Nothing with faces?

When I mention my impending marriage to a vegetarian, I am usually met with a quizzical and interested look, and the ubiquitous "Why?". Sure, I live in California, but vegetarianism is more uncommon here than outsiders might think (and on top of that, I live in the rip-roarin'-Republican O.C., home of In-N-Out and other such beef-dependent establishments).

Most people I know just don't understand why any sane person would willingly, joyfully quit their meat consumption. They want to know if Aaron is a philosophical vegetarian, or if he just doesn't like to eat meat. They want to know when he decided to go to the dark side, and if it coincided with any other personality changes. They want to know how his body survives without all that delectable, succulent, red-meat-protein. And I don't want to go into detail about all of the raised eyebrows toward his heterosexuality.

It's true, he doesn't eat red meat, nor does he enjoy fish or fowl. He does eat eggs and dairy products, for which I am thankful to God, because I don't think I could marry him if I had to cook vegan. He gets a lot of protein from soybeans (edamame, to the cultured) and various soy concoctions, which my average reader has probably never noticed in the frozen foods aisle, but let me tell ya, they're not half bad. (I haven't converted to the veggie-lover lifestyle, although Aaron has made me some pretty tasty soy product entrees.) And, of course, his tummy can get nice and full from all the tasty carbs that God gave Adam, Eve, and the rest of us Americans: rice, bread, and potatoes.

I myself was very curious about why Aaron was a vegetarian when we first started dating. He explained to me that he didn't like the thought of something that was once alive going into his body, so he just quit eating meat cold-turkey (yes, folks, it can be done). Other ways he has explained himself include that he doesn't want to eat something that had parents, and he doesn't want to eat anything that had a face.

I think that Mr. Potato Head could be problematic for Aaron's potato consumption.


Figures.

Zoopa zoopa

*I need to write a disclaimer before I begin on this blog. I am a Christian, and I love Christian people. So, no one ought to take me too seriously.

Sometimes, I feel really awkward when I am at church, and I have to sing a line of a song that makes me feel, well, foolish. Now I'm not talking about the kind of foolishness that King David displayed: a wholehearted, only-in-a-loincloth, completely abandoned dancing session before the Lord. I'm referring to the kind of foolishness that is something like the feeling when one must order a "Mocha Mint Snuggly" at the local coffee shop, (which this one is loathe to do), or Clucks and Fries at Red Robin (the aforementioned would just order "Chicken strips, please" . . . except that he's a veggie lover, so never mind).

There are a few lines of Christian praise choruses that make me feel a bit sheepish when I sing them. I wish at these times that I could substitute my own words, but, it is not as easy as attempting to avoid embarassment in an interchange with a waitress. I mean, no one judges me if I don't read off of the menu correctly. Lucky Aaron, who is not as much of a people-pleaser, just skips the words he doesn't like. I can't do that. Partly because I'm singing in front of the whole dern congregation sometimes, I'm not gonna lie. No guts. Like Brian Fellow and his ever-paranoid imagination bubble, I can just hear an accusatory church member reprimanding me for skipping the words: "Hey Amanda, your praise to God is going down the tubes!"

I'm sorry, my accuser. I don't like singing "Yes Lord, yes Lord, yes, yes, Lord" and repeating it three times. That's like nine Lords and twelve Yesses in way too short of a time span. Also, I feel lame singing "But when the world has seen the light, they will dance with joy like we're dancing now" in a room where a total of two out of 300 people are actually dancing. Can I change the words to "like we're not dancing now?"

And then there's the one that says "We lift our holy hands up". Now, I used to be okay with this lyric. Until one of my friends told me that he always likes to sing "We lift our holy hens up", and imagine that he is raising two chickens up to God in some weird kind of fowl offering. Also, there's a song that says "Thank You for the cross", but now I always thank God for lacrosse when I sing it, courtesy of an athletic roommate who shared her twist on the lyrics with me.

I miss hymns. Maybe I couldn't do a crazy dancing session to a hymn - but I also couldn't do it to a praise chorus. In the former case, it would be because I was too busy thinking about the words. In the latter, it would probably be because I was too busy thinking about how to avoid the words. (I'm not sure if King David would be able to break it down to any of the songs we sing, either . . . )

In closing, did you know that there is a children's church song with a fourth verse that goes, "Zoopa zoopa, zoopa zoopa zoopa zoopa, zoopa zoopa, zoopernatural power"? It's true. They train 'em while they're young.



Zoopa, Psalty. Stick to writing songs for the kids.

Shower gel is a meanie

I have to blog right quick because I don't own a laptop anymore, and I am borrowing my fiance's. So this post won't have any html frou-frou (good band, by the way). I feel poor. The fiance is sitting next to me, reading a short story, a non-fiction short story. He was a little bit worried earlier that reading non-fiction might not be an acceptable reading choice for his creative writing class. He worries too much about homework. It's endearing.

I had a few bad parts in my day:

1) I was with my dad, checking out a location for the wedding reception. There was a guy outside, probably in his early thirties, begging for money. My dad didn't have cash on him, and neither did I. So my pops proceeded to tell him where our church is, because we have a food pantry there. The guy said he didn't want to deal with religion, and we reassured him that you didn't have to attend our church to come to the food pantry - no strings attached, right? But then the guy said to my dad, "You're so apathetic and your religion is bull****". It was really sad. I wished I could have known where this guy was coming from in life, and why he was so angry. We had to leave because he was yelling.

2) As I was preparing myself for a day of being clean, I reached out for some shower gel, and squeezed the bottle. For some reason, the sweet-smelling delightful soap product that I have never done any wrong against decided to go not into my hand, but straight into my right eye. Wow it hurt. I yelped, and then worried about my reputation as weirdest housemate for a quick second. Unfortunately, I had my contacts in, which intensified the agony, and made it a lot more difficult for me to wash my eye out. Oh Avon and the poor trajectory of their shower gel squeezie bottles.

But some good things happened in my day, too:

1) I had chai at Java Co. (take THAT, Rosecrans Starbucks. Corporate meanies!).

2) Aaron and I had a great conversation, which made me care a lot less about the sad parts of my day. I would definitely take some more shower gel in the eye to have another conversation like that. Okay, maybe not.