Barbecue Woes

Attention everyone: I am having barbecue ISSUES today. Ohmygod.

So this is so weird. I went to let the beagle in from the backyard this morning before I left for work. He always spends, like, an hour out there while I'm getting ready. As he streaked through the door, I nabbed him and picked him up to give him a hug and plant a kiss on his little beagle head. As I did so, I put my mouth on his head and was immediately overpowered by a strong, smoky barbecue odor. And I'm not talking like, maybe a little bit. HIS BEAGLE HEAD SMELLED LIKE A HICKORY-SMOKED BARBECUE PIT. I have absolutely no idea what is up with that!! I wondered if he had perchance been up to some kind of mischief with the barbecue grill outside. I poked my head out the door and looked over at it, and everything appeared to be in order. Somebody explain this to me please?! I have no explanations anymore. All I know is, he smelled so good that I decided right then and there to fire up the grill for dinner (no, not to cook the beagle [YET]).

So then, I got home from work later and went to grill up some chicken, as I was starving to death and was ready to eat just about anything in sight. In my excitement to season the chicken before slapping it on the grill, I DROPPED IT. Great. So I picked it up, ran inside and washed it, brought it back out, and cooked it up till it was perfectly golden brown. It had perfect grill marks and everything! I stuck it on a plate to bring it inside, whereupon I DROPPED IT AGAIN. It slid right off the plate onto the floor! What the hell!! Am I officially retardando, or what? I swear to God. So after shouting a few choice expletives, I kind of stood there looking at the chicken, glistening on my carpet, and decided to eat it anyway. It had only been on the floor for like, 8 seconds. And I couldn't really rinse it off in that situation, could I?? It's grilled meat, for crying out loud. It's not like dropping a piece of fruit or something. So I put it back on the plate and ate it. I consequently spent the whole of my dinner inspecting each bite for little beagle hairs before eating it. How humiliating.

So I've decided my life is like that improv show, Who's Line Is It, Anyway?---specifically', I am a living version of the skit they call "Party Quirks," where they give 3 "partygoers" really weird quirks that the "party host" has to figure out. So it'll be like, "Ding dong, oh hey there, welcome to my party," and then the "partygoer" will start leaping around and screeching like a crack-smoking babboon, as the "party host" watches in bewilderment and is supposed to guess, in under 2 minutes, that the "partygoer" is, actually, a babboon that's been smoking crack.

This, in a nutshell, is my life. "Oh, wait, wait---you're a girl with barbecue-smelling-beagle head that subsequently eats chicken off the floor because you're too clumsy to keep it on the plate!" Ding, ding!! I swear to God, people. If it's not driving around with a car full of BEES, it's something else. It's not EVEN funny.

Well, actually, it is. Some of it, not all. Like the time lightning struck my apartment while I was eating out of an aluminum pie pan in an electrical storm, and the firefighters found the scorchmarks less than 6 feet from my head. That wasn't too funny.

Well at the time it wasn't, anyway...