These Ones Go To 11

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It’s 9:30 pm on a Friday night in south central (or is it central south) Texas where we hit something like 105 degrees today.  We had burgers off of the grill earlier and I’ve gotten my workout in for the day.

 

We had some thunder and hints of rain while the meat was on the grill assuming a certain level medium rare that I appreciate on a bun.  I didn’t have to look up into the sky or feel the sprinkles of moisture to know that rain was in the area though.

 

All I really had to do was watch Faith, the 9 3/4 toed lab-jack pace around the house in a vain belief that maybe said pacing and assorted clinging would make the noises in the sky go away.  Little did she know was the thing that really made the noises go away was encapsulated in the little red pills we aggressively shoved down her throat about an hour before.

 

At this point I’m a little sad for a few reasons.

 

The first reason involves the glowing embers of charcoal out there on the grill and the fact that I have no other raw meat or other edibles (save for the Corn Chex) to put out there.

 

I honestly hate to see a good grillin’ flame go to waste.  Wifey’s grandmother is known for saying it the best:  Use it up, wear it out, make it do, or do without.

 

The TharpSter Grill at night. On the left, a flash was used. On the right, not so much.

Put very succinctly, Grammy would be very disappointed in me if I didn’t go put some meat on that flame right now.

 

How am I ever going to break it to her?

 

One of the other reasons I’m kind of sad is because I have nothing to write about right now.  That little tidbit will come across as one of the following:

 

  1. Pretty obvious
  2. A little hard to sell

 

Tomorrow I will either hang some dry wall to cover up my plumbing adventures from last week, trim a tree in preparation for bulk trash pick up, or sit around thinking of a way to get out of going to see a poorly rated chick flick (according to IMDB) with Wifey.

 

The possibilities are endless.

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