Rabbit Fricassee

I’m thinking of food for a couple of reasons, one being that I’m thinking about other things and the other that I’ve been listening to maybe the second-to-last person I should be listening to at the gym about food, Sean. He’s a big fan of living on Muscle Milk most of the time and then eating entire boxes of cupcakes to supplement that restricted diet. In fact, somehow he started listening to the LAST person I should be listening to at the gym about food, me. I’m the guy who needs a counter telling him how long it’s been since he’s had a cheeseburger, after all. I’ve been cheating a bit, eating hamburgers without cheese and not counting them, but Sean started wondering why they had me in their thrall and he’s been sucked into the cheeseburger vortex. He told me he eats them every day. If you’ve seen the picture of him during the triathlon with his shirt off, you’ll see that it hasn’t hurt him much. Hubba hubba.

But some of the things we talked about were how I was wasn’t doing myself any favors by coming home from the gym and eating dinner at 8:30. I’ve decided I should probably just eat a salad and some liquid thing like Muscle Milk or lowfat chocolate milk like they talk about in sports medicine journals. The real milk is probably better for me since it’s closer to real food, but I’m an Asian guy with a slight case of lactose intolerance. Good thing I just live with my mom and I can hide on a completely separate floor that has adequate ventilation, though there was this time I ate a lentil loaf and I wondered if I’d suffocate myself by displacing all the oxygen in the room with methane. Chocolate milk and lactase pills from Costco are the other part of my dietary experiment.

But I started thinking that I have to get myself a rabbit. I know I’ve given up on dating again, but what if I meet someone who is crazy about me? I mean, my real goal is to be the guy who people look at and say, “She’s going out with HIM?” but I haven’t really been achieving many of my goals lately. If I was that guy, however, the answer is usually, “He makes me laugh,” not, “I’m crazy about him.” The key word in the previous quote is crazy after all, and I don’t want anyone boiling my rabbit. But I got to thinking about it and started craving a nice fricasseed rabbit. Maybe I can find someone crazy that has a sensible cooking streak who wouldn’t just waste a perfectly good rabbit by boiling it but would prepare it properly.

I really have to stop looking at food blogs if I’m going to do this salad dinner thing.

3 thoughts on “Rabbit Fricassee”

  1. completely nuts. and you and all your gym buddies are probably going to die untimely deaths because you workout too hard and eat like shit! muscle milk and cupcakes???what a friggin idiot! you should compete to see who has a massive coronary first.
    just get somekind of pure veggie juice and blend it with whey protein and drink that on late nights.

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