|
Platinum Grill, Y'all
|
10/24/2006
|
I'm 34 years old now.
In exactly 357 days I will be able to legally run for President. Now I just have to figure out how to campaign with $284.21 (which is all of the campaign money I have been able to secure to this point).
I came home on my birthday to find the Skirt had gotten there before me. Even after re-keying the locks, she can still somehow come in to deposit toiletries in and around the sinkular area of my bathroom. (When I was single, the bathroom counter had one item on it- a faucet. Now it has cranberry face mask, soy flower spleen scrub, pomegranate wattle butter, hairbrushes, and a half-inch thick coating of hairspray that is in no way limited to the sink. It is stuff she uses to ensure that she always smells like French toast and looks hotter than a Ferrari in the projects, so I let it slide.)
My initial reaction was abject glee, as I smelled the distinct aroma that can only be a combination of dryer sheets, pine-scented floor cleaner, dishwasher detergent, and Windex. Could it be that the constant ridicule and occasional beatings had finally paid off and she started cleaning my house for me like a good woman? I met her eyes with a brief look of approval, as that is all the reward she would crave for a job well done.
Then I remembered that it was Tuesday and that is the day that the Colombian Cleaning Cartel (Rinaldo and his wife Maria) comes to make my house spic and span.
No pun intended.
So not only was the Skirt not responsible, I now owed money to the cleaning company.
Then I saw it. Actually I don't know how I missed it- a box about half the size of my couch with a cat sleeping on top of it. The box said "Weber Performer", so I knew that she had either bought herself a new boyfriend, or my grilling dreams had come true. I figured it was the latter, but I settled into a fighting stance and did a few quick stretches just in case.
About a year ago I was idly looking at grills, pretty much trying to invent a reason to buy one, when I spotted the Weber Performer and was forever changed. I grill exclusively with natural charcoal instead of gas because it tastes about 3000% better (ask anyone who has wrapped their lickin' strip around one of my awesomeburgers how they liked their 72-hour orgasm) and I am not a terrorist or a pussy. Seriously, if you need a computer-controlled thermostat to keep your food at the right temperature and a cute little side burner to warm your vagina fondue, walk away from the meat fork and find something better suited for you - like wearing dresses and making scrapbooks. The grill has become little more than a shameful accessory in your web of lies.
The only complaint I have about charcoal is that is can be a bitch to light.
Lighter fluid is absolutely out of the question unless you like hexamine flavored steaks. I have been known to light my coals with a blowtorch (extreme heat may make natural lump charcoal explode into tiny burning fragments. It feels sort of like when grease gets too hot and tiny pain particles hit your arms, except they are on your face too and they burn for a longer time), some kind of hippie natural lighting stick (which did as good a job not killing endangered owls as it did not lighting my coals), and usually a paper towel soaked in vegetable oil. The problem with most of it is that it leaves some kind of residual funk behind.
Enter the Weber Performer. It has a small canister of clean-burning propane that fuels a burner beneath the coals just long enough to get them rockin' their mesquite goodness- then it's pure charculinary delight. Add to that the retractable coal bucket, multi-purpose thermometer, and little knobs on which to hang your grilling tackle, and you have me firing that bitch up at 7 am to make eggs and pancakes for everyone in the neighborhood.
You'll have to ask the skirt for specifics, but I did the "shaky hand to the face" thing that beauty pageant winners do, and I think I did the "passing out" thing that the most recent Miss Universe did. Best birthday present this whole year.
In short, it has been a pretty good few weeks for me. Two weeks in Hawaii with some of my favorite people (more on that when I finish going through the pictures...and oh, there are pictures), come home to a birthday, the grill that Jesus would use if he couldn't depend on his magic heat vision to cook his food, and a girlfriend who went to the trouble to remember my drooling over it, purchase it, and haul the beastly bastard to my house.
Life is good. Nay, never freaking better.
As I write this this, I am in London, so the box sits unopened and waiting for my return. It reminds me of when I was a kid and my parents bought me a pellet gun, but our cat wasn't going to have her kittens for another two weeks.
 Dusty
RELATED LINK:
|
|
posted by Dusty at 3:51 PM |
|
|
15 Comments:
The last time I wept like this, my balls got stuck in my zipper.
Now get back to teh funny, poser. You've been slacking lately.
That's so cool. I'd stalk you if I wasn't so old.
+Post a Comment
<< MOST RECENT BLOG