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2:05 pm | 17 November 2004 | i hate the term "veggies" more than most things

Most people who go vegetarian greatly expand their range of foods eaten--or, well, at least I can say (and this is true of every veg. I've ever discussed it with) that there's not a vegetable I won't eat, although I'm sure not going out and buying that frozen-bag-mix crap that Mom used to defrost every night--you know, the one with off-white cauliflower clumps, broccoli stems only (why? why?), corrugated carrot diskettes, and kidney beans. All fine vegetables in other incarnations/guises, but not in the bag mix. Eeeaurgh.

Nevertheless, I was talking to Pants about being vegetarian, and she said she didn't want it to be a big deal, and I realized that (with the notable exception of my parents, like every fucking thing else*) it truly isn't a big deal, anymore, any more than say the fact that I don't watch football. No big deal. And the majority of my peers, 'specially in Southern California, don't think anything of it either (some Michiganders feel need to be all "Hey, that taste GOOD, rabbit food? You like yer GREENS?" which is retarded, and grow up). So a predilection for eating green beans** out of the can with a fork is de rigeur, pals.

Which is all to say that, feeling a little more run down lately than usual, I've taken to drinking Spicy Hot V-8 at my desk, in the hopes that in a few weeks I'll be able to switch over to straight Bloody Marys and nobody will notice. Hic! clm.

* My parents all come from butcher-type families and backgrounds and thus had a hard time with the switch; this hard time now manifests itself in annoyingly over-solicitous stuff like, upon going to a restaurant, compulsively pointing out anything vegetarian or veg-friendly on the menu (i.e., at Red Lobster, "You could get the Shrimp Salad without the Shrimp!") and concern over whether I'm "getting enough" (i.e., at Thanksgiving, apparently unconvinced that salad, four vegetables, rolls, pie, potatoes, etc. were enough for my hulking bulk, I was ceremoniously presented with a microwaved Amy's enchilada, which thanks).
** French-cut only (again: frenching is a method of cutting, like julienne, and is not any more nationalist than is the kissing); this a learned behavior from my dad, who allegedly once found a worm inside a whole canned green bean and will now only eat 'em pre-sliced.

As a fully unrelated side note: I have trouble remembering my right from my left, sometimes, and every time I add an image to the page, as with the vegetables above, I have to pinch my thumbs to their middle fingers to remember, because I know I am right-handed, and the right middle finger has a callus where the pen rests. This gets filed under further evidence that I am slightly if not moderately autistic. Thank you.

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