Dancing, Bulls, and Man Bait

Where are the gladiators and chocolate?

I'm drinking wine and sitting in a hot bath with bubbles that are apparently very potent but how would I know? My olfactory senses have been compromised by Satan's Cold. Yes. That deserves capital letters because the deal I made with the devil that brought on this monster must have been a doozy. I just hope it involved jacked, hot gladiators or maybe lots of chocolate...or maybe jacked and hot gladiators slathered in melty chocolate. Whatever the deal was, I want my end of the bargain. The GOOD end.

Speaking of chocolate and men...

Man bait.

I just made the BEST EVER fudge recipe. Could be even considered man bait for you single ladies. 

What is man bait, you ask? Any recipe that includes bacon could qualify as man bait. And this batch of fudge, which I labeled Saucy's McFudge (I know, it sounds morally questionable, but trust me, there was only one girl and no cups were involved - not even measuring cups) is made with lots of chocolate (the good stuff), peanut butter, homemade caramel/toffee, and little bits of candied bacon. Don't ask me for the recipe. I don't have one. This shit (I use that term loosely) was made up in my head and will probably never be replicated.

So besides my little fudge making inspiration I've been a tad busy lately. Still getting to the gym at least three times a week, but not really running much. 

I went and saw my first professional bull riding competition last Saturday night. Who names those bulls anyway? Chocolate Thunder? Meat Grinder? Really? Who does that? I would be impressed to see some super masculine cowboy coming up with such a gay-porn-worthy name.

So the PBR Championship was followed by a night of line dancing, which by the way, I'm absolutely horrible at. That's OK. I know I'm horrible and that's the first step. See what I did there? I'm also really horrible at horrible puns.

What is it about line dancing that makes me wanna jump in the middle of the dance floor and do my own thing? You know? Kinda like Elaine's crazy dance from Seinfeld? Yeah, cuz that's kinda what I look like anyway.




But, really, there's something about seeing everyone do the exact same thing that bugs the shit out of me. Why is that?

I can't explain it, but it makes me cringe and then something inside me wants to break out and do something completely unexpected. I'm not going to analyze why I feel this way, I just do and that's that.

So despite my almost knee-jerk desire to go completely mosh and punk in the middle of the country-western conservative dancefloor, I didn't. I followed the girls in front of me who looked like they knew what they were doing but I still couldn't get more than a couple steps linked together. Bitches. At least I dressed for the occasion.

The perfect redneck shirt.

And speaking of shirts I just realized its been a fucking ice age since my last giveaway. I have some Hoorags and a shirt to give away. I will post details on that soon sooooo…

… keep your eyes peeled. Who knows? Maybe I'll ask you to come up with your best porn-worthy name for a bull.
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