I Do Really Hate Getting Caught

I do really hate getting caught, especially when what I was doing wasn’t actually wrong or Illegal. But, as it stands, last night I got caught getting my tips from the club last week ready to go to the bank so I could pay some bills today or tomorrow. I will explain the money part of that in a bit because I know someone is going to ask about it. So, yesterday evening all the kids were gone, dinner was on the grill, and I remembered I needed to go to the bank. Now, I don’t keep secrets about money from my wife, she knows I make a decent amount in tips bartending. She knows I also get a paycheck, she knows I’m a 10-99 employee as well which means we save 20% of my earnings to pay Uncle Sam in January. What she has yet to figure out is why a bartender in a full nude strip club is paid what I get paid. But, the money is the reason I am there. I can’t help it I am able to negotiate what my time and services are worth. A while back, when I started back, I agreed to work Wednesday and Thursday nights, roughly 30 hours between the two days, for $1200.00 since I knew I would be paying my own taxes.

Plus, as bartender I keep ALL of my tips, but I also get 5% of the tips to the waitresses, and 1% of the tips from the dancers. Doesn’t sound like much does it? The stack of money on the table represents my tips plus the additional tip outs from the dancers and waitresses. The bundles are $100.00 if you are counting. Since I report and pay taxes on this as well, it all stays well documented. Which, is what I was doing last night when my wife came strolling into the dining room, home early from work. She had a surprised look on her face, like I just showed her a sasquatch body laying on the table after varmint hunting. Needless to say, she wasn’t ever aware that at anytime during the week there is a similar amount of money tucked away in the safe. Then the conversation got ugly. Supposedly I am hiding it from her because she has been unaware. I tried to explain it all goes to our joint checking account, minus what goes to a separate joint savings account for taxes. Still not believing me I had to get my tablet so we could explore the last few months of Wells Fargo deposits. A new bit of information came to light that I was unaware of, she doesn’t pay attention to the account balances. How the hell not? Well, seems that since I have always been the monthly bill payer that I would let her know if there is a problem so she never worried about it.

Yet, I am the one being told I’m hiding money from her. I still can’t wrap my head around it because it seems like a bizarre way of thinking. Then, this morning it hits me, its because I am the man and she is the woman, therefore I am automatically wrong. But, I have a frugal wife, she is not a spend-o-holic, she believes, as I do, that we will want to take trips, pay for college, and still one day retire. So, I have no complaints in that department. No other department either really, perhaps the jumping to conclusions part, but we argue and communicate very well with each other. In the end, we spent a few hours in the hot tub drinking margaritas and not talking about work, money, or our worries. We just sat there butt-ass naked enjoying each other’s company under the partly cloudy sky listening to the hum of the margarita machine churning out the next batch. All and all, after dinner, the hot tub, and the excellent margaritas, we went to bed with smiles on our faces. She mentioned this morning that I’m still an asshole but she still loves me.

Bow Our Heads For Words Unknown

Saturday became the day that was decided where many people who are otherwise too busy could get their schedules together and spend time with one another. I hosted this get together of family and friends. The purpose? Nothing more than for everyone to get together, eat, maybe have a drink or two, let the kids run wild, and for everyone to catch up with what is worth catching up with. I spent the morning preparing all of the meat, smoking it all to perfection, and all of this was paired with side dishes brought by many people. I would say in total there were 60 men, women, and children all spending their precious Saturday together for absolutely no reason.

Finally, it was time to feast. I look all around me and see my family and friends and it dawns on me that there are many different faiths attending my supper. At this moment my father stood up announcing that I would be leading us in prayer and for everyone to rise with heads bowed low. Immediately in my brain I’m yelling wait! I don’t pray so how will I be the one to lead the prayer? I stood there, frozen, for what seemed to be eternity, and then my mouth opened. It was like the dam opened and I couldn’t, no mater what I tried, stop the flow of words coming out of my mouth. It was like me standing outside my own body watching me deliver this prayer before our meal.

When it was complete all I heard was a rumbled amen, then seeing everyone sit, and everyone plowing into the food. I ate there quietly wondering what in the fuck just happened. What did happen? What did I say? Why would my dad take it upon himself to announce me at the prayer giver? The whole meal I was thinking of what I was going to say to the man who put me on the spot in front of so many people. I could have declined leading the prayer but with my wife at my side squeezing my hand I wasn’t going anywhere fast. In fact, when it was done I got a wink of approval from my son across the table. What did all of this mean? Was this an intervention? Was this going to be a forcible conversion? Was there going to be pain and blood? Did I just die?

After the meal everyone was mingling on the back deck, the kids were running amuck in the yard playing hide and seek, and I found myself standing alone stoking the outdoor fireplace. My fathers actions still weighing heavily on my mind wondering what he could’ve possibly been thinking. My dad ended up walking over to where I was, standing beside me, resting his arm around my shoulders. We stood there for a moment. The silence spoke volumes. He started talking to me where he thanked me for taking the opportunity to leading the prayer, acknowledging that I did it perfectly. When I ask why he laid it out for me in his own special way. He told me this meal was being served at my house and traditionally the male head of the house leads the prayer for meals. I told him he had put me in an awkward position because I don’t pray. He said he knows but knew I would have something inspirational to say.

Some of y’all are probably wondering why this is even a point to write about. Some of y’all have been around here long enough that y’all know why. In the end, it’s over and I learned a valuable lesson. Part of that lesson was that I will never cease to amaze myself what I can pull out of my ass to sound like I know what I’m talking about. I have never had a problem speaking to a crowd, large or small, but I felt uncomfortable this time because this isn’t part of who I am. Out of respect for my family and friends I did dig deep, real deep, and tried to make things appear normal. Normal? What’s normal anymore? Overall, we all had fun, we all ate well, and nobody burst into flames. Yay me!

Extreme Hot Dog Cookers

Grillbillies!

I Don’t Care

What Has The World Come To?

Those of y’all know me know that I grill food and smoke food on a regular basis. I take pride in the fact that over the years I have become quite good at it. That’s nog bragging, it’s just the facts based on everyone always comes back for seconds, thirds, or forths and are very disappointed when they find out I will not be cooking. I have a way with meat, it’s an art, even better one might even call it a gift. I have spent the better part of my life perfecting cooking meat on a grill or smoker, I have allot of time and money invested into something I love to do. Which, in the end, is why I generally don’t mind cooking the meat(s) for family get togethers, when we camp, when friends get together, or even at work when we have company parties two or three times a year. What can I say, I trust me when it comes to the preparation, cooking, and final consumption of the meat. Call it vain, call it conceded, one might even consider me kinda anal, but there is a right way to grill or smoke and then there is the wrong way. I pride myself on the simple fact that I have never received a complaint and I always get asked to come back to do it again. But, enough about me. I just thought a little background was in hand before I went on to explain that I was in charge of the grilling this past Saturday for one of my nieces 4th birthday. How could I ever say no to that?

 

After I got my charcoal going, let it burn down, and adding my wood chunks soaked in a secret blend of concontion, I was ready to let it rip. My wife brought me the platters of meat, yes platters, we were feeding some 25 adults and just as many kids, we were going to have a little bit of everything. We had 100% all beef hamburgers, 100% all beef hot dogs, bonless pork chops (thick cut), some of my home made venison sausage, of course we had some gator tail, and some venison flanks I had left over. Yes, it was going to be a small feast. I began laying out my spread of meat, adding a light dust of seasoning, closed the lid and listened to the meat sizzle. Meanwhile, I had to assist in putting up an air inflatable jump castle that the kids (and adults) were begging me to get up so they could all jump and play. I must say that this jump casle was the absolute best $300.00 investment I have ever picked up at a garage sale. Y’all might not understand, it’s a 20 ft x 20 ft jump castle, it’s huge and loads of fun for all ages. When I got done my wife was walking up to me holding the box I have pictured above and wanted me to slap it on the grill when I got a chance. WTF? Who in the hell brings veggie burgers to a meatfeast? I honestly think I broke out in cold sweats for fear that someone was going to see me sneak one of these veggie burgers onto a grill loaded with all of this fine meat. I wanted to cry. I was ashamed of myself that I was actually considering complying with this wacko request. Yes, I was a little emotional, my feelings were actually hurt I think. I couldn’t believe I was about to open my grill and insult all the other meats.

 

Needless to say, I opened the box, I opened the sealed plastic bag, and removed one perfectly formed 2.5 oz oddly colored patty. Now, I know this is supposed to mimic the look of a hamburger patty, but damn, it didn’t even look like meat or anything I would ever put in my mouth, and trust me when I say I have tried many strange things to eat from all over the world. Then, I made a hole on the grill and slapped it down. It didn’t even sizzle! It never sizzed! I am thinking the world has finally come to the absolute end and my grill will never be the same. I feel a power washing coming on in the near future. I have had this particular grill for 25 years and I have never threatened it with the power washer ever before, I should be ashamed of myself I know. I let it “cook” to the desired temperature as it stated on the box, 160 F. To top it all off I was even asked to put this special cheese on it. I know I shouldn’t have been shocked, but there was nothing cheese related about this sad slice of cheese. I know, I shouldn’t bitch about these things, and I am almost done. Amazingly enough, it was all placed on a breadless bun, go figure. The rest of my meat was done at about the same time so I pulled it all off and put that on big platters as well. I took it inside and all the wolves came at me for the first sight of this mega meatfeast. What can I say, I aim to please, and everyone was pleased.

 

One final note. I’m not knocking the vegan lifestyle. It’s just not my style. I respect a person that can change from being a born carnivore into a reborn vegan. Again, I like meat way to much to even attempt to notice the notion that there is meat alternitives out there. I refuse to admit that people are happy not eating meat. Call me wrong, call me bad names, whatever, but y’all will never convince me that I can get the taste of a bloody steak from something artificial. And, no, I am not willing to let you attempt to prove me wrong either. To each his own or “a chacun le sien” as my high school French teacher used to tell me. I have spoke to many family members, people I have worked with, and friends who have given up meat and dairy in my interest to find out more about that lifestyle. I can’t say I am willing to make the change. Why, you ask? It’s just not something I am remotely interested in attempting. I meant what I said, if people wish to live this lifestyle I have no problem and I won’t jusdge, just don’t ask me to ever grill it for you. The thought of that still gives me goose bumps up and down my spine. In the end everything works out I suppose, everyone goes home happy, and I will still look forward to my next time in front of the grill, I can hear the meat sizzling already.

Thumper, Bambi, Porky, and Rocky

Originally Published To: Hate Mail on 23 March 2013

I find it amazing that people live such sheltered lives. I find it amazing that those people living in their sheltered lives that they feel they must condemn the things which they know nothing about. I’m not going to lie to you, I knew when I started posting about stalking animals, killing animals, skinning animals, and then cooking those animals, that I was going to get allot of flak for it. After posting “Bacon Wrapped Kicken’ Smoked Rabbit” the flood of e-mails and messages began to pour in. It would appear that I’m a cold hearted bastard for killing and eating Thumper, Bambi, Porky, and Rocky. This made me think, this made me wonder what kind of people read my blog, and this made me wonder why people get so upset with the way I get my groceries. Understandably I know that I live in a place where the “wildlife” is hunted and eventually eaten. I also understand that this isn’t the way everybody lives their life for a million and one reasons. Yes, I pick at the “city folks” because it actually humors me that so many people think meat just appears in their local supermarkets and they have absolutely no idea that the animals that end up in the meat department were breed and slaughtered for profit. But, this seems to be okay with them. What seems to not be okay is when a hunter makes a kill and puts that meat on his table. I have made it no secret that over 90% of the meat consumed in my house was killed by me. Why is this a problem?

From what I gather in the babbling e-mails I get about how inhumane what I do to be is that there is an absolute lack of understanding, education, and individuals that have either been brainwashed too much or individuals who have a closed mind which choose to attack that which they know zero about. Yes, I do find it funny and quite humorous that people want to bitch at me because I am cruel to animals in their eyes. Cruel to animals? I have been hunting since I was seven years old. I was taught to hunt by my dad. I was taught never to kill an animal unless I was going to eat it. Granted, it is a nice thought but doesn’t always happen. I have had to kill snakes, bats, and other nuisance critters that I never ate because I wasn’t hunting them, I was defending something or eliminating the nuisance form places I did not want them. I have been clear over the years that I enjoy using Mother Nature’s pantry to put food on my table. This seems to be a problem because I don’t buy everything we eat at the supermarket. It’s bizarre to me that people take such a stance against me and hunting in general. I will never apologize for being a hunter and eating what I stalk and kill. It just happens to be my way of life. If it is not your way of life so be it. I will continue to write about what I do in my life and that will never change.

Now, if I have just enraged you or just totally pissed you off, good, you deserve to be offended and pissed off. It;s high time that the whiny jack asses realize that they do not run my life or what I write on my blog. I will make anyone out there an across the board deal. You provide me with all the meat I provide my family for an entire year and I will not only not hunt that year, I will also not write about how I cook the meat. Deal? I offered this up a few years ago and all the pussy big mouths decided to go all out and shut their mouths. For those of you who think I am a danger because I teach my family how to hunt and survive in the wilderness you too can piss up a rope. I will not expect my kids to learn everything from the television as many of the pussys who read here must do. There is life outside your living room and beyond your couch. Put down the freakin’ remote, your cell phone, and your lap top and just go outside and see what you are missing. Hunting isn’t for everyone, I know this already, but buying everything at the supermarket or at a restaurant isn’t for everyone either. I expect to keep getting bullshit e-mails and post comments about what a bad person I am. It’s fine, I am good with your silly nonsense and ramblings. As always, the best advice I can give to anyone who is offended with the contents of my blog, is just to move along and don’t read what I have written. Our opinions will always differ since we life differently. I am beginning to believe what my wife has been telling me for years and that is that people will always try to shit on a parade they weren’t invited to. It is all beginning to make sense to me know.