::written last night in between chopping of celery and carrots. yes, i had my laptop open on my stove.::
I have this chicken that I bought as a rotiseree because sometimes (always) that’s what I do in lieu of defrosting, seasoning, and cooking the frozen chicken breasticles I have in the freezer. That, for the record, is a breast + testicle combo, and not a breast + icicle combo, because a) I think it’s a funny word and because b) I believe saying these words and not others takes away their power to make us unduly uncomfortable, and because c) I believe there is nothing wrong with either word and they are the names for some pretty amazing, made-by-God-to-do-life-sustaining-things body parts.. Activism with a smirk, it’s what I do.
And anywhoddles, I’m working on this “meal planning” and learning how to feed myself thing. Meaning I am CURRENTLY the worst cook I’ve ever met, but two consecutive batches of pancakes that were edible and not covered in carcingens (really well done (burnt)) has given me the courage to say, Yes, world of food, it is possible for me to enter.
SO I’m chopping ye olde vegeronies and “130” occurs to me.
The percent chance that I’m going to lose a finger while entering the forray of veggie chopping.
At least missing a digit, I could use that “I lost my digits, may I have yours?” Pick up line.
Which I would never do.
(except I totes would but then I would laugh because I just like puns and being punny but the implications of such a statement when justified by the loss of fingers to chicken-salad-making are far beyond what I would choose to explore.)