Nobody was there to share.

So I've got another ingrown hair in the bikini back-40 line and it's slowly gotten all infected despite my best efforts (and yes, I'm saying fuck you to social norms and going back to sasquatch; I'm sick of this experiment). I'm drawing it up with warm wet compresses, but those get, well, wet and are sort of annoying.

So I'd read a tip for this exact scenario: Take a condom, fill it with hot water, tie the top like a balloon, et voila! Perfect sizing for the affected area, watertight! When it cools down, just toss it.

I took a break from work to watch yet more Doctor Who and filled me up a condom, tucked it into my undies, and lounged. I got up to get some chili and while in the kitchen felt the most awful sensation in my pants- first thought was SPIDER OMIGOD HUMONGOUS SPIDER and then the condom slithered down my leg and plopped onto the floor. Splat. I laughed so hard I farted (chili, y'know?). But this trick is extremely effective, absolutely worth it. There is no moral to this story. I share to make the world a better place. Sort of.

The beast with 3 backs.

I'm making chili for dinner tonight, and as I tossed the beef into the skillet I happened to glance at the label and saw the phrase "A product of USA, Canada, Mexico."

Cue sudden revulsion and horror. I don't expect all processed meat to come from the same cow, but the same herd would be nice- I thought the same country would be a given.

I am naive. Or provincial. As a small town girl (living in a lonely wo-orld!), my favorite grocery store Back Home had not only the best organic/health food selection I've seen outside a purely health food store, but a tradition of buying 4H and FFA cows after the fair to slaughter and sell. I could go to this store and pick out my beef knowing it was local, fresh, and the name of the future farmer and cow. Indeed, a picture of the cow and its former owner were generally taped up in the meat section and that cow was ranged down in front of the picture.

It's almost disturbing in a 'Restaurant at the End of the Universe' sense, but appealing nonetheless, to see the proud smiling owners and dull-gazed cows who contributed to my dinner.

Barring that, a lot of meat I ate was locally grown either by family members or by local farmers. My aunt and uncle go out yearly, pick out some beef on the hoof, the farmer brings it up, and when it's time for slaughter they go back and pick up a cow's worth of steaks, burgers, you name it, and fill the freezer for the rest of the year. Repeat for pig and chicken; fishing and game animals come in season.

Since moving, I've realized eating local/organic is a matter of status to some people; to me it was a matter of course... and, again, I don't expect prepackaged meat to live up to those standards. I didn't even realize I had those standards, until I saw that label. I'm still hoping it means that, say, the beef comes from one country and the packaging from another, the labeling from a third, but I doubt it. I think it means cows were needlessly shipped from place to place, either live or slabbed, for some arcane industry reason I won't understand (and the practice of which encourages dissemination of taints and sickness).

I'm still going to eat that damn chili, of course. But next time I go Back Home I'm going straight to that store and buying myself a steak from the prettiest cow I can find and I'm going to savor the fuck out of it.