Category Archives: Stories

How A Weirdo Packs for a Vegan Vacation

I imagine most rational people like to make sure they have everything they need when they pack for a vacation, so they might give themselves a couple of days to pack just in case they forgot something. This makes so much sense it makes me want to cry at how simple these types of things should be.  If I start packing in advance here’s what happens to me:

I frantically pack everything I can think of in a span of 5 minutes, but am very annoyed and disappointed in at myself for not automatically knowing everything I need immediately. This should be simple right??? Then I check for obvious things like 20 times.  

Am I sure I got enough socks?? Will they be good socks or socks that my shoes eat?? Comfy undies or ridiculous stupid undies I will never wear ever? I throw in more just to be sure.

 Over the next two days the suitcase haunts me, slowly infiltrating my every thought, ruining all potentially happy moments.  

 

 I have visions of every possible scenario of things I might forget running through my head. Like what would happen if I forgot to pack a jacket: 

I would get ready for a perfect night out, dining at a veggie restaurant under the stars, only to realize I have no jacket. In this imaginary setting my perfect vacation night is ruined because I am not only cold, but also angry and disappointed in myself for being a stupid non jacket packer. I had so much time to pack jacket, why did I forget it!?!?! I actually get so mad at my future imaginary self for having forgotten to pack the jacket that I walk around looking pissed off at everything.

Sometimes in an attempt to gain control over my desperate mental state I will just sit and glare at my suitcase, as if maybe it will stop existing if I stare hard enough. I hate the suitcase for these terrible feelings it has caused. I’m not sure what I actually expect to happen in this situation, maybe I think if I hurt the suitcase enough with my angry eyes, it will get up and pack itself??? 

 

Unfortunately this tactic has never produced the desired results, but it doesn’t stop me from trying.  

 

This suitcase packing basically ruins my life for the next two days, and by the time we actually leave for the trip the suitcase is so freaking heavy that the attendant tells me it’s overweight.  So I end up having to carry on an extra 5 pounds of luggage and literally have underwear stuffed in my pockets. 

 When I get to my destination I open my suitcase, only to realize I have actually packed a months worth of unmatched socks and underwear for this weekend getaway.  

 

I have thankfully discovered the solution to this problem! 

While I may not be able to pack in advance like a normal human being, if I pack immediately before the trip, like 30 minutes of frantically scurrying around grabbing handfuls of anything I can find and finish literally 30 seconds after the taxi arrives, then I can avoid all of the aforementioned stresses.

  I get to the airport totally disheveled, but my suitcase is not overweight!  Also no matter what I forget I feel very accomplished for performing so quickly and under such stress.  No one else is quite as fast or amazing at packing as I am, I decide.  I must have such a brilliant mind to be able to think of all I need to pack so quickly!!  

 

  I of course forget many important things, like my jacket and my toothbrush, but I am no longer disappointed or angry at myself.  You did so great under all that pressure!! No one could have remembered everything, and besides you really wanted a new jacket!  If was actually so freaking smart of you to forget it, your sub conscience is like a genius or something!  

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Filed under Funny, Getaway, Humor, Stories, Travel, Vacation, Vegan

Feudal French Fries or Why I Hate Sharing

This story illuminates some deeply troubling facts about me.  One is that even from a young age I was insanely judgemental and relished in the ability to create dystopian societies and destroy them piece by piece on a daily basis.  The other is that though I think of myself as a relatively giving person, in reality I am a crazy food hoarding maniac who would rather spit fire at someone than have them touch my food.

Here’s what would transpire:

My mom would take my friend and I to some terrible fast food restaurant.  My friend would be standing next to me, showing off her latest sticker book page or something like that and letting me know where I could find the coolest stickers.   I would be standing next to her, eyes wide, totally oblivious to anything she was saying, solely thinking of all of those crispy warm salty fries that would soon be mine.

Maybe there would be some extra long ones that were nearly burnt and crispy on the ends, yet magically squishy all down the sides and center.  Oh man, I couldn’t wait.  Why do the waiting moments last infinite time???!!  I want them NOW!!!!

Also what the hell was my friend talking about?  Didn’t she know that talking about useless things made infinite time spaces last infinitely longer????

The French fries finally arrive and I know that the very best moment of my life was just about to happen.  I take the fries to the table and look in the bag like the creepy gleeful maniac that I was.  It’s swarming with so many varieties of delicious salt infused godly superfood.

They are each so unique and beautiful.  I carefully map out the best of the best, the weird, the horribly deformed, and the commoners.  There is a very careful timeline to be followed when creating a French fry caste system.  Since you want the best ones to still be warm and perfect when you finally attack them, speed is of the utmost importance.

I hastily remove the uglies first, you know, the ones that were too fat to be cooked all the way through, the ones with just a little too much burn, the broken ones, and the short worthless pieces that are only good for scrap eating desperation once the real true fries are gone.  These are discarded into a pile of lowly worthless scum.  Their sole purpose of existence is to give meaning and power to the common fries.  After all once you eat a couple of these wretched fry scum, the lower class of common fry seems almost lordly!

The scum is left sitting and awaiting termination out in the open air, it doesn’t really matter if they get cold or not, they really can’t get any lower.  The next ones out of the box are the lower middle class common fry.  There really isn’t anything wrong with them, they are just boring or slightly imperfect.  Often they are the slightly too short, slighltly undercooked, broken yet could have been lords if they had been whole, or maybe they were just normal fries that looked at me the wrong way.

Then the bulk of the fries are released.  They are the true solid middle and upper class fries. Some are quite lovely.  They reach to the sky with a confidence.  “I am a fry, that is all!” They shout to the heavens.  I admire them for their ability to be nearly perfect.

The final 2-5% left are the elite.  They retain their right to stay in the box and keep warm, huddled together safely behind their cardboard castle walls. They fight for power amongst themselves but are given a very clear order of import.  The king and queen and their immediate relatives are clearly quite superior to all of the others.  They are the fries that just managed to reach a little higher. They have some special quality making their imperfection perfect.  They are tall and confident, impossibly both crispy and squishy. They are royalty, through and through.

Let the eating commence!!!

The scum is gathered together and devoured.  They scream for mercy, but they have no power over their hungry god of destruction. Maybe four scum get eaten and then an unlucky lower class fry gets picked off.  The lower class fry is delicious and becomes a delightful treat compared to the others.

Once the scum is devoured the remaining lower class fries tremble in terror, they know they are next!

This type of careless consumption continues up through the middle-upperclass.  I imagine the middle class fries to be hiding in their little stone houses and woodworking shops, fearful of their vengeful god, and hoping against all hope that they could be saved.

Out of the corner of my eye I notice a low class broken fry that really should have been one of the royals had misfortune not befallen him.  I pity this poor wretched soul, he could have been so great… And then I decide maybe his imperfection really is actually quite beautiful.  He and his closest friends enter the rank of the nobility and cause turmoil within.  Several of the nobility are devoured by the ever vengeful god of wrath, and the newly crowned hero conqueror takes his place at the top of the French fry kingdom!

As I’m devouring and destroying, my French fry citizens struggle to survive. I eagerly anticipate the joy of devouring the rulers.  When suddenly my friend reaches her hand in the bag, and grabs a handful of the most noble, loyal, perfect citizens and stuffs them in her mouth.

“I ran out, can I have some of yours? Here you can have a sticker!” She says as she’s masticating my poor leaders, their bodies torn apart in brutal agony by her big horrible toothy jaws of doom.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?!?!” I scream at her.  “You’ve just ruined the whole freaking kingdom!!!  I hope you’re happy now!!!!” Everyone in the restaurant looks over uncomfortably, wondering what horrible parent has created such a terriblely rude and freakish child.  My mom sinks a little lower in her seat and tries to pretend she is just part of the chair, and I sit in a fit of anger, wondering if I should even bother eating the rest of my fries now that the kingdom has been ruined.

My friend sits uncomfortably, not quite knowing what has just transpired.  She busies herself with her stickers, and I don’t get invited to her next birthday party.

Flash forward to the future!

This problem still has carried over into my adult life.  It just doesn’t make sense to people that you are a crazy food hoarding maniac, and if you let anyone know this about you they can become disenchanted with you very quickly. So I end up in predicaments where I have to either lie and pretend I’m this normal French fry sharing creature, or risk telling the truth which ultimately leads to some seriously awkward and potentially relationship destroying moments.

Here’s a possible first date:  We go to the movies and have a great time, and afterwards decide to pick up some food.  She orders a veggie burger and  I get some tea and fries.  After she finishes her burger she decides to ask me if I mind sharing a few of my fries.

Awkward silence.  I then attempt to explain myself so that mayyyyybe she’ll understand…

Awkward silence ensues until I am dropped off.  I do not get a second date.

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Filed under Childhood, French fries, Humor, Personality problems, Stories, Vegan, Vegetarian

Why I Became Vegan

Ok this is probably not the traditional “how I turned vegan” story, but it is my story. I was one weird little puppet. It all began when I was very young…

I was an avid bug squishing maniac like many wee ones, until my mom saw me trampling ants like some mindless robot, a creepy gleeful smile on my face. “Yes I am your God and now you must all suffer my fiery gleeful wrath!” That smile seemed to say.

“Umm Olga you know those ants have little lives too” my mother informed me, looking a little worried for her crazed manic killing machine daughter.

I immediately stopped and thought about this. This was probably the most life changing moment of my life. “Whatttt? They have lives like meeee? But how? I thought… umm aren’t i… the ruler of all things??” It was a serious blow to my fragile belief that I was superior to all other forms of life.

After that I became totally and completely obsessed with the lives of other bugs. I would explore outside for hours lifting up stones watching all of the different bugs scurry around. I fearlessly collected all the information I could from picking up and inspecting every bug, reading books on them, and creating personal identities for the ones I saw most often.

Eventually, after much studying my poor deflated ego was able to return. I might not be the evil overlord of all things, where little lives are empty and meaningless compared to my own magnificence. But certainly I was still some type of all powerful creature… I must be the queen of all bugs!

I regularly kept watch over all the bugs under the stones in my yard, leaving bits of food near the ant hills and giving rolly pollies kisses to let them know they’d been graced by their benevolent ruler, but the true gift of benevolence and graceful leadership was shown to the massive number of silverfish living in the garage.

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There were tons of old boxes and silverfish all over the place in the garage behind my house. Unlike the other bugs I kept watch over in my yard, I was certain that these bugs not only lived under my watchful eye, but they truly worshipped me and understood that I was their queen.

I would go sit for hours in the garage waiting for the silverfish to come and crawl on me. I named many of them and was quite sure I could recognize any of my more devoted followers on a personal level.

I’m not sure what my mom thought of her strange and creepy garage dwelling child who preferred to spend her time with bugs than anyone else. I’m not sure she knew what she created when she transformed me from that prideful manic killing machine into an obsessively benevolent overlord to the bugs. Certainly it must have been troubling to hear about other little girls wanting dolls and toys and new Barbie cars, only to see her strange daughter covered in bugs whispering secret messages to them in dark corners.

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This gradually built up to little me realizing that despite obviously being superior to all other humans and creatures, (perhaps I had been adopted from some alien kingdom where I was meant to be an empress), mayyyybe other creatures also thought they were as important as I was, and mayyyybe their lives were just as important in secret ways that not everyone could see.

The final straw was me deciding that I wanted to have a bug collection, so I could see all the wonderful things I saw everyday right inside my room! My mom helped me setup a killing jar ( a glass mason jar with a cotton ball covered in alcohol). Maybe she was secretly relieved to see me back to my old psychotic killer roots, maybe she thought it would destroy my strange bug whispering garage dwelling ways and turn me into a normal Barbie doll loving girl in lace socks. Sadly for her, and happily for all of bug kind, it didn’t.

My first victim was a bright green moth ( Actias luna). I caught it and put it in the jar and watched it, getting ready to pin it in my exciting new collection.

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Happy at having found something so beautiful as my first specimen, and proud of my superhuman bug catching ability, I sat down to watch it die. I didn’t really understand what dying meant at this point. I didn’t understand that for it to become mine I would have to take the most precious thing that belonged to him/her.

To this day it’s one if my most vivid memories. Just watching this moth try to escape and gradually getting slower and slower. It stopped flying and settled at the base of the jar pawing at the glass with its legs, furry antennae slowly tapping the glass as it looked out.

I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. This moth… one of the citizens of my kingdom… was disappearing from the world. I envisioned the life I was taking from this moth, a life not really all that different from my own. What was I doing???? I tore the lid off the jar and released the moth immediately bursting into tears.

I’m not sure if the moth survived, but I like to hope it did. Shortly after this incident and one other I became vegetarian, not wanting to be responsible for taking the life away from other creatures, no more than I wanted my life to be stolen from me.

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