Snippets of what makes me insane

A post from yesterday evening:

I don't wanna cook dinner.

Actually, I want to just cook. But I have to grill. With charcoal. And I'm pouting, even though I had a nap and coffee. And chocolate.

Someone slap me please.

My cabinets come tomorrow...I hope.

First let me tell you, I can cook, but I cannot BBQ. I need a pot between the food and flames.

So I pile up the charcoal and squirt on what I feel is a sufficient amount of lighter fluid. Then I can't find a match, and after looking for 15 minutes for something that makes a flame, I call Dh, swearing a blue streak. He laughs, the fecker, and tells me where he has this secret stash of things that make flames.

I play with the lighter till I get the damned thing to work, light a match for fear of torching my hands, hair, what have you and throw it on the pile of lighter fluid coated charcoal.

Not much happens. I get a mild flame.

At this point the jerk calls me back to see if I'm doing OK and I start swearing again. At which point he laughs again which makes me promise bodily harm. He tells me to squirt more fluid on it, and so I do, creating a flame that could be seen by an orbiting satallite.

He tells me that it was too much and now I need to wait twenty minutes till it burns down. Fine. He asks that I not hurt him, and I tell him I'll think about it.

Then I tell him the story where I walk into the kitchen and see the guys using liquid laundry stain remover on the skylights because it looks like the glass cleaner.

We both laugh.

I finally get the chicken breasts onto the grill and they are about done. I fish a plate out of my tub where I have temporarily stored the sink drain and goback out to get the chicken. It's now POURING in some freak rain storm, I grab the tongs, take some of the breasts off, one lands on my hand burning it and I drop the plate.

Chicken everywhere.

I brushed it off, and we ate it.

Now you know why I was whining about cooking.

Apart from that bit of insanity, I decided what other ms I'm going to work on with the 70 days of sweat writing challenge. I had this contemp set in Brazil that I had written a while ago, and I've decided to expand it to 90k. It can withstand it. It needs it. It's crying out for it.

Now allI need is a damned title for it.

Anyone? Anyone? Bueller? Bueller?