Monday, December 11, 2006

about last night

Last night I was asked what kind of vegetarian I am. I had to tell the truth. The truth is I'm not a very good one.

Ordinarily I cheat only once or twice a year, celebrating my birthday and my anniversary with a juicy filet mignon. I just can't bring myself to order a plate of pasta at a steak house - which is invariably where my husband and I end up. Besides, my nearly anemic blood cells savor every morsel. I try to give them the iron they need through a daily vitamin, but apparently it's not enough to own the vitamins. You actually have to ingest them to extract their benefits.

This year, however, I feel I've crossed the line. I'm not exactly a full fledged carnivore but a vegetarian I am not. I am more a vegevore or a carnitarian. And, yes, I know the scientifically correct term is "omnivore" but that implies I eat everything and there are, believe me, plenty of things I do not eat, such as:

1. haggis (duh)

2. dog food (ok, maybe once, but it was more a dog treat than actual dog food and I'm pretty sure I didn't swallow it... [insert inappropriate eating-but-not-swallowing joke-that-I-can-no-longer-tell-now-that-my-parents-know-how-to-access-my-blog here...])

3. boogers (especially not since that poor boy who rode my bus in elementary school tragically acquired the nickname "snot box"...)

4. snails (snails are probably not tasty anyway, but I feel I owe them since I was tricked at the age of three to slaughter them, my loyal snail friends, after my mother insisted they "like salt". In case you don't believe me, I have provided actual photographic evidence of this event. I have no explanation for the suspiciously squished looking snails in the foreground, but as you can see I did offer each of them a jolly ride in my dump truck before death. And the empty case of Boone's Farm, well, that explains a lot, doesn't it?)



At any rate, this year I've had more than my fair share of celebrations. Apparently now any old barbecue ranks right up there with birthdays and anniversaries. I mean, really, every day is somebody's birthday, right?

But my beef with myself goes well beyond the beef in myself. After all, last night's delicious meal of murder was shared with the very same friend with whom I recently consumed the dreaded liquid death. He reported it was nearly a half gallon of vodka we put away that night. I'm not sure if I'm more disgusted, disappointed, or appalled? (Though my inner adolescent is just the teensiest bit proud...)

In so many ways, I'm really looking forward to the fresh new year ahead. I know new year's resolutions are generally not worth the internet they're written on, (and my new year will begin in Anaheim on my sister's terms) but I feel like I may be ready to let go of the yummy little flesh filets and the sour self pickling. If not forever, at least for good.

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