Yet another reason why I order take out.

My mother-in-law purchased us a couple of chickens from the Hutterites.  We threw them in the freezer and never thought of them again.  That is, until I decided to make one for supper.  Around 3:30pm, The Guy reminded me that I should be throwing one in the oven. 

I realized that the chicken was frozen.  Panicked, I looked on the Internet to find out what I needed to do to cook it.  I've made a turkey before, but it had instructions on it and my Grandma was there.  I looked it up though, and was sure I could do it.  I mean, how hard could it be?

WHY DO I NEVER LEARN??????

I put the chicken in.  I cooked it the time it told me too.  I used a MEAT THERMOMETER.  I was serious.  It should have been perfect.  The Internet told me it would be. 

I cut into it.  It bled.  I thought maybe it was just chicken juice - but no, it was blood.  At this point, it was an hour after I was ready to eat.  In desperation, I tore the skin off and ate it.  The Guy doesn't like it any way and I figured that I likely couldn't get salmonella from the skin.  I contemplated either throwing it in the microwave or throwing caution to the wind and sticking the entire thing in my mouth.  I couldn't figure out what to do.  I put it back in.

I took it out again.  Used the meat thermometer again.  It was supposed to be done. 

It wasn't.  I threw the damn bird back in.  Finally, I ate the potatoes and veggies.  I pouted.  An hour and a half later, it was almost done.  The Guy had broken down and poured himself a bowl of cereal.  I put the finally cooked chicken into a container and threw it in the fridge.  I couldn't make myself eat it.

We'll have leftovers for the week which is good, but it is going to be hard to make myself eat it. 

Stupid effing chicken.