Y’all, I’m not going to try to sugar coat it.
It’s not easy being single. Okay, technically I’m divorced, but I still go to bed alone most nights. Unless you count my hound dog Lester. Sometimes if Lester is feeling especially spry and he’s had a good day with his arthritis, he’ll hop up on the duvet and snuggle with me. But on most nights he pulls the canine equivalent of a “dutch oven” and waits til I’m settled in the bed and then farts and limps out of the room.
Anyway, back to being single. I’ve been invited to about 37 weddings in the past six months, and I’m pretty sure it’s not just because spring is coming. All my friends are gleefully moving on to their second and third marriages, and can’t stop talking about fucking wedded bliss, and I can’t even get a date to witness their nuptials. I joined every dating service there is. Not just the usual shit either. Of course I’ve tried out Match.com, eHarmony, OkCupid, and Zoosk. I almost tried out Christian Mingle, but I just can’t handle the word “mingle.” It makes my toes feel weird.
So when nothing happened with those, I decided to branch out. True love knows no bounds, right? So I built profiles on SeniorPeopleMeet, Crazy Blind Date, and Farmers Only. I know I’m not a farmer, but damn there are some pretty fucking hot farmers out there. They have to be, loading all that hay and picking up all that corn all the time. Don’t even get me started about a man who drives his own mules. I’m getting hot just thinking about it. Plus farmers have the best vegetables, y’all. I was already thinking about what I’d be canning next fall while I was filling out my profile.
Because I’ve got my CDL, and I love the power of a semi-truck (gosh, it just turns me on, ya know?), I also joined up on 18WheelSingles.com. I had a couple of dates with some men who really gunned my engine. But I couldn’t get over their enormous amount of facial hair. Seems like every trucker I dated looked like the Brown Wizard from The Hobbit movies.
And the one guy whose facial hair was somewhat in control had somehow managed to unzip his pants, pull out his dong, and lay out a line of cocaine on it without me noticing. It wasn’t until he said, “I got a present for you,” that I realized what was going on. That was our first date. I decided to try other avenues.
I also stepped out on a limb and made me a profile at PotPartner.com. I mean, I don’t really smoke pot much (though I will admit to trying it once or twice back in college…), but I figured hey, I’ve never met a mean pothead, right? Maybe there’s a nice guy out there, just sitting around, waiting for me. I met a guy named Horace on PotPartner.com. We never got around to dating, though. I went to pick him up for our date (he didn’t have a car), and we ended up just eating Doritos and drinking Coors Lite in his living room. He fell asleep before he could make a move on me. We’re still friends.
By then I was getting kind of desperate. It’s not that I didn’t get matched with people. I did. But there are some weirdos out there, let me tell you. One of the first dates I went on was with a guy I met on Crazy Blind Date. He showed up at the steak restaurant with a giant snake draped around his neck like a damn gold chain. I was pretty concerned that the snake would attack me or lunge at my head and mess up my hair-do or something, so I really couldn’t enjoy my meal. Which was okay, because apparently the snake eats people food, and he quite enjoyed my rib-eye and potatoes au gratin.
Due to my unfortunate experiences with all the other dating sites, I decided to join one that was sure to bring me everlasting love and joy, if only because the target audience don’t get much in the way of company, and I’m damn good company. But as luck would have it, the only guys on MeetAnInmate.com that showed any interest in my dating profile were wife-murders, and even though they had some pretty convincing stories, I don’t think I could ever fully trust someone who murdered his first wife.
So that’s how come I ended up at a local watering hole, Swanky Bubbles, trying to drown my sorrows in tequila and bar nuts. I looked up, and there was a handsome stud standing right next to me, ordering a Caribou Lou. I happen to love Caribou Lou’s (don’t you love pineapple juice?), so I immediately began chatting him up. Turns out his name was Dickie Pete Johnson, and he was also divorced, so we had a lot in common, ‘cept that he had kids and all I had was Lester.
Dickie Pete and I hit it off right away, and we talked until the wee hours about everything you can think about. It was magical.As we left the bar and were about to go our separate ways, he asked if he could show me the best brats in the world. I thought it was a little soon for me to be meeting his kids, but hell, live in the moment! I told him I’d love to, and we made a date for the next Friday night.
Friday night rolled around and I got all dressed up–appropriately, though. I didn’t want to make the wrong impression on children, you know, like I was a skank or something. So I made sure to wear a turtleneck, even though it bothered my neck, and a long skirt. Children are shorter than adults and I didn’t want them to get a peeky-boo of something they shouldn’t before their daddy even did. I also read somewhere that children like bright colors so I made sure that I wore all the primary colors (red, blue, yellow) as my main colors and used the secondary colors (orange, purple, green) as my accent pieces and eye shadow colors.
When Dickie Pete showed up to pick me up, he looked at me kind of funny, but at the time I was pretty sure it was just admiration on how carefully I dressed to be non-offensive and educational. I got in his Kia Soul, and he drove us to the Polish side of town. I thought that was kind of odd, but maybe his ex-wife was Polish. Anyway, he eventually parked on what looked like a street of dry cleaners. I couldn’t imagine where we could be going. We walked a little ways down the street, and just as I was wondering if he was trying to get me to a secluded spot to murder me, we stopped at a steaming street cart.
Dickie Pete glanced at me, and then told the street cart guy, “two heart attacks, hold the onions,” and the guy handed him two aluminum foil-wrapped packages. Dickie Pete gave me one, and when I unwrapped it, the most heavenly smell billowed out of the foil. I took a big bite and tasted meat, cheese, bacon, and some type of spice. As I took a second big bite, Dickie Pete turned to me and said, “how’s your brat?”
Y’all, I could have died. Of shame, yes, but also because at that very moment I choked on my sausage and Dickie Pete had to do the Heimlich on me and I threw up a little on his foot.
We rode back to my place in silence. Dickie Pete dropped me at curb and when he drove away I think his foot slipped on the gas pedal because his tires squealed and threw some mud up on me and permanently stained my red and yellow vest.
So it didn’t work out with Dickie Pete Johnson, but I still love making those bacon-wrapped, cheese-filled brats he introduced me to. There doesn’t even need to be a football game on for me to make these. It could just be a Thursday.
So you first want to get out all your stuff. I make sure to get the fully cooked brats, because I ain’t playing with salmonella.
I also make sure I buy the high-quality shit. I’ll buy Great Value peas all day, but no generic store-brand meat. Not worth it.
So, because I love onions so much, I also got an onion to use as a topping.
I cut it into long pieces.
Then I put the onions into a buttered skillet, and sauté until golden brown.
While the onions are cooking, go ahead and shred your cheese. I used two types of cheese: sharp cheddar and New York white cheddar. I like it tangy.
Just shred a handful of each.
Once the cheese is shredded, get out your brats.
Cut a slit long-ways, but make sure you don’t cut all the way through.
Stuff the slit with first one kind of cheese,
and then with the other type.
You could really use any kind of cheese. Jalepeno cheese is probably what I’ll try next time. I also like it zippy.
So once they’re all stuffed,
go ahead and wrap each brat in a piece of bacon. You may have to stretch the bacon out a little to get it all the way around.
It’s very important that you try to cover us all the cheese and bind it in, because it’ll help it keep the cheese in when you grill.
Your onions are probably done now, too. Set aside.
When all the brats are wrapped up,
take those delicious motherfuckers out to the grill.
Lay them on a hot grill. I like to lay them so that the grill marks go diagonal. Makes me feel kind of fancy.
Lay them all out.
Close the grill, and let those fuckers crisp up.
Turn over after a few minutes.
Once the bacon is crispy, take them off the grill.
Now it’s time to grill the buns.
Of COURSE we’re grilling the buns, y’all. We’ve taken too much time and effort to slap this on a limp bun.
Brush the buns with melted butter.
Put them on the grill.
Make sure you don’t burn them.
Once they’re brown ‘n crispy, put one of those tasty sausages in the bun.
Top it with some of those onions.
And throw a bit more cheese on there. For good measure.
suck that, martha.