A Fiscal Vegan

When I googled 'vegan', looking for just the perfect image to really start this post off right, I came up with this little baby. I hope you all agree that it would have been a mistake to continue looking for just the right picture of kale.

A few years ago, in a conversation with Kate's Dad, I was trying to explain my policy on meat-eating. I told him that, although I didn't purchase meat for myself, I thought there were things more important that categorically avoiding it, and that I would eat it if it were served in someone else's home.

He paused for a moment, then quipped, "Oh, so you're a fiscal vegan."

Touche.

I was reminded of this conversation when my friend, Flood, commented about veganism in her blog. She said that veganism doesn't just happen by accident and I suppose that for the ethical vegans out there, fastidiously checking labels for gelatin, it doesn't. However, I did stumble upon fiscal veganism quite by accident. It started because I didn't much care for meat, progressed when I couldn't afford it anyway, and really took flight when I read a good book that told me it was bad for me.

I like fiscal veganism because it allows me to avoid animal products, for all the potential reasons a person might want to do that, avoid the impossibly awkward moments when people who may be unaware of these reasons serve chicken noodle soup for dinner, and avoid a vitamin B12 deficiency (you just need a little, but you do need a little).

Ethical vegans on the high road may disdain at my fiscal approach. I do not blame them. Mine is the lazy man's way; the path of the hypocrite. But it's easy as vegan pie, and I'd recommend it to anyone.

The Reason for the Season #2

Remember what I said about the giggling? This sweatshirt is the best for that. I put it on and don't take it off (except for spin class, where I wear my pumpkin sack suit) until Christmas morning.

I do this because it is the funniest shirt anyone has ever seen, by far, and you know it.

I guess I could go through and point out how inherently funny it is to list "All you've got" on a christmas wish list, or to ask for unlimited credit instead of, say, unlimited money. I could specifically mention how weirdly genius it is to request a condo, instead of a mansion, in Palm Springs, instead of somewhere cool. And, if I really wanted to state the obvious, I would tell you all about the first time I found myself at the end of the list for the very first time, reading the words "ninety seven thousand dollars" and i very nearly wet my pants. But, thinking better of it, I suppose I will just let you discover all the subtle layers of complexity in this most treasured of christmas sweatshirts for yourself.

One Million Billion thanks to Kate, who bought this sweatshirt for a tiny fireman she was dating who then, under extreme duress, gave it to me.

From this we can conclude that all the Kates I know have a really acute sense of christmas humor.

Time Wasted

Sorry I have not blogged. The truthful reason is twofold:

1) I have not done one interesting thing in three days
2) except for discover facebook and watch my soul leave my body one wall post at a time.

The Reason for the Season #1

One of my favorite things about Christmas are the things themselves(if you're being honest with yourself and you're an American, you will find they're one of your favorite things about Christmas too). When December first rolls around, I unearth my box of Christmas treasures and giggle and giggle; they are always even more delightful than I remembered.

Take, for instance, this holiday wreath. If you will notice, it is bedecked not with holly but with famous political figures posing as Christmas icons. Many thanks to you, Katie Bit, for handmaking these hilarities as a gift to me nearly a decade ago. They just keep getting funnier. The Janet Reno Reindeer, the Sadaam elf, it's pure genius. I wish you were all here. It's even funnier in person.

Salad Days

We all know it can be tough to eat enough fruits and vegetables, but we all know we really ought to. Ryan and I decided, in an effort to expunge our deadly nutritional track records, that we would make a commitment to eating two salads a day, only one of which could be in the form of a smoothie (more on those smoothies another time). My birthday purchases-a giant salad container and giant salad bowls-were intended to motivate and facilitate our success. I had visions of beautiful salads for dinner each night, each one distinct and unique, each boasting a medley of the wide array of what nature, via costco, has to offer.

One look at my amusing spouse lets you know right quick that my dreams are far from reality. Desperate times call for desperate measures and, bless his heart, Ryan is here demonstrating a more desperate measure: forcing fistfuls of red leaf and romaine into his face, sans accoutrement. Poor dear. I myself shove as many unadulterated leaves as will fit into pita pockets, but I thought the sight of Ryan eating actual handfuls of pure vegetation was worth capturing and, evidently, publicizing. Perhaps his dreams will come true and by eating like a gorilla he will one day more closely resemble one.

Willing and Able

This is a picture of my hair in the morning. I thought I should include it in case any of you out there in blog-land are considering cutting your hair short; the addition of bedhead to my life has made it more worth living. This morning, I think my hair looked like the sea.

On to more important topics: grad school, and the application thereunto.

If any of your genius faces want to read my personal statement, I would really appreciate it. Just let me know if you have time and energy for two pages of shameless self-promotion.

Should we use this one instead?

Birthday Suit, Birthday Loot

I am eternally in awe of Orem Savers for many reasons, not the least of which was its generous bestowal of my most prized possession: my Birthday Suit. Nothing says "Let's celebrate!" quite like waking up in the morningand putting on this little number. You have to admit, it's glorious. And I wore it all day. And it was really fun.


I started my birthday with a trip to an oft-noticed but not-yet-visited establishment by the name of Banbury Cross Donuts, a charming establishment with lots of windows and doughnuts, and not a lot of customers (just one: a cop. Not kidding.) and after ogling the Wall Of Doughnuts for a bit I noticed that the young lady behind the counter looked bamboozled. I accurately presumed the suit was the culprit and simply said "It's my birthday." She seemed satisfied. A few minutes later, the doughnut chef came out from the back and, to the horror of the remaining staff, sang a lovely rendition of Happy Birthday To You. I, naturally, stood up and danced aroud like a gilded freak. As you can see, I thought that six doughnuts would be an appropriate amount, and I was spot on. We finished everything but the fritter.


The day's excitement continued as I went home and chatted with my good chatting buddies online (you know the ones, always around and down to waste your time anytime), and my parents on the phone (some people still use phones, chatting buddies, just so you know... I, myself, had nearly forgotten...). My parents gave me a beauty of a green coat and fancy mittens. The picture of me in the coat is bad, but I am sick of taking pictures.


When I picked up Ryan from school, it was time to party. First we went to Costco. It is very sad that I neglected to take a picture of myself there because it seemed like people were really into the suit. Interestingly, I found that when I caught someone having a look, they quickly averted their gaze, as though they hadn't been looking at all. Come on folks, let's not kid. I know you're looking. I'm begging for it. Get real.

Then I took my birthday monies to a place where I knew they could be put to immediate exciting use: Ikea, housewife mecca. While we were there, three people stopped me to wish me a happy birthday, which I thought was very nice, and a great deal more honest than the surreptitious Costco oglers. I purchased four large plate/bowls (the kind in which salads are served in restaurants), a giant Tupperware container to hold salad (can you tell the doughnuts were disturbing my subconscious?) and a large frame, at Ryan's request (he wouldn't tell me why, but it was because he drew me a picture for my birthday present; tragically he will not allow me to post a picture of it here, but trust me, it is beautiful). I also bought one of them apple slicer things and a coffee grinder to grind spices at Bed Bath and Beyond. It was a housewife's dream come true; many, many thanks to those of you who made it possible (you know who you are).


After Ikea, we went to the newly opened Cheesecake Factory. This was an unbelievably idiotic thing to do. (If you who live in Utah, you probably already know why). In a state where few vices are socially acceptable, more than a few addicts turn unhesitatingly to sugar. The result is an eating-out culture that rivals a fraternity style model of consumption. In such a milieu, it makes sense that there are a great deal of dessert connoisseurs roaming around, intent on obtaining the very finest. The result was that the newly opened Cheesecake Factory had a five hour wait. My handsome dinner team, depicted below, sans handsome Neil, who seems to be hidden, and I left and sought refuge elsewhere, were well-accommodated, and skipped dessert.

I had one more birthday trick up my sleeve:

In case you can't tell which item in this picture is the exciting one, I will just tell you: it's the pull up bar. I have decided that I don't want to leave this earth never having pulled-up. So I bought the bar with full intent. I'll let you know how it goes.

Here's a little bonus for those who read this entire, admittedly traveloguesque, thing:

Happy Birthday, two days ago, to me!