Angel has taken a liking to our shower. Every morning, we have the same ritual: she gets into the shower stall, I pour a few cups of water in the stall, and she sits there watching the water trickle down the drain as I brush my teeth. I have a hard time getting her out of the shower (read: she won't budge) so I resort to turning on the shower a tiny bit so drops of water drip out of the showerhead. Only then will Angel leave her sanctuary and with a catitude of indignation. She scurries back into the shower after I get out and lingers in there.
We met up with Dad yesterday and had pho. Yum. Dad took us to a different place, a shop that Mom doesn't like. They were skimpy on the beef, but the noodles and soup had a better flavor. Dad then took us to Great Wall, a new Asian supermarket in Merrifield. It was nice. Clean, big, bright, and everyone was much nicer than at those Korean markets. We left Great Wall without any bruises, evil stares or rude snorts like we get at those Korean joints. Wonder who will get my money... There were lots of live animals and critters there, including a bin of frogs. Yikes. Poor little froggies. I swear they looked sad and scared, huddled together in a corner, unflinching when someone tapped on the case. There's something barbaric about condemning a fellow Earth inhabitant to death so you can eat him. I am not a vegetarian, but I am seriously considering becoming one. Animal death seems less real when I see a package of animal flesh without a face. To pick out one fish, frog, or lobster. To PICK HIM OUT as if to say, "yep, that's the one who will die for me" just seems cruel. Dad was proud to point out the fish (live tilapia) he usually buys when he cooks for us. While it's always delish, all I felt was guilt for eating one of their relatives. It didn't seem that the store cared for the critters (it would eat into the profit margin), so I assumed that the animals weren't fed and certainly weren't in an ideal holding tank. What a way to die. Hungry, scared, and in a dirty pen shared with your fellow prisoners, just waiting for some human to pick you out so you can die and show up on tonight's menu. How does that differ from the fish filets, steaks, and chicken breasts that I eat? I don't know. Those animals died for me too. But I didn't meet them, see their faces, and select the one who would be sentenced to death. Oh. I also found out that while "normal" cows get stunned prior to getting killed, kosher cows get their throats slit by a Jewish rabbi while it is still alive and conscious. And apparently the cow doesn't die immediately. The reporter said that the cows are visibly upset and in pain (duh) as blood drains out of their throat. Seriously, this is enough to make me want to become vegetarian. In addition to sparing the animals and clearing my conscience, it's probably a healthier way of living. No hormone-fed animals, no making the animals become cannibals. When turkeys die at the farm (per Dirty Jobs, about 30 die daily at the farm), they are ground up and mixed back into the turkey's feed. EW. No making vegetarians (cows) eat meat by products--which is one way mad cow disease is spread. Those hormones are probably what contributes to our chunky state of being and children reaching puberty at an earlier age. While ages 12-14 used to be the norm, now kids as early as age 9 or 10 hit puberty. These poor kids don't even know what's going on with their bodies!!! The reality is, I don't think I will stop eating animal flesh. But I will and should make an effort to consume animals that were treated nicely at the farm.
We also met up with QE's brother, the baby's momma, and son. The son J is six going on seven. Holy crap, where has time gone???? It seemed like just two years ago that J was a baby and peed on me as I held his newborn ass! He's cute. And loud. And active. His energy is endless. He seems smart enough and is quite articulate. No baby talk, no baby voice. I can't stand that. If you're potty trained, you're old enough to quit the cutesy wootsy baby talk voice. Not being around kids, I was surprised that I never had to say "what did he just say?" to his parents because I couldn't understand him. He has the creamiest, smoothest skin despite being so active. I expected to see scrapes and scars on his arms and whatnot, but even his little hands were perfectly creamy white with a hint of healthy pink.
2 comments:
Meat is for eating.^^
Nesting, chica? ^^
Meat is for eating. But the guilt when I stop to think about how that delish meat got on my plate is huge. And sad.
Definitely not nesting. Little J is always the best birth control and further reinforces that I don't want kids. Ever. He's definitely a boy and has the same destructive tendencies as his dad and uncle QE.
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