mangled chicken

I am the most ungrateful bastard of a son in the world. This morning I was already bitching about how I’ve been in a pissy mood. Add to that a long busy day at work and nothing to do on a Friday night. Yes, I’m as happy as a little girl. I get home at around 7:00PM feeling kinda tired and krappy, not even feeling like going running. The madre is hollering for the sis to put some chickens in the oven. I go about doing this and that. Soon I realize that I’m freakin starving. It’s because it’s almost 8:30PM and dinner’s not ready yet.

Okay I’m not some male chauvinist pig who expects his dinner waiting on the table when he gets home from work but it would be nice if someone said dinner’s going to be a little late, have a snack if you’re hungry. Or better yet I’ll say don’t wait up for me I’ll go grab something on my own. Of course the madre who has made roast chicken maybe twice in the past 10 years had no clue how long it takes to roast a chicken. Finally 8:40PM and there’s some fried rice and the roast chicken in the middle of the kitchen table.

While Western folk like to carve up their chicken all-fancy like and normal Chinese people like to chop up their chicken into manageable pieces, this family likes to stab the chicken with theirs forks and kinda rip pieces of meat off the carcass. So I’m staring at a mangled chicken that looked like it had been gone over by the neighbor’s cat and the psycho rabid squirrels roaming our neighborhood. Is it something like that, that drives people to become vegetarians? I was not a happy diner.

Do some of you secretly not like your families? Do you have dark fantasies that somehow you were switched at birth and that your real family is actually normal? Or was I exposed to too much Leave It To Beaver, Happy Days, Family Ties and The Cosby Show? Did The Beav, Richie Cunningham, Alex P. Keaton or Theo Huxtable have such damnable thoughts? Oh well, I already know I’m going to hell.