Wednesday, February 13, 2008

Tastes Like Chicken

Trey and I went to the Westminster Dog Show on Monday and part of Tuesday. I love the dog show because the dogs are lovely and the people are crazy and there is beer. We got there early for the Australian Shepherds on Monday and they were so beautiful and smart and nice. You get to pet many of the dogs there if they are inclined to be petted, and I spent most of this morning looking at Petfinder and having my heart melt away.

One weird thing about the dog show though -- There are a shitload of fur coats on display. On the people, not the dogs. Just sayin', animal lovers of Westminster! Just sayin'.

Today I ordered in a burrito from the place down the street from which I order a burrito at least once a week and have been since the summer. It is the same burrito every time: beans, rice, tomatillo, guacamole, and lettuce. Today my burrito comes and I wonder why it is fatter than usual. I bite into it and encounter resistance, like, serious resistance, as if I have bitten into a sock. A dry, fibrous resistance that makes my teeth squeak. And lo! My fucking burrito has chicken in it. Wads of stringy dry nasty chicken, doubly inexcuseable since the order-taker called me "Lily" so he knew it was me, the crazy meatless burrito lady who has been known to order burritos 4 days in a row, every day the same burrito sin pollo, sin queso, sin carnitas.

As I wait crankily for my replacement burrito I realize that I have not eaten chicken in almost 3 years (with the exception of the chicken in the pasta salad my sister made for my mom's post-funeral gathering) and let me tell you something: Chicken, as it exists in 98% of food is fucking disgusting. I cannot for the life of me think why someone would think this burrito with chicken would trump the veggie version. Truly. I understand why people would miss pizza -- this shit? ??????????????????

Speaking of chicken, check out another reason why Hillary isn't all that: she's BFFs with the Monsanto Corporation! And this article is written by another Wellesley alum, imagine that.

Back at work, the flourescent lighting hums and hums. All day on CNN covers the fucking steroids trial -- Waterboarding, anyone? FISA? A new campaign -- Life Takes FISA!

I am approaching 36 years old. Some days I think I want a dog far more than a child. Some days I think I never want a child at all, I want to never cross that rubicon, but to linger in the haven of between things kin to the safe feeling of traveling on the train between stops with nothing to do but read and dream and wait. Walking through the slush in the morning, I am aware of my pre-motherhood days as numbered, which means nothing, is a simple factual observance.


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