Vegecrazian

I have a hard time trusting anyone who doesn’t enjoy eating a nice juicy steak. I guess I just assumed that there were two things that everyone loves: meat and chocolate. I mean, who would willingly abstain from such pleasures? I can’t even conceive of an analogous example of how little I can relate to vegetarians or chocolate-haters. Maybe it’s like having a beautiful girl who you like a lot tell you that she wants to kiss you—and you reply, “No thanks, I think I’ll settle for a hug. Or, if I’m feeling spontaneous, maybe I’ll hold your hand for a minute or two.”

One time I tried going vegetarian (though I didn’t give up kissing). It lasted about 47 minutes. It actually wasn’t a terrible experience. I bought a huge pre-made salad at the Cougareat—one of those with grapes, sunflower seeds, chicken strips, and raspberry vinaigrette. Okay, so technically chicken could be considered meat, but I felt all right about it because it wasn’t red meat. And besides, chickens eat grains and vegetables so I figured they must be chalked full of vitamins and minerals—much more than the steamy meat-lovers pizza or Taco Bell's 89¢ one-pound beef burritos that were tantalizing my taste buds from the booths nearby. But I was actually thoroughly enjoying this salad. I even licked the dressing off my fingers when I was done (although I pretended that it was BBQ sauce). I finished it and walked out feeling great.

Then 47 minutes later, I was famished again—so I went and grabbed a double-bacon-cheese burger…