Dismembered

I have spent the better part of the last hour with my hand inside every orfice of a dead chicken. While I've never claimed to be a chef, I do love to cook. It relaxes me--and if you're reading this and I love you...I've probabaly cooked for you. (and if it was the chili fiasco that you ate...I don't want to hear about it.) But in all my Rachel Rayness and wannabe cooking I've never mastered the art of the bird. I mean I use boneless/skinless breasts and ground turkey like their going out of style...but you know, poultry that actually still resembles a bird...not so much. I just can't get over the whole "innards" thing. Due to my horrid (not kidding) pregnancies I'm accustomed to puking...even 20 times in one day (for seven months, times 2) isn't inconcievable (only wish I was exaggerating this one.) Scraping out that junk gets me everytime. My gag reflex is on overdrive.

So the other day I'm at Costco and I see these whole fryers and think, yeah I can do that, I mean everyone loves a roasted chicken, so tender, juicy. Well, I take one out of the freezer this morning and begin to defrost in the sink...Well hours and hours later, I go to um, clean it, or whatever it is that you do to get it ready...and apparently it was still frozen in the middle. Because I've just pulled and prodded and scraped (all with my hands in a plastic bag so I didn't have to actually touch the stuff...eeeww)- to no avail. All I'm left with is a bloody mess, I tell ya. I just threw the bird away. My only solace in the hour of gagging and trying not to smell is that I knew I might be able to blog about it later...any one up for fish sticks tonight?