I go crazy over cookouts. No, really. I get really obsessive over cooking the right things or bringing the most memorable things to the party. There’s some weird part of my brain that hungrily feeds off of the praise of strangers (or even friends) when it comes to the preparation of food. I’m a junkie for it. I have to be the one with the most interesting thing at the potluck. It’s a point of honor or something. It might explain why I spent so long working in hospitality. It probably explains a lot of fucked up things about me.
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