pie

What up, internet world.

I’d love to say I’ve been on Wall Street doing my civic duty to society and being a proper anarchist for the past few weeks, but truthfully I’ve just been working hard.

I’ve also been in an especially hatery mood lately, which has resulted in stomach aches and tears aplenty, so I’ve not been gracing you with my presence as much as I’d like, in order to spare you from my many lists of things I find stupid and thus lose entire days of my life to because I’m so angry about them. It’s mostly best if I just sequester myself when I get like that. As I get older, my ever-present companion of white-hot pure distilled rage seems to be doing me less and less good.

So, I’m taking my little steps to dial it back a little which, in a lot of ways, is a shame because I’m so amazing at it. (How many times have I written these words on this blog? Six hundred? Fifty thousand?)

Two quick examples. First there was this really, really, wonderfully, awfully terrible behavior of mine on the Facebook page of a local farm of idiot hippie kids who are having a pig roast at the end of October. I’ve been indulging in all sorts of truly hideous behavior over there. I’ve really been enjoying it.

Some people do cocaine. I call murderers murderers. Could be better, could be worse.

(I’ve since deleted the comment because I think the person asking might have been a kid. The last thing I need is some assholey parents getting all up in my grill for calling their murdering kid a murderer. And I was calling the idiot hippie farmers murderers, anyway.)

Then the other day at the farmer’s market I had the following little interaction:

Annoying lady, talking to my farmer friend Jay (Jay kills animals as part of his job, but he also grows great vegetables, so what can ya do): “So I was in a meat CSA and I had 1/8 of a cow reserved but it fell through, so will you have any beef soon?”

Jay said something or other about hogs or beef or I know not what.

“OK, I hope you have beef because….”

I’m standing there with my fucking kale and my fucking leeks and I want to get to work and make fucking kale and leek soup (and open the shop or whatevs, but I was really craving a green soup that morning. With some potatoes and lots of garlic, maybe pureed a little [or, as we say in the shop, “whizzed,” as in: “Did you whiz the peppermint patty filling until it was completely smooth? If not, whiz the shit out of it!”], maybe some roasted red peppers, some vinegar, lots of olive oil and hot pepper flakes–can you feel me?), and I do not like:

lines

mornings

annoying bitches

meat

wasting time.

And annoying meat bitch is droning on and on and I am experiencing five simultaneously annoying things, and it’s getting old. Meat lady and Jay and I are the only people in the booth. The kale is shriveling in my hands by the moment.

“So meat meat meat meat…I don’t know what I’m going to do if I can’t find some good local beef…”

“WELL YOU COULD STOP EATING DEAD THINGS MAYBE. MOVING ALONG! JAY, I JUST HAVE SOME KALE AND LEEKS HERE.”

Guess who said that?

Meat bitch gave me some fucking shit about how it’s “not an option for me not to eat meat because my doctor said I need lots of protein” and I calmly and gracefully retorted with “DON’T MAKE ME FUCKING LAUGH.”

Jay, meanwhile, was rather tickled by the whole thing, as farmers tend to be tickled by anything out of the ordinary like that. He shoved her aside (as all trash deserves to be shoved aside) and told me I’d get a kick out of a freebie farmer magazine he got that sported a back cover ad for a tiny little plane farmers should buy in order to more throughly douse their fields with chemicals. We laughed over the awfulness of it, I paid for my greens, and meat trash bitch was STILL there wanting to talk to Jay about dead things, so as I left I said a jaunty “Have a good week, Jay!” to Jay and, under my breath I said to meat bitch, “NOT YOU.” in a wonderfully hateful whisper.

Then Jacob arrived with the sourdough loaf he’d been buying, and I pretended butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth as we made our way to work. (as of course, it wouldn’t, as it wouldn’t make its way past my lips, naturally.)

The whole encounter is pretty much a piece with disgusting little escapades I pull all the time. They give me something to live for in my bleakest moments, because torturing meat eaters and teaching them how awful they are is pleasing to me on deep levels, but they are, ah, not exactly the best ways to advocate for a peaceful vegetarian diet. Even worse, I own a business exactly two minutes away from the farmer’s market, and what if trash meat bitch had come into the shop?

Truly, I can’t be pulling this crap anymore.

So I’m embarking on yet another campaign to Deal With My Rage and it will probably fail but at least it will work for a while and there we are.

As Jacob puts it, “The problem is that you say you want to deal with it, but secretly you love it and love being in it, so you sort of hold it close to you.” As usual, he’s right.

So that’s me.

Also, Isa wrote a new book and I have a recipe in it. Go buy it, already!

24 Responses to “pie”

  1. rhonda

    You are my hero. My long-lost sister. Thank you for writing this, it gave me company for some of my own farmer’s market rage experiences.

    Reply
  2. Kayleigh

    My rage tends to come out with the cyclists that try to knock me over when I walk to and from the city. Infact yesterday I got my first ever car, a joint purchase with my partner Kyle. But up until this point I have walked everywhere! And I am 25, I am not sure if I am happy that my now self employed lifestyle delivering cakes has given me no choice but to buy a gas guzzler but that’s not what I came on here to comment about! I have nothing against cyclists or even cyclists riding on the path (cycling on the road can be dangerous and I myself have cycled on the path) but it does annoy me when they don’t slow down as they are approaching you and I have been brushed passed (actual contact) about 10 times in the last year plus all the other times I have quickly moved out the way. It is scary as I am only 5″2 and weigh nothing. If these stupid kids actually hit me it would probably kill me! When this happens I get really angry and start shouting at them. It also annoys me when I am walking hand in hand wth my boyfriend and they ting me with their bell to get out the way. I stand firm and don’t move over, my boyfriends hand grips mine harder as he knows whats coming! They continue to ting and I do not budge, finally they get right up close so that their wheel nearly clips my leg and I turn round and give them the third degree about how they should be on the road and if they want to cycle on the path then they have to respect the walkers! My boyfriend then tells me that for a little thing I get really mad and that I scare him a bit! I feel bad but kinda thrilled too.

    Reply
  3. India-leigh @ aveganobsession

    Lagusta, thanks for the belly laugh…not had one all week and the mirthometer was dry! You are so wonderfully wicked…my new guilty pleasure. I’d love to be able do this. I often daydream of popping into the village butchers and shouting ‘you murdering fuckers are all going to hell’, but I don’t. Or getting God to pass a law across the land that people who eat meat are not allowed to own pets or children or xboxes. Shit, I can’t even bring myself to force people to watch Earthlings. My head hangs in shame at my wimpy defence of animals. If it is ok with you I am going to carry around images of your outbursts with me for the day so I can be amused at will.

    Reply
  4. Dustin

    I once had your rage too. (Well, I called it hatred). I joined a Zen center; started meditating as if my life depended on it. It didn’t solve any of my problems, but it did temper the explosiveness. Most of the time. But the bad part is: it’s something you have to practice for the rest of your life. And it’s less annoying–and cheaper!–than therapy (which doesn’t work anyway).

    Reply
  5. Bettina

    I think you should just accept yourself the way you are.

    I agree with Jacob–who would you be, Lagusta, without your funny-afterwards/scary-in-the-moment rage? Can you imagine a zen Lagusta?

    Reply
  6. Stephanie

    This is why I am so glad that my farmer delivers my CSA share to my house so I do not have to go down to the Farmer’s Market and try to avoid all of those insane local dead animal flesh eaters! I never have the nerve to actually act on those clever quips I have in my head, so I am so glad that you do!

    (And if that crazy lady does come into your shop, you can ask her if her doctor told her she should be eating lots of chocolate, too! ;) )

    Reply
      • Randal Putnam

        Happy for you and all that got to enjoy it. A couple of weeks ago I used the last quart of my 2010 sauerkraut to make a gallon of soup (adding carrots, celery, onions, garlic, beets, potatoes, water, salt and red and black peppers). It is amazing (one pint remains)! I hadn’t encountered sauerkraut in soup, but I was inspired by Sandor’s use of soured beets in his recipe for borscht. I’ve never been willing to use any quantity of soured beets for anything other than savoring them straight up, but sauerkraut… that is something I have coming out of my ears! Still enjoying your miso and peach tomato vinegar. The chocolates, sadly, are long gone. Be well and hope to see you soon.

  7. Zoe P

    five simultaneously annoying things: So my husband was needling me about corn mazes (1) and this woman physically pushes past me walking (2) and then turns around and yells in my face (3) to call to her unleashed-in-public (4) pet (5).

    I am so feeling this post and the responses to it.

    Reply
    • lagusta

      How did you know my next post was going to be all about my much I hate mums? WHAT IS UP WITH MUMS AND HOW CAN WE KILL THEM ALL?

      Pie though, is a different matter–read the last line of the post! Get into pie! Do you like tarts? Tarts are entirely better than pie.

      Reply
  8. Zoe P

    I love tarts! Because they are tart, and because they are crisp.

    Mums die in, like, 4 weeks, so we don’t have to kill them. But the wastefulness of buying them at all is what gets me. And all doing it together! Now! In New England! Ug. What’s your mums damage? The Fug Girls linked me to McSweeney’s “It’s Decorative Gourd Season, Motherf*ckers!” and although I’m not 100% behind this essay, it does capture something.

    http://www.mcsweeneys.net/articles/its-decorative-gourd-season-motherfuckers

    Does it help or hurt that I’m teaching anger and Jane Eyre this month?

    Reply
    • lagusta

      Ha ha, I’ve read that one before! I buy pretty squashes to put outside (cheese pumpkins!), then I eat them when it gets too cold for them. Mums and stupid gourds are just BENEATH ME. You know?

      Anger + Jane Eyre, woo!

      Reply
  9. Jordan

    meat trash bitch… OMG I love it! I got a big scolding from a feminist hero of mine about me saying bitch and it being ok for females to say, but off limits for us boys.. Anywase I agreed to take it out of my mouth,, but that was before meat trash bitch!

    I have to stop the face book hate also.. I got in trouble by Priscilla Feral for calling Drew Berrymore a whore (sorry folks she’s pimping fur, what else do we call her? We settled on asshole) Anywase it all went down on Joshua Katcher’s FB… Pretty much wanted to die, As I have the biggest internet crush on that guy.

    More on rage,,,,We have to take turns at the sanctuary giving tours now because we all hate people. I cant tell you how many times we need to stop a tour and say “Thats it, You are so fucking out of here!!” We try to be nice vegan ambassadors until the first cock sucker brings up protein or “humanely” raised meat. I love your rage thats mostly why I enjoy your blog.. I enjoy your work and your recipes also but your rage is needed in this world don’t forget that!

    Reply

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