Die, Hippie Scum.

I did a vegan diet for over a year. If I say that I WAS a vegan, as in I am no more, vegans will jump off their cruelty-free rockers and tell me, in no uncertain terms, “YOU WERE NEVER ONE OF US!”

They couldn’t be more right. I was terrible at being a smug asshole. It wasn’t without effort, mind you, I tried. I tried so effing hard. I spent three hours grocery shopping, reading every inch of every label making sure there were no hidden animal products. I Googled every restaurant before going to see what my options were, if any. I. TRIED. Ultimately, I became a very pissed-off, judgmental and cynical person. Why wouldn’t the world jump on my miserable, unhappy, kill-you-for-eggs-benedict bandwagon?!

At any rate, I dove right back into the world of meat and cheese consumption a little over a year after declaring that I would never eat meat again. I blame my husband for constantly eating bacon cheeseburgers in front of me. Actually, that’s not fair...he was incredibly supportive and would go to the ends of the earth to find veg-friendly restaurants for me...he also made it abundantly clear that I was insane and he would sooner commit murder than give up his chicken strips and ranch. I digress.

Recently, I’ve fallen ill. I had another incredibly long and not at all helpful doctor’s appointment today, in which I was told, “Something is wrong, definitely autoimmune...well, we think it’s autoimmune, your test results do nothing but confuse us and now I’m going to send you to another specialist because who really knows, right?!” Okay, that wasn’t verbatim, but that’s what it feels like. So, about a week ago I started researching autoimmune diseases and their treatments. I wanted to see what lifestyle and diet modifications I could make to possibly help myself out. Basically everything said cut out processed foods and dairy, and a whole-food, plant-based diet is what’s best. No problem. I’ll just go to the farmers market and get a bunch of veggies and biggity bam, I’m back to work and feeling fine in no time! So I drag my begrudging husband to the farmer’s market...the one that doesn’t exist because it doesn’t open until March 17th. Oops.

I then discovered the Alberta Co-Op Grocery in Northeast Portland, or as I have affectionately nicknamed it, GETMEOUTOFHEREBEFOREIKILLSOMEONE. All I wanted was some organic kale and other delights to make a delicious soup and what I got was a load of SMUG and something called Kombucha that made me want to vomit.

These mofo’s are the smuggest, most smarmy bastards you could ever meet in your life. I use reusable grocery bags, too, dammit! I buy eco-friendly cleaning products! I scold my husband for his flamboyant use of paper towels! I belong here! No. No, I didn't. Immediately I had flashbacks to my days of shopping at Food Fight! Vegan Grocery...I swear, I think it’s all the same customers. I came in, grabbed my mini-cart (side note: I freaking LOVE the half-sized grocery carts, they’re really a joy) and made my way over to the produce. The place is the size of my closet and it was pretty packed. I politely said, “excuse me,” and gave a smile to a lady with dreadlocks blocking an entire aisle. She looked at me like I was the biggest douche bag she had ever seen and refused to move. I mean, really, you'd think I was wearing an Ed Hardy shirt up in this piece. Hmmm, she must be having a bad day...I pushed my way around her and quickly became stuck again...same song, different verse, lady with an infant wrapped up in a scarf around her neck mulling over a Daiya cheese alternative purchase. Wow, these people are assholes. 

I managed to get some kale, rainbow carrots, fennel, apples and other organic yum yums before I found myself in the natural medicine section. A friendly employee came over and could clearly see I was the new kid on the block. He started telling me about how much Kombucha has changed his health and his life and told me I just HAD to try it. Welp, I’m thirsty anyway, why not? I finally made my way back to my car feeling completely overwhelmed and in a daze, realizing I would still have to go to Fred Meyer for beans and other things that I was too irritated to stick around and find at the co-op. I had my groceries loaded up, queued up some Black Keys for the ride back to the Couve and decided to try this magical potion...

NOWHERE ON THE LABEL DOES IT SAY DON’T SHAKE. I just wanna throw that out there now. I had no clue this was a fizzy, carbonated beverage until I had shaken that son of a gun like a polaroid picture and then had it explode in my face. Literally. The stuff smells like a moldy basement and upon reading the label, I’m fairly confident that’s where it’s made. I took a swig and nearly barfed. Rank. Absolutely disgusting. I took another swig, because this stuff was going to cure me, dammit! Still disgusting. Currently there is a three-quarters full bottle of the nasty in my fridge and I’m still sick. Bonus, I made some delicious soup. But Brett won’t eat it because, and I quote, “It tastes too healthy. It’s kinda weird.” So now I also have a gallon of soup that won’t get eaten because my husband is addicted to ranch and processed chicken meat. Vegans 1, Jen 0.