Smoking Out

It’s just something we like to do to unwind after a long week.

I started to write some stuff about dry mouth and the munchies, but then I realized I might be a little too white bread for anyone to believe I was talking about weed.

We’re smoking our first brisket today! And by that I mean Gary is smoking our first brisket and I’m sitting here blogging about it. Supportively. I am contributing though. I’m making some buttered rosemary rolls in a skillet thanks to Pioneer Woman. Have you met her? She’s living my life. 4 really cute kids – 2 boys, 2 girls. Lives on a giant ranch. Gets paid to cook all day and blog about it. I think I’d hate her if it weren’t for two things: One, she’s helped me convince Gary I’m a good cook, and two, her ranch is in Oklahoma. Yuck. You know the joke. Maybe you don’t.

Q: Why doesn’t Texas fall into the Gulf of Mexico?

A: ‘Cause Oklahoma sucks.

Hard to be jealous when I think about that.

I’m just teasing! I’m sure Oklahoma’s just fine. It’s practically Texas. But that being said, why don’t people just move a few more miles south so at least they can have bragging rights? These are the questions that keep me up at night…

Anyway, back to the smoking. I love it when Gary smokes stuff because it usually involves two things: beer and country music. I don’t drink beer ‘cause I’m a lady and I have to be in a very special mood to listen to country music because I spent a few years singing backup for twelve year olds in sequined cowboy hats screaming Carrie Underwood songs at an opry back home. To this day I can’t hear Jesus Take the Wheel without becoming physically ill. But something about the combination of the two (I like to call it “boozic”) makes Gary extra fun. He walks around the house doing this kind of bouncy shuffle that I can’t accurately describe and singing George Strait and Clint Black at the top of his lungs. Those are a couple of guys I can get behind, because they come from a time when country was actually good, long before Rascal Flatts came along and destroyed the genre forever. Did anyone ever hear the word “badonkadonk” in a country song in the 90’s? No. They didn’t. (Ok, maybe Rascal Flatts isn't responsible for making it trashy, but they sure made it annoying.)

So now I’m off to spend the rest of the evening relaxing and enjoying some delicious barbecue with Alan, Garth, Dolly, Dwight, Johnny, Tracy, Randy and whatever Brooks & Dunn’s first names are.

PEACE.