I am the worst vegetarian

Up until about three months ago, I hadn't eaten meat or fish in close to 5 years. I was an excellent vegetarian. However, sometime in January, I was enticed to get a delicious sushi dinner with the ever-beguiling Joseph Engel (now, by "enticed" I actually mean "asked politely") and I've been continually falling off the vegetarian wagon ever since.

On the morning my grandmother died, my mom and I ate a giant breakfast at Katz N' Jammers consisting of a giant stack of strawberry and whipped cream-covered pancakes, scrambled eggs and bacon; tasty, tasty bacon. The first dead mammal I'd had in years, all crispy and delicious. I didn't even feel a little bit guilty about it.

The next month, when I went to Venice Beach, I found the lure of the calamari at the little seafood restaurant to be too much, and I fell again to the dead animal cravings. Yum.

Aren't I just absurd looking?

Now I just finished having breakfast with my mom and my pretend aunt and, once again, I'm afraid I've come tumbling off of the vegetarian wagon. I think that I ought to be feeling badly about the whole thing, but I'm not. After all, it isn't as though my abstaining from meat consumption is going to make a difference in anything at all, ever.

So, someone tell me, why should I keep up the whole vegetarian shtick when I'm clearly no good at it?