the vegan lament

Since last week was Thanksgiving, and I visited my hometown, the annoyance of being a vegan around die hard meat eaters was constantly eating at my nerves. Around certain people, something as simple as eating means that I have to defend myself and insist that I eat more than lettuce and bread. Around certain people, I have to lay out my diet and tell them from which foods I get which nutrients as if the average meat eater is healthier than I am (doubtful). Being a vegan around some people is really fucking annoying.

Let’s take Thanksgiving dinner for example. My brother insists on making fun of what I eat and basically equates veganism with some type of eating disorder. “God, why don’t you eat anything? Here, eat this. (Throws his water bottle at me). Just give her a plate of lettuce. Go eat a leaf...”

“So, what DO you eat?”
“Anything not from an animal.”
“So, do you drink milk?”
“No. I don’t eat anything from an animal.”
“So, what about eggs?”
“That’s from an animal.”
“But they don’t die, the eggs don’t hurt them. They want you to take them.”
“Nope, nothing from animals.”

One of my friends from New York called me after Thanksgiving and asked, “Did you eat lots of turkey?” I almost lost it. He was joking of course, but it’s not funny and no I did not eat turkey or green bean casserole or even pumpkin pie. IT’S REALLY NOT FUNNY, it’s really fucking annoying.

In addition to dealing with the actual comments, there’s the obstacle of trying to go out to an American restaurant to eat, which is pretty much inevitable in a small town. The very experience is unbearable pain that I wouldn’t wish upon my worst enemy. My family went out to dinner on Saturday night to a place the brother mentioned above brilliantly chose. At non-vegan restaurants I never ask them to cook me anything because I don’t trust the chef will make a truly vegan meal and worry there will be butter on my food, or they’ll cook it on a meat infested grill, etc.

At this particular restaurant, the only vegan options on the menu were guacamole and chips and their house salad. I ordered both. After eating every last morsel of the guacamole, the house salad came out. It consisted of a huge plate of romaine lettuce, 1 cherry tomato, 2 cucumbers and a small scoop of shredded carrots. I regret not having photographic proof of this insulting meal, but it’s all true. After looking down at my plate and laughing, I asked the waitress for more than 3 veggies for my salad. She kindly returned with about 4 more veggies to add to the heap.

It’s around this time that I just want to scream or run back to NYC where I can comfortably eat my non-animal food products in the comfort of my own business/life and dine at one of many vegan restaurants I know and love. What is the big deal anyway? I definitely feel punished for not wanting to imprison and slaughter animals and drink cow milk when there’s no way in hell any of us would eat human flesh or drink human breast milk. And to me, no, there is no difference.

I’ve been a vegan for over 2 years and I don’t plan on going back to the dark side... ever. Making snide remarks and LOL comments about me eating meat or not being a “real person” (yeah, I’ve gotten that one too) because of my eating habits is something I’ll never understand.

The rant stops here. This post is partially in response to the article in the New York Times called Animal, Vegetable, Miserable, and partially in response to everyone getting on my nerves at Thanksgiving.