How Much Ice Cream Is Too Much?

It was Donald’s birthday today, and somehow I managed to secure an invite to his small gathering despite being in general being quite juvenile. His notion was to hand crank some strawberry ice cream. You may be aware of my slight intolerance for lactose. I can eat cheese and yogurt, but I have to watch my consumption of raw milk and ice cream. That’s okay with me because I don’t have the same ice cream cravings as the usual joe (unless it’s the Haagen Dazs “Mayan Chocolate” which is made from the lightly roasted souls of children and makes baby Jesus cry when you put it in your mouth oh dear lord I want some right now). Upon completion of the cranking we sampled the ice cream and it was so good that I ate more than I intended.

There was also bacon, beet soup (with yogurt), and a something sour made with South American booze.

I don’t know if it was the can of refried beans that I had for lunch or the sudden impact of dairy on my innards, but when I left I enjoyed “rocket boost assist” for the first quarter mile. Maybe it was an adrenaline surge from everyone’s worry about me biking across Minneapolis at almost eleven. Donald and Chandler went on a bit over whether I should take Franklin, Lake, or 25th(?) most of the way home. Honestly, eleven isn’t that late for me, so I just took late, Minnehaha, and Franklin back.

I’m going to pretend that I wasn’t nervous gliding up Lake — that it was merely intestinal insistence that made me run that light on Franklin, but when the two guys at the bus stop stepped into the street to try the door of the taxi in front of them I just got a vibe. Donald tells of his friend who got pulled off of his bike on Central at two in the morning, beaten, and robbed. That idea rolled through my head with every tenth stroke of the pedals.

I always stop for lights — I’m not in that much of a hurry. If the cross street is clear I sometimes will go at my convenience, but I try to be discreet. This was not that, and instantly the guy going the other way yelled instantly at me.

“Hey, Asshole! Obey the laws of the road!”

Well, indeed, it was probably a mistake, but then again, I don’t holler at people for speeding or failing to yield to pedestrians. This will probably bother me because my prime directive is to not unnecessarily be an asshole. Oh well. Fuck ‘em if they can’t take a joke.

(I always obey right of way.)

Anyway, thanks for inviting me, Donald, I had a great time.

3 Responses to “How Much Ice Cream Is Too Much? ”

  1. I don’t think you had to worry. If anyone had accosted you, you could have blasted them with some of that rocket fuel of yours. Now with strawberry flavor!

  2. My apartment smelled like strawberries this morning. It was very pleasant.

  3. Note to self: make custard instead of ice cream only if Jesse is biking in a safe neighborhood. Oh wait, he doesn’t live in a safe neighborhood. Ice cream it is!

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