Grillmast Suckmaster.

I think I'm a good three-fourths of the way into the story that is due at 5:45 this evening, so instead of using the valuable time to finish it here at work (even though I still have piles and piles of transcripts to update on People Soft), I'm going to blog instead because, hey, I'm a procrastinator. Also, I think the story sucks, as usual, and my attempts to write something remotely uplifting is skirting dangerously close to Nicholas Sparks teritory, so I'm afraid to finish it just yet because I don't want to write something that my high school English teacher might think is good literature. (I'm talking about the woman who had us read that masterpiece of the British canon, And Then There Were None, in the twelfth grade.)

Last night we had an impromptu barbeque (check out those rhyming skillz, y'all!) at the house. Janna and I picked up some frozen burger and veg-burger patties and I was really excited because Joe has a grill that I've never gotten the chance to use, and I figured two weeks before moving out would be the best time to learn how to grill. Looong story short the meat didn't actually cook because the charcoal was suck-town. Also, I managed to drop two veggie burgers through the grill onto the flame. I'm not a grillmaster. We ended up just eating a lot of chips and dip. After two margaritas and some Corona, I was angry about that stupid grill and how the flame just WENT OUT when I squirted more lighter fluid down there. I decided I'd just throw a match onto it and call it a day, for Fourth of July's sake. Only when I tried to do that the match burned my finger and then wouldn't stay lit long enough for me to put it on the grill. So there you go.

So now I'm trying to figure out an ending to my stupid story, which I should try to finish over my lunch break. Although I'm going to Chipotle for the first half of it. Thank God. I missed Chipotle. It's been a long eight days.