She Likes It: Ruined by Virginia ham

I mentioned before that an old friend got married a couple of weeks ago and that a group of us rented a house out at the "Outer Banks of Virginia." Which, heh. What I didn't mention is that after much haggling over which place was nice enough yet cheap enough for us to rent, I was assigned the duty of actually participating in the rental transaction. So, from three time zones away, I called the realty place and talked to an agent to get the "Beyond your wildest dreams" house.

Let me veer for a minute...we did enjoy the house quite a bit, but really? Beyond my wildest dreams? I'm not so sure about that, my dreams are pretty wild.

So, I call up this lady and tell her we want to rent this place for the weekend. After getting most of the details she then asks me how many people will be in the place (6) and how old. I say that we're all 34. To which she replies, "Good. We don't rent to young adults, just families."

Let me repeat, "Good. We don't rent to young adults, just families."

I managed not to sputter when I said, "We're going to be in town for a wedding." Because, UM, when did I pass out of the young adult stage? How could I have let this occasion pass me by? What the fucking fuck, beach rental agent? Not cool. I should have said, "Don't worry, we're still capable of wrecking your house." But I didn't. And we didn't. Shit. I guess we are old adults now. God Dammit...

...

In other news, if you've spoken to me recently, you know that I am on a freaking organic, local, sustainable food freaking kick. Yes, I know I said freaking twice, that is because the whole thing is so not me. I'm not a picky eater and generally get low-grade annoyed with people who are. But. But, I recently read an article about Smithfield Farms in (effing) Rolling Stone and subsequently read some other bad press about them (here and here).

This company - despite its ubiquitousness - is generally not my concern because the awesome market I get my pork products from (mm) is supplied from local (and not disgusting world harming factory fucking) farms. And let me tell you, once you go high-end bacon, there's no going back (seriously, I originally switched for taste alone). Anyway, when we went to the Virginia Beach grocery store to get supplies for our (non-young adult and family only) beach house, the place was freaking covered with pork and pork products. Sure, I get it. Virgina Ham. Pork Paradise. All parts of the pig served up for your enjoyment, which would have been breakfast food heaven for me...Except. Except it was ALL FREAKING SMITHFIELD FARMS. Which makes sense, since the company started near there, but still. It was awful. There was NO OTHER PRODUCER OF MEAT BEING SOLD THERE. ACK! So, I stood in the meat department pointing at products and saying "Shit Lagoon. Shit Lagoon. Shit Lagoon." I think I embarrassed my friend but I couldn't stop myself (even if I had wanted to, which I didn't). I even contemplated taking meat products out of another customer's cart and lecturing him about the company. Luckily, I did restrain myself on that count. But I was standing there getting more and more upset by the second and I was forced to do the unthinkable.

I...I made us buy vegetarian breakfast "sausage"...right there in the middle of Virginia Pork Country. I think if Ms. Sassy Rental Agent knew about that, she would have kicked us out of the house. Surely, pork-product scoffer is more offensive there than young adult. Am I right?

Later, when some people felt that it would be funny to buy and cook and eat a package of Smithfield bacon at the beach house, I resisted the sweet-sweet smell of frying bacon and heated up more of that vegetarian "sausage." Oh yes, I am that stubborn.

And as of Tuesday, I have switched my grocery delivery from cheap-ass Safeway to SPUD which is a purveyor of organic, locally produced foods (and other groceries). It is official. I am one step (the not showering step) away from becoming a fucking hippie.

PS: You know that awesome comic is from Toothpastefordinner. Drew's the man.