The Accidental Vegan

So, I am a vegan. Did you know that?

Here’s a list from Peta2 that I like, showcasing “accidentally vegan” food. I don’t necessarily like the list because it has revealed to me treasures previously unknown. I was already eating some Laffy Taffy while I read it. I really like it because it is something I can submit into evidence in my defense. Here is my case: The World vs. Normal Vegan, in which defendant must prove that she is not a two-headed freak that only eats grass and twigs; in which defendant must prove that she is neither militant nor angry. (I mean, how can defendant be angry while eating motherfuckin’ Jujyfruits?)

Of course, vegans know that this is actually a stupid list, because the list could really go on for miles and miles, as there are probably more “accidentally vegan” food items than there are non-vegan food items. So I want to topsy-turvy this hot stuff and start calling things that aren’t vegan “accidentally not vegan.” For instance, did you know that Imagine Tomato Soup contains milk? Like, seriously, wt. I tried some of it a while back and it tasted like vomit. Someone accidentally put some butter in that shit. Come on now, why you gotta do that? That was surely an accident. And also a jar of Planters Dry-roasted peanuts has freakin’ gelatin in it. I mean, gelatin, in peanuts? They’re peanuts for god’s sake.

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VEGAN ASIDE
And what’s wrong about gelatin, you ask? Well, as the very normal Wikipedia states: “Gelatin is a protein produced by partial hydrolysis of collagen extracted from the bones, connective tissues, organs and some intestines of animals such as domesticated cattle, pigs, and horses.” That shit nasty. And also, gelatin is usually a by-product of the meat or leather industry, and so this vegan chooses to abstain.

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So anywho, I recommend this list to people who are thinking about taking the plunge into vegandom, or for people who look at the little vegan in their lives and think, Why on earth isn’t she a skeleton? I’ll tell you why I’m not a skeleton, people. Four words: motherfuckin’ chocolate crème Oreos.

My Life in Offices by Garder Streetwise

Part I

Doctor’s Office
18 months
Pneumonia
Back again and again. And then to the hospital: one giant office. Clipboards, dry-erase boards, beds like boards, white things, square things, bad carpet. Eighteen Months? I was a year and a half. I was? I was. Why didn’t I die? Can’t die in an office. Too boring. Too many calendars. Too many things to do another day.

Part II

William Able’s office, though more a studio.
Every day, pretty much, first five years
Fun

Still, everything in its place. Bins for brushes, bins for paints, bins for pastels, bins for bins that might one day hold something that could be glued to a canvas and called po-mo magnificent. Animals all over the office. Live cats, live turtles, decoupage deer, watercolor condor. Difference between an office and a studio? The floor. Bad carpet, speckled cement.

Part III

Dentist
Every six months for sixteen years
Hell

Haven’t been in a few. Too expensive. Too terrifying. Drills to teeth and conversations with your mouth clamped open.

Part IV

Post Office
Every holiday season
Stupid traditions

Mailing packages to aunts, uncles, grandmas and grandpas who lived far away. Other cities. Other countries. No more. They’re all dead.

Part V

Dad’s office (not the one here but the one at the University where he used to work a long time ago)
Occasionally while seven—before they married
Needed watching

A professor’s office a special office because a fake office. Dad doesn’t want to be there, he said. He said he hates office hours. Students love office hours. Should be a student office where they can pretend to be tidy adults. Nice desk. Large oak with cubbies. Clean life in sections. Four comfy chairs. Dad in one, me another, coloring book the third, crayons the fourth. Not a bad office, except the stranger, and it smells like vanilla.

Part VI

The Shrink’s office
So, so many times
I need it, they say

Ramble, ramble, ramble.