So, I started doing meal planning. Basically I sat down until I had 30 meals planned out. And last Friday was a roasted chicken. Why? Because we were at Wal Mart and whole entire chickens for five dollars. So, I tried to roast a chicken. Somewhere on one of the video capturing devices in my house is a video of me pretending to roar and shove an apple up it’s butt. It didn’t exactly fit, so I had to take it out, chop it up a little and then shove it back up there with some onion.
Well, middle middle middle, children, babies, a couple of hours with grandma and another trip to wal mart for diapers….babysitting…frozen pizza…
I didn’t get the chicken in the oven until after ten.
And ass many of you know, I am not yet 21. But my temporary housemate and my Noah are older than me, and they were drunk. And apparently asking drunk people to wait until midnight for a beautifully roasted chicken is like asking a baby to do…well anything.
It’s minutes from when Hungry Howies closes and they’re on the porch going “I’m hungry! Let’s get pizza!”
Listening to drunk people order pizza isn’t as entertaining as you’d think. They just spoke very formally and deliberately. It was obvious that he was drunk, but there was nothing ridiculous to it.
But anyways. I am roasting this chicken. This beeeeaauuutiful chicken. And it’s getting later, and later, and the timer is ticking down, and everybody’s eating pizza, and cheesy bread, and cinnamon bread…and kapow. It’s too late and everyone is too drunk to enjoy my beautifully roasted chicken.
We ended up eating it at noon the next day, and it was fabulous. It was just me and Noah eating it then, so I had plenty to turn into some mediocre chicken n’ dumplings.
It is never, ever, a good idea to try to roast a chicken for a midnight dinner. Even on a Friday.