since I don’t have a, ahem, real job, peer say, I’m shopping ASAP. The nutters come out to shop during the holiday season. I will avoid the stores on Wednesday. I can’t deal with that shit; I will have my child with me.
I believe I’ve discussed before, my family, and their inability to stray from a very 1970’s type of meal. If you missed it, in summary, they essentially have the same meal each time we get together. They are not embracing the change. Having just lost the patriarch of the family, The Greatest Man Ever, I’m not arguing. You want Deviled Eggs? We will makes some. You desire a vast array of pickles and olives and want to place them in a special, divided bowl? Go on with yourself. Do it! Make a relish tray! It can sit untouched and I won’t say a word! God bless the pickles!
My mom was asking what she could make for our lovely Thanksgiving meal. I couldn’t think of anything so I gave her Cole slaw. Admittedly, I like the slaw. It’s good. What’s not to like about cabbage tossed in mayonnaise? That was last week. I was all settled in with the Cole slaw. We added that to our menu. Then, mom throws a wrench in the plan. She wants to bring this Jell-O salad she makes. It’s pretty tasty, I suppose, but I never understand the Jell-O thing. Shouldn’t it be a dessert? My family always serves it with the meal. It’s confusing to young children! You’re not supposed to get dessert until you eat your meal! Plus, just because it has oranges in it, does not make it healthy! I’m crazy enough! I cannot be sending these mixed signals to my child!
Anyway, my mom wants to make the Jell-O. She says, “I know you don’t like it, but Grandpa likes it.” This is Grandpa, as in, The Best Man Ever, as in, her deceased father. I don’t say a word other than okay. I mean, I was speechless. Is he coming? If yes, why are we only making special Jell-O? Wouldn’t he rather have a steak? Why didn’t anyone tell me he was coming! I’ll go buy more plates! I don’t have enough China! We were going to eat off the “fancy” paper plates! WTF! It’s my house! Why am I always the last to know! And, we wonder why I’m crazy. Hi, Grampy.
Showing posts with label Family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Family. Show all posts
Monday, November 22, 2010
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Life Goes On
I recognize it’s been a bit since my last post-nearly two months. Time flies when you’re having fun! False. I have not been having much fun. But, I’m still here and ready to blog again. As I’ve mentioned before, blogging is my therapy. I need some of that for various assorted reasons. And, some of you missed me! Thanks!
What was I up to? Well, I was working for starters. Don’t be alarmed! I have not bailed on stay at home motherhood! Rest assured what I was working on was the seasonal job I do for my former employer. It involves much time on the old computer. Therefore, when I had a spare minute, spending time on the internet was not my first choice of leisure time. Plus, the ol’ Carpal Tunnel prohibits me. Yes, I am complaining about aches and pains. I am, indeed, elderly.
As I was wrapping up the job, The Best Man Ever, became very, very ill. He passed away almost two weeks ago. At nearly age 32, this is my first time dealing with a personal loss. Grieving is nothing like I imagined it would be; I realize I had lots of false notions about death, dying and grief. It has been significantly more difficult than expected. I’m not ready to discuss it but, maybe someday I will be. It’s just hard, that’s all I can say right now. The world has lost one of the best. I’m lucky to have a great husband and supportive friends. Thanks guys, I heart you.
Other things that have happened: my child turned three, we hosted a small birthday party, Bread had a birthday, we decided we have to give our pets away due to Bird's allergies and then changed our minds again and again and again...
Now I’m just working on finding my groove again. Perhaps I shall call Stella? Bad joke. Bad. Anyway, I’m just trying to return to “normalcy,” whatever that is. And, aside from dealing with some crazy people in the world (why are there so many), not much else is happening. Luckily, my child has been supplying me with an endless supply of blog material so, I’ll be writing when I have the urge. Laughter is the best medicine and who better to laugh at than yourself.
What was I up to? Well, I was working for starters. Don’t be alarmed! I have not bailed on stay at home motherhood! Rest assured what I was working on was the seasonal job I do for my former employer. It involves much time on the old computer. Therefore, when I had a spare minute, spending time on the internet was not my first choice of leisure time. Plus, the ol’ Carpal Tunnel prohibits me. Yes, I am complaining about aches and pains. I am, indeed, elderly.
As I was wrapping up the job, The Best Man Ever, became very, very ill. He passed away almost two weeks ago. At nearly age 32, this is my first time dealing with a personal loss. Grieving is nothing like I imagined it would be; I realize I had lots of false notions about death, dying and grief. It has been significantly more difficult than expected. I’m not ready to discuss it but, maybe someday I will be. It’s just hard, that’s all I can say right now. The world has lost one of the best. I’m lucky to have a great husband and supportive friends. Thanks guys, I heart you.
Other things that have happened: my child turned three, we hosted a small birthday party, Bread had a birthday, we decided we have to give our pets away due to Bird's allergies and then changed our minds again and again and again...
Now I’m just working on finding my groove again. Perhaps I shall call Stella? Bad joke. Bad. Anyway, I’m just trying to return to “normalcy,” whatever that is. And, aside from dealing with some crazy people in the world (why are there so many), not much else is happening. Luckily, my child has been supplying me with an endless supply of blog material so, I’ll be writing when I have the urge. Laughter is the best medicine and who better to laugh at than yourself.
Monday, June 21, 2010
All that's Missing is Bing Crosby Tap Dancing with Danny Fucking-Kaye
I’ve spoken before about my extended family and their quirks. My Grampy and Grandma are basically the center of most things. Grampy has been a bit under the weather; as I mentioned before he has a pacemaker. He has been in the hospital for the past five days because his ticker wasn’t quite working right. He’s feeling much better now (he had a very rough night on Thursday) and should be coming home later this week.
Grampy is a very active man; he doesn’t sit still for long. He has a garden, a barn and he loves to tinker. Being cooped up in a hospital is, needless to say, not his cup of tea. Yesterday, Bread, Bird and I headed out for a visit. Coincidentally, my brother (Uncle H), my Grandma (she and Grampy have been married for 55 years) and my mom were also there.
I don’t know if I can do this scene justice but I’m going to try. We walk in. Grampy is sharing a room with some other guy. The room is divided by a curtain. Oh! How private and lovely! Not really. Immediately, Bird runs for the bed, climbs up and starts jumping. Boing! Boing! Boing! The man, sharing the room, behind the curtain, is coughing. I mean, really coughing, as in, don’t look under the curtain because I’m about 95 percent certain there’s a lung on the floor. Cough! Gurgle! Cough! Boing! Boing! Boing! Grandma starts asking Grampy if he needs his oxygen. Grampy says not now. Grandma keeps pushing until Grampy tells her, “I don’t want to be too reliant on that.” Yeah, oxygen? Totally overrated. Boing! Boing! Boing! Cough! Gurgle! Cough!
Meanwhile, Bread, my mom, and Uncle H are holding a conversation over Bird and her trampoline. My mom turns to my Grandma to ask her about the local fireworks, which are scheduled for this Friday. She wants to know if they’re really going to happen. My Grandma sort of rudely shouts at her that, “Yes, they’re happening and I don’t really want people to come over and I don’t want to cook hotdogs.” WTF? Boing! Boing! Boing! Cough! Gurgle! Cough!
Uncle H then says, “I think I have hemorrhoids.” Boing! Boing! Boing! Grandma “whispers” in a voice that could wake Elvis,”What happened to?" (jerks thumb over shoulder at empty bed in the room across the hall). “Did he die?” Grampy, without skipping a beat replies, “I didn’t know it wasn’t my turn to watch him.” While the rest of us, chastise Grandma for being so blunt and loud (she always is), she then feels the need to explain that, “he was old, I mean really old.” Boing! Boing! Boing!
To change the subject, I tell Grampy that he looks a lot better today. He decides to tell us that he feels much better than he did on Thursday. His words exactly, “When they first sent me here, I was afraid I was going to die. Then, that first night, I was afraid I wasn’t!” while laughing. Of course, the rest of us are laughing. Jokes about death are always humorous! Boing! Boing! Boing! Cough! Gurgle! Cough!
At this point, I kind of realize how loud we are. There are seven of us squeezed into a very tiny, curtained area. Bird has moved on to trying to “tickle” the baseball players on the world’s smallest television. Grandma starts in with the oxygen again. Grampy is rolling his eyes. The man next store has proclaimed, to whoever is visiting him, “The doctor says if I lose some weight and quit the booze, I’ll be doing good. Haaaaaggggkkkk.” Um, I’m not exactly a doctor, but, based on your size (he was massive) and that cough, I think you may need to lose more than a few pounds (perhaps a person or two) and perhaps see about getting a lung transplant. I’m just saying. Bird resumes jumping. Boing! Boing! Boing!
A nurse stops to look in our room. I take that as a hint. Okay, ‘tis time to depart. We are saying our good-byes. Grampy asks Bread if he’s still working a lot of hours. Grampy, obviously now retired, was in the same career field as Bread, so he has a vested interest in Bread and his workload. Bread tells him that he is still working lots of hours. Grampy, with a twinkle in his eye, replies, “Good. And, keep paying that Social Security!”
We left, and I suppose, I didn’t think much of this visit. It’s normal for me. But, then Bread and I were replaying the events of the afternoon and we laughed so hard we cried. Reliant on oxygen! Yelling about fireworks! ‘Rhoids! Coughing! Jumping! It was, in actuality, a scene straight out of a Griswold movie. My family is the Griswold’s! All we need is an RV, with an over-filled shitter, and an asshole in a bathrobe to empty it! OMG! Next time I’ll film!
Grampy is a very active man; he doesn’t sit still for long. He has a garden, a barn and he loves to tinker. Being cooped up in a hospital is, needless to say, not his cup of tea. Yesterday, Bread, Bird and I headed out for a visit. Coincidentally, my brother (Uncle H), my Grandma (she and Grampy have been married for 55 years) and my mom were also there.
I don’t know if I can do this scene justice but I’m going to try. We walk in. Grampy is sharing a room with some other guy. The room is divided by a curtain. Oh! How private and lovely! Not really. Immediately, Bird runs for the bed, climbs up and starts jumping. Boing! Boing! Boing! The man, sharing the room, behind the curtain, is coughing. I mean, really coughing, as in, don’t look under the curtain because I’m about 95 percent certain there’s a lung on the floor. Cough! Gurgle! Cough! Boing! Boing! Boing! Grandma starts asking Grampy if he needs his oxygen. Grampy says not now. Grandma keeps pushing until Grampy tells her, “I don’t want to be too reliant on that.” Yeah, oxygen? Totally overrated. Boing! Boing! Boing! Cough! Gurgle! Cough!
Meanwhile, Bread, my mom, and Uncle H are holding a conversation over Bird and her trampoline. My mom turns to my Grandma to ask her about the local fireworks, which are scheduled for this Friday. She wants to know if they’re really going to happen. My Grandma sort of rudely shouts at her that, “Yes, they’re happening and I don’t really want people to come over and I don’t want to cook hotdogs.” WTF? Boing! Boing! Boing! Cough! Gurgle! Cough!
Uncle H then says, “I think I have hemorrhoids.” Boing! Boing! Boing! Grandma “whispers” in a voice that could wake Elvis,”What happened to?" (jerks thumb over shoulder at empty bed in the room across the hall). “Did he die?” Grampy, without skipping a beat replies, “I didn’t know it wasn’t my turn to watch him.” While the rest of us, chastise Grandma for being so blunt and loud (she always is), she then feels the need to explain that, “he was old, I mean really old.” Boing! Boing! Boing!
To change the subject, I tell Grampy that he looks a lot better today. He decides to tell us that he feels much better than he did on Thursday. His words exactly, “When they first sent me here, I was afraid I was going to die. Then, that first night, I was afraid I wasn’t!” while laughing. Of course, the rest of us are laughing. Jokes about death are always humorous! Boing! Boing! Boing! Cough! Gurgle! Cough!
At this point, I kind of realize how loud we are. There are seven of us squeezed into a very tiny, curtained area. Bird has moved on to trying to “tickle” the baseball players on the world’s smallest television. Grandma starts in with the oxygen again. Grampy is rolling his eyes. The man next store has proclaimed, to whoever is visiting him, “The doctor says if I lose some weight and quit the booze, I’ll be doing good. Haaaaaggggkkkk.” Um, I’m not exactly a doctor, but, based on your size (he was massive) and that cough, I think you may need to lose more than a few pounds (perhaps a person or two) and perhaps see about getting a lung transplant. I’m just saying. Bird resumes jumping. Boing! Boing! Boing!
A nurse stops to look in our room. I take that as a hint. Okay, ‘tis time to depart. We are saying our good-byes. Grampy asks Bread if he’s still working a lot of hours. Grampy, obviously now retired, was in the same career field as Bread, so he has a vested interest in Bread and his workload. Bread tells him that he is still working lots of hours. Grampy, with a twinkle in his eye, replies, “Good. And, keep paying that Social Security!”
We left, and I suppose, I didn’t think much of this visit. It’s normal for me. But, then Bread and I were replaying the events of the afternoon and we laughed so hard we cried. Reliant on oxygen! Yelling about fireworks! ‘Rhoids! Coughing! Jumping! It was, in actuality, a scene straight out of a Griswold movie. My family is the Griswold’s! All we need is an RV, with an over-filled shitter, and an asshole in a bathrobe to empty it! OMG! Next time I’ll film!
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Let's Talk About the Dough
I have wanted to talk about my beloved husband since I started this here blog. It’s been a lot easier to talk about the insanity that is parenthood. The truth is: I’m not really sure where to begin. Are there words to describe a person who deals with all this crazy every day and, is not crazy himself?
We have nearly nine years of history; our first date was May 8, 2001. We didn’t like each other initially but many, many things changed. In the beginning, it didn’t seem like we would be together forever. I was only 22 and he was only 21 (I’m such a cougar). I had just broken up with someone and he had never really had a serious girlfriend. I liked him. He made me laugh and he was (and still is) boyishly cute. I didn’t really expect anything to happen between the two of us. But, he ended up asking me out several times, and soon we were dating.
A few months into our relationship, Bread declared that we might as well break up because he never wanted to get married and he definitely never wanted kids. This was rather confusing for me because we were having fun and I had never mentioned anything about marriage. Boys! Why do they have to complicate the uncomplicated? Since I am the insightful lady that I am, saw that he was only nervous because of how much he actually did like me. Don’t get me wrong, I was young and not exactly looking for marriage at the moment either; but, I thought we were having fun and did not need to worry about that at the moment.
Obviously, we worked it out. Bread got over his insecurities and eventually he was the one who wanted to get married. I’m all about women’s rights and such but I’m traditional; I wanted him to ask. He did! He asked! I said yes! No shit.
We were married for nearly three years when we had Bird. I am so glad we waited; I feel like we didn’t rush anything. Just like we aren’t rushing for baby number two (now you know). We have our happy little family; Bread, Jessie, Bird and our dogs: Cole and Olive.
What about Bread, you ask? Well, Bread is a man; I mean, he likes meat and potatoes (but, will honestly eat anything). He likes his meat rare (shudders). He works hard every day, physically and actually; he could never sit behind a desk. He comes home dirty. He loves cars (although, less over the years because he has a lazy spot and he doesn’t actually want to work on a car but would never just buy one-it’s complicated). He is funny. He will watch anything on TV. I mean, anything, he just zones out. He always cries during war movies. His wardrobe consists of polo shirts and khaki shorts in the summer and flannels, thermals and jeans in the winter (guys are lucky because they can wear the same stuff year after year and it never goes out of style. And, also, because they have wicked-fast metabolisms. Bastards). He is the best dad and husband. He takes care of Bird when I’m not around; he is not that guy who needs bribery or convincing to actually spend time with his own offspring. He knows how to take care of her. He loves his wifey (especially her excellent domestic skills) and her cookies (no, that is not code for boobs, pervert). In a nutshell, he is a man’s man. He is a loyal, dedicated family man. He also has boyish good looks. Have I mentioned the boyish good looks? He’s cute, BTW…
I also believe he is a saint. He puts up with my antics, schemes and, well, my all-around crazy. I think he loves all my personalities. I hope so. I plan to continue “busting his balls” for the next sixty years or so.
We have nearly nine years of history; our first date was May 8, 2001. We didn’t like each other initially but many, many things changed. In the beginning, it didn’t seem like we would be together forever. I was only 22 and he was only 21 (I’m such a cougar). I had just broken up with someone and he had never really had a serious girlfriend. I liked him. He made me laugh and he was (and still is) boyishly cute. I didn’t really expect anything to happen between the two of us. But, he ended up asking me out several times, and soon we were dating.
A few months into our relationship, Bread declared that we might as well break up because he never wanted to get married and he definitely never wanted kids. This was rather confusing for me because we were having fun and I had never mentioned anything about marriage. Boys! Why do they have to complicate the uncomplicated? Since I am the insightful lady that I am, saw that he was only nervous because of how much he actually did like me. Don’t get me wrong, I was young and not exactly looking for marriage at the moment either; but, I thought we were having fun and did not need to worry about that at the moment.
Obviously, we worked it out. Bread got over his insecurities and eventually he was the one who wanted to get married. I’m all about women’s rights and such but I’m traditional; I wanted him to ask. He did! He asked! I said yes! No shit.
We were married for nearly three years when we had Bird. I am so glad we waited; I feel like we didn’t rush anything. Just like we aren’t rushing for baby number two (now you know). We have our happy little family; Bread, Jessie, Bird and our dogs: Cole and Olive.
What about Bread, you ask? Well, Bread is a man; I mean, he likes meat and potatoes (but, will honestly eat anything). He likes his meat rare (shudders). He works hard every day, physically and actually; he could never sit behind a desk. He comes home dirty. He loves cars (although, less over the years because he has a lazy spot and he doesn’t actually want to work on a car but would never just buy one-it’s complicated). He is funny. He will watch anything on TV. I mean, anything, he just zones out. He always cries during war movies. His wardrobe consists of polo shirts and khaki shorts in the summer and flannels, thermals and jeans in the winter (guys are lucky because they can wear the same stuff year after year and it never goes out of style. And, also, because they have wicked-fast metabolisms. Bastards). He is the best dad and husband. He takes care of Bird when I’m not around; he is not that guy who needs bribery or convincing to actually spend time with his own offspring. He knows how to take care of her. He loves his wifey (especially her excellent domestic skills) and her cookies (no, that is not code for boobs, pervert). In a nutshell, he is a man’s man. He is a loyal, dedicated family man. He also has boyish good looks. Have I mentioned the boyish good looks? He’s cute, BTW…
I also believe he is a saint. He puts up with my antics, schemes and, well, my all-around crazy. I think he loves all my personalities. I hope so. I plan to continue “busting his balls” for the next sixty years or so.
Monday, March 1, 2010
Home, Home on the Range. Where Ring Bologna is a Del-i-ca-cy
I come from a small town where 90 percent of my extended family still resides. When we got married, we moved to a city about 40 minutes away. In my opinion, if you’re going to reside in the same state as your parents, you should live close enough for weekend visits but far enough that mom doesn’t walk in on your weekly naked television time (another post for another day, my friends). Anyhow, the small town I come from is close (within 25 minutes of driving to malls, chain restaurants and well, civilization) but for some reason my family hasn’t really evolved. Don’t get me wrong, they’re good people. They even have all of their teeth or, I guess, most of them have all of their teeth; they’re just very simple.
Recently, the food at family gatherings has become a big topic of conversation for Bread and me. There are how many holidays/birthdays/reasons to gather each year? My family eats the SAME THING EVERY TIME! I shit you not. Ham, macaroni salad (1970’s classic!), cheese dip, Deviled Eggs and cheesecake! What? Why are we having the same meal again? WTF? Oh wait, I’ve forgotten to mention the relish tray? What’s a relish tray? It’s fucking pickles. Every kind of pickle you could imagine. But, placed in a divided dish it’s really quite fancy.
The same people make the same things every time. Uncle Ed, here’s a surprise, please make a cheesecake again. I recently suggested that he should, upon January 1st, set up an assembly line, make about 12 of the damn things and freeze them. He would be set for an entire year! Stress free party going.
What’s your contribution to the spread you may be asking? Usually I’m told not to bring anything. I am 31 years-old. I can cook. I actually do 95% of our cooking at home. And, my husband is still alive. He doesn’t even spit it out. At least not when I’m looking…Anyway, on the rare occasion I can talk my way into bringing something I try to do something within their range so they’ll actually try it. I’ve made some progress; they now will eat sweet potatoes and they’ve even tried Tiramisu (remembering what it is they’re eating is another task for another day). “What’s that stuff called again?”
Now, I’m not a master chef or anything. We eat what I consider to be normal, healthy food. We make our own pasta sauces, grill and bake cookies once a week; eat fresh fruits and vegetables. We try new recipes and experiment here and there.
The most recent family gathering was for Grandpa’s 76th birthday. Grandpa is quite possibly one of the greatest people ever. He’s always happy, makes jokes and thoroughly enjoys a good laugh. He is definitely the center of the entire family. As far as food goes, he’s a true meat and potatoes guy. He doesn’t try much else which is probably why my family eats the way they do. The guy also enjoys salt on EVERYTHING. I once watched him salt corn beef. Yes, he did do that. He also used to cook his eggs in bacon grease which inevitably led to his triple bypass twelve years ago and then a pacemaker. But the guy loves food. He loves sweets and makes the best ice cream ever. He also loves beer and has turned the phrase God damn into an adjective.
So in honor of the greatest man’s 76th birthday, we had a gathering. Grandpa made ice cream. Aunt Cindy made a birthday cake (no cheesecake this time). We brought some baked beans. And the main course was? BOILED HOT DOGS. Yes, to honor one of the greatest people ever, we boiled some fucking processed meats. We didn’t even grill them. A big old’ pot of boiled wieners. Is your mouth watering? Can’t you just smell the processed lips and assholes of pigs? “Come on over, y’all we’re boiling some hot dogs!” And, you know what? Grandpa was just as happy as if we’d served him Filet Mignon. Greatest. Man. Ever.
Recently, the food at family gatherings has become a big topic of conversation for Bread and me. There are how many holidays/birthdays/reasons to gather each year? My family eats the SAME THING EVERY TIME! I shit you not. Ham, macaroni salad (1970’s classic!), cheese dip, Deviled Eggs and cheesecake! What? Why are we having the same meal again? WTF? Oh wait, I’ve forgotten to mention the relish tray? What’s a relish tray? It’s fucking pickles. Every kind of pickle you could imagine. But, placed in a divided dish it’s really quite fancy.
The same people make the same things every time. Uncle Ed, here’s a surprise, please make a cheesecake again. I recently suggested that he should, upon January 1st, set up an assembly line, make about 12 of the damn things and freeze them. He would be set for an entire year! Stress free party going.
What’s your contribution to the spread you may be asking? Usually I’m told not to bring anything. I am 31 years-old. I can cook. I actually do 95% of our cooking at home. And, my husband is still alive. He doesn’t even spit it out. At least not when I’m looking…Anyway, on the rare occasion I can talk my way into bringing something I try to do something within their range so they’ll actually try it. I’ve made some progress; they now will eat sweet potatoes and they’ve even tried Tiramisu (remembering what it is they’re eating is another task for another day). “What’s that stuff called again?”
Now, I’m not a master chef or anything. We eat what I consider to be normal, healthy food. We make our own pasta sauces, grill and bake cookies once a week; eat fresh fruits and vegetables. We try new recipes and experiment here and there.
The most recent family gathering was for Grandpa’s 76th birthday. Grandpa is quite possibly one of the greatest people ever. He’s always happy, makes jokes and thoroughly enjoys a good laugh. He is definitely the center of the entire family. As far as food goes, he’s a true meat and potatoes guy. He doesn’t try much else which is probably why my family eats the way they do. The guy also enjoys salt on EVERYTHING. I once watched him salt corn beef. Yes, he did do that. He also used to cook his eggs in bacon grease which inevitably led to his triple bypass twelve years ago and then a pacemaker. But the guy loves food. He loves sweets and makes the best ice cream ever. He also loves beer and has turned the phrase God damn into an adjective.
So in honor of the greatest man’s 76th birthday, we had a gathering. Grandpa made ice cream. Aunt Cindy made a birthday cake (no cheesecake this time). We brought some baked beans. And the main course was? BOILED HOT DOGS. Yes, to honor one of the greatest people ever, we boiled some fucking processed meats. We didn’t even grill them. A big old’ pot of boiled wieners. Is your mouth watering? Can’t you just smell the processed lips and assholes of pigs? “Come on over, y’all we’re boiling some hot dogs!” And, you know what? Grandpa was just as happy as if we’d served him Filet Mignon. Greatest. Man. Ever.
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