My roommate is the best barbecuer ever to barbecue. The only possible exception is my father, who also cooks a mean tri-tip. For any of you who have not eaten tri-tip, please accept my condolences for your loss. Tri-tip is a big deal in the city that I grew up in, with our particular brand of seasoning having the name of the city in its title. Santa Maria Seasoning, mm-mm good.
For the last few weeks, my roommate have had a date on Monday night that includes sale priced beef, Monday Night Football, and the eventual meat sweats. It is absolutely delicious. I nearly cried one time, until I realized that crying over food in conjunction with drinking a wine cooler (What? If you're going to drink, you may as well drink something delicious.) and calling a barbecue with my roommate a date may just call for the revocation of my man card as well as all of the rights and priviledges thereunto assigned. You know, like heart disease.
Maybe it wouldn't be a bad thing to give up that card...
7 hours ago
2 comments:
See, the thing is I just left a comment on your girlfriend's page, which I found via your page, via a friend's page... blah, blah, blah. I felt a "connection" (that word evokes strange feelings of stalker-ish behavior, doesn't it?) because she posted Superchick lyrics in her last post and just had to note that distinct, albeit bizarre, feeling in a comment. And now I come back to your page to read a few more posts and discover you lived at some point in Santa Maria... where I now sit... before my computer...
Once again, HAD to note it in a comment.
(By the way, I come here every so often because you're a good writer. Like your style.)
Oh, and yes, the barbecue here is great.
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