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I keep wanting to hit the "Like" button on your replies!
Just so you know, Japanese people typically wash their hands and gargle after coming home which is apparently why SARS never established a foothold there. That and the little face masks. You're not OCD, you're just Harajuku-chic!
I don't have any probs w/ depression after going primal, I think it's a combo of toxin-avoidance and healthy/saturated fats. I did Precision Nutrition (whole foods, carbs after workout, lean meats) for several months and derailed when I fell in a big black hole. No problems on PB!
ottercat, I like how you think! Since one of Gay Panda's parents was adopted, there is always the chance. The next time Lady Friend pokes fun at my OCD decontamination rituals, I will archly reply that it is not OCD, I am just a little bit Japanese.
The kitty is my Primal Coach. Every morning as I hide under my pillow, thinking bitterly of the days when breakfast included only a thirty-second preparation of cereal-bowl-milk-spoon, the kitty jumps onto the bed to discuss the perks that have come with primal eating.
My SM partner GERD is gone. I look a little less like an engorged tick. The scale shows 191.6 instead of 231, and my hips have shrunk from 48” to 38”. Lady Friend is kind and wraps a tape measure around me every Sunday, and then she hides the tape measure because once I tried to measure myself on a Wednesday and did it wrong, and called her at work in hysterics because my waist had gone up two full inches in three days. The kitty reminds me gently of all of these things.
KITTY: I can haz bacon?
GAY PANDA: No, kitty. I’m tired of cooking and Poo Hurler’s dog Satan barked at 1:13 a.m. After I fell back asleep, Satan barked again and set off Spittle-and-Froth’s dog Voldemort. The yowling of Satan and Voldemort inspired Normal Neighbor’s dogs Dr. Evil and Nurse Ratched to complete the triangulation. Then, feeling tangential, Eye of the Storm’s dog Sauron put in his two cents.
KITTY: I can haz bacon?
GAY PANDA: No, kitty. When the dogs finally shut up, leaving me wide awake, I began to dwell about the crater into which my career fell, and how I said something embarrassing in class 14 years ago, and if my feet are cold enough to need a pair of socks. At 3:15 a.m. I finally returned to sleep, and then YOU, kitty, YOU went galloping down the hall in pursuit of Benign Poltergeist.
KITTY: I can haz bacon?
GAY PANDA: No, kitty! Stop giving me your fuzzy look of pathos! Go away!
It is at this point every morning that the kitty, weak from hunger, flops over on her side because she is too fatigued to stand any longer. Then I feel like a schmuck, and know that the canine ruckus was Twilight Barking like in 101 Dalmatians, and the message they are passing along is that Gay Panda is a creep who abuses a defenseless kitty, and through dogs across the nation, this message will land on the desk of an investigative agent in New York City’s ASPCA. Their burliest cops will pile into a van and zoom to the West Coast to rescue the kitty and shout at me, and there will be cameras, and you will see Gay Panda in the next episode of Animal Precinct looking vaguely like a tick.
KITTY: I can haz bacon?
GAY PANDA: We can haz bacon.
UPDATE: In an epic fail, Gay Panda forgot to defrost the bacon. Primal Coach Kitty is PISSED and gargled down part of a scrambled egg before sneezing on me and stalking away. The Twilight Barking to New York City's ASPCA will be deafening tonight, and I apologize to all of you who will be affected.
Gay Panda is going out to eat with friends Loud and Quiet. They are wonderful people who would never hurl poo or abuse kitties, but they are on Weight Watchers. At restaurants they peruse the menu not to waffle between a delectable array of choices, but to estimate how many points each dish contains, and how many points they have left for the day, and if maybe they should just share a meal and get a beer, or sip someone else’s. This makes Gay Panda crazy.
I am not eloquent in person. A coworker once kept a tally of how many words I spoke in his presence. In three years, I had spoken 12 words. Six were ‘hi’, and six were ‘bye’. So I do not know how to explain that hunger is not the enemy and cannot be controlled by willpower. Your body needs to be nourished. Certain foods may make it inflate, and certain foods may make it deflate. But you have to feed your body, and to deny it what it needs to function is to make an enemy of your home.
Did they swim twenty minutes or thirty? Will the soup push them over the limit, or is it okay because they were under yesterday? Lady Friend may say something about primal should the wrangling over points go on too long. Lest someone suggest I show them this journal, I confess that no one, not even Lady Friend, knows that I am writing it.
I meant to tell Lady Friend, but yesterday she announced that I am such a lousy liar that I can keep no secrets from her, and turned this into a challenge. I failed her last challenge so miserably that I am resolved to win this one. The last challenge was about making a hoard. Gay Panda is a very neat panda addicted to the show Hoarders, because the mental glitch that makes this behavior possible is out of Gay Panda’s comprehension. Perhaps if I made my own hoard, I could gain insight.
Lady Friend said I could never do it, and then she frolicked off on a business trip for two weeks, and so I had time to surprise her. The road to a hoard began with a single clean sock placed carefully on the floor. I straightened out the toe so that it did not look so messy, and then folded it back because hoarders do not have tidy hoards.
And then that sock made me even crazier than Loud and Quiet’s Weight Watchers’ point wrangling. I braced myself in anticipation of the next step, which would be to put down a second sock, and add an empty soda can on its side with the last drops leaking onto the hardwood. Benign Poltergeist taunted the kitty that night and made her run all over the house, leaving tufts of fur everywhere, and I found myself getting out the vacuum.
Then I put it back. Hoarders do not vacuum. Nor do they obsess about a sock on the floor, but I could see nothing else in the room but a white athletic glow and specially flattened toe seam. As I watched the Netflix, my eyes kept drifting away from the screen to look at it. When I walked through the room, I stepped around it. But hoarders step ON their carpet of filth, not around it.
I liked that sock. It was comfortable and new, and I paid eighteen ninety-nine for the six-pack, and now there was a glob of fur on it. I could take no more. When Lady Friend returned and eyed the spotless house in triumph, Gay Panda may have childishly shouted SHUT UP and run out of the room. So Gay Panda must win this battle and keep the journal a secret to pull one over on Lady Friend, and present it at her birthday dinner in four months so that she can call Gay Panda a good liar. And a dork.