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When I carb up I get rosacea and get bright red blotches down to my chest. No illusions of youth, there LOL. But, my silver lining is that I know EXACTLY what I need to do to get rid of it - FOOD HOLIDAY OVER!!
Hello, mikkiB! You don't have 'bright red blotches', you have 'a rosy glow'. See? Silver Linings!
The Fairy of Remorse is a sanctimonious little bugger.
I prefer my Fairy of Debauchery, a blowsy blonde about six inches in height, who perches precariously on my shoulder shouting, “CHUG! CHUG! CHUG!” while waving about a mug of ale and munching on Twizzlers. She burps and swears and farts, sings and kicks her feet and spills food and drink down my shirt, and is of such joyous spirit that one cannot help but be drawn in to her gaiety. The Fairy of Debauchery has an IQ about a fifth of mine, and when I tried to reason with her about not buying the smiley face cupcake in the deli case several days ago, that cupcakes contain wheat and sugar and these things make me ill and swell to the size of Panada, she hiccupped with gusto and banged her mug of ale against my ear and shouted, “LET’S BUY TWO!”
The Fairy of Debauchery is a creature devoted to immediate gratification, and she was singing so loudly at the deli that her voice drowned out the warning cluck of the Fairy of Remorse on my other shoulder. She’d already shoved the Fairy of Resolve into the backseat, but I could still hear her bleating on and off through the road trip, and she saved me twice from pancakes and from a bowl of Hershey’s Kisses. Gay Panda has hearing loss from cubhood as well as tinnitus, and the Fairy of Resolve had a crippling case of laryngitis contracted on my vacation, so now you understand why I landed in so many potatoes and tequila shots and a smiley face cupcake.
But the Fairy of Resolve has since recovered and taken back her rightful place, where she is busily making grocery lists and reminding me to defrost bacon and to pick up the Donner Party Meat CSA. Gay Panda has been able to do none of these things, so flattened by the jungle drums of a headache that I have retreated to bed. The timpani between my ears is unreal, pounding on despite every pill I throw at it, and what I find most annoying is that despite my fails on vacation, I had some successes. But my body is thoroughly unimpressed by the times I won, choosing omelets over pancakes, tomatoes over hash browns, peeling most of the bun off a burger, drinking a third of a chocolate shake instead of downing the entire cup. And so, since I cannot plot and plan with the Fairy of Resolve when I’m in this much pain, I’m trapped in bed with only the Fairy of Remorse for company.
I loathe him. The Fairy of Debauchery is a good-time girl and fair-weather friend; the Fairy of Resolve is not prone to emotional displays. Neither is any good for sympathy. Nor is the Fairy of Remorse, a thin little no-nonsense man in a sensible business suit, who never loses his composure and whose legs are always crossed at the ankle. He doesn’t fidget or sing or make lists for Whole Foods; he just sits with me as I lay in bed and says unhelpful things like I told you so.
GAY PANDA: Shut up.
FAIRY OF REMORSE: Well, what did you expect to happen?
GAY PANDA: I didn’t think that it would be THIS bad.
FAIRY OF REMORSE: But you know that you can’t eat those things. You keep an entire journal complaining about what happens when you transgress even slightly. So this shouldn’t be a surprise.
GAY PANDA: But I still made a lot of good decisions.
FAIRY OF REMORSE: The road to hell is paved with good decisions.
GAY PANDA: Don't you mean intentions? And I’m not religious.
FAIRY OF REMORSE: But you’re still in hell, Gay Panda. You’re covered in zits, the jungle drums are deafening, and we won’t discuss publicly what is going on in the can. You can’t shop or cook, you’ve had to take medication that you hate, you can’t edit or research or watch Big Bang Theory. You knew that this would happen, but you did it anyway.
GAY PANDA: I still want sympathy.
FAIRY OF REMORSE: If I stand on the railroad tracks and let a train hit me, am I deserving of sympathy? Or am I just a moron?
GAY PANDA: You’re a hydrocodone hallucination.
FAIRY OF REMORSE: Yes, but a hydrocodone hallucination without a splitting headache.
Bummer how the Fairy of Remorse always seems to be right. That's why I'm behaving myself - I'm tired of listening to her lectures (my Fairy is a plump, girly Fairy who nags at me in a voice which sounds remarkably similar to my own).
I hope you feel much better very soon, dear Panda, and have no further visits from the Fairy of Debauchery for a good, long while.
ZitWatch update: none as yet!
I have the simplest tastes. I am always satisfied with the best.
Nor is the Fairy of Remorse, a thin little no-nonsense man in a sensible business suit, who never loses his composure and whose legs are always crossed at the ankle. He doesn’t fidget or sing or make lists for Whole Foods; he just sits with me as I lay in bed and says unhelpful things like I told you so.
Do they make ear plugs for Pandas?
There are two wolves fighting within a man's heart, one is Love, the other is Hate. The one that wins is the one you feed.
My friends, love is better than anger. Hope is better than fear. Optimism is better than despair. So let us be loving, hopeful and optimistic. And we'll change the world. - Jack Layton
Yesterday evening, I finally dragged my sorry carcass out of bed and staggered around Whole Foods with a swine flu ridden cart and my three Hydrocodone Hallucination Shoulder Fairies. The Fairy of Debauchery had my left shoulder all to herself, upon which to tie Twizzlers together into a lasso that would stretch to the shelf of chocolate. Hydrocodone renders Gay Panda sleepy and stupid and prone to suggestion, so as she cheered me on to move closer so that her lasso could reach, I contemplated the array of candy bars and thought a little wouldn’t hurt. I can control myself. Just one . . . or two . . . and Debauchery burped and banged her mug of ale against my ear and shouted, “OR THREE!”
Thank Valhalla for my humorless librarian-like Fairy of Resolve, who has the emotional range of an Excel Spreadsheet, and who pointed out briskly that chocolate was not on the grocery list. I pointed out that rigidity is one of Gay Panda’s flaws, and in the interest of flexibility, chocolate could be added to the list. The Fairy of Resolve turned over the matter to the sanctimonious Fairy of Remorse, and I knew my game was clever but lost.
REMORSE: Really, Gay Panda? You spent the whole day in bed moaning in pain and you think that it’s a good idea to buy a chocolate bar?
GAY PANDA: I don’t really have problems with sugar very often. Look back at Resolve’s Excel Spreadsheets on my daily menu. Do I, Resolve?
RESOLVE: Gay Panda does not often have problems with sugar control.
DEBAUCHERY: COME ON, GAY PANDA, TWO MORE FEET AND I CAN NAIL THAT BAR OF CHOCOLOVE!!!
REMORSE: That isn’t the point. Your body is on total overload. You’re going to make yourself even more sick, and I’m going to have to listen to you whine. Not only that, every unfortunate who clicks on Primal With A Side Of FABULOUS is going to read your whines, and-
DEBAUCHERY: SHUT UP, REMORSE, WE’RE ALMOST TO THE CHOCOLOVE!!!
REMORSE: -no one likes a whiner! You’re nauseated from the medication that you took for your headache, you’re so bloated that your jeans are cutting into your waist, and we won’t discuss publicly what is going on in the can or on the scale.
GAY PANDA: I don’t see my favorite flavor of Chocolove.
DEBAUCHERY: LET’S GET GUMMY BEARS THEN!!!
RESOLVE: We have an entire grocery list to get through, and Whole Foods closes soon.
GAY PANDA: Ugh, I feel sick.
REMORSE: Great, Gay Panda. Let’s buy candy so you can feel sicker. We’ll stop at Taco Bell on the drive home, too, and Domino’s for good measure. Tomorrow morning we’ll make pancakes. And then you can go back to being 231 pounds of panda. You loved being 231 pounds! So get started with gummy bears and go from there. I’m in if you’re in.
DEBAUCHERY: I’M IN!!!
GAY PANDA: I hate all of you.
So where are we today in Carb Flu Country? The headache is mostly gone. I’m still retaining so much water that I can feel it in the panda belly. My body has no idea what it wants, carbohydrates or fat, pancakes or steak, it’s hungry but it isn’t, I’m exhausted but I slept, I can’t focus on my work yet somehow managed to write an entire post about imaginary fairies. My fridge is stocked with meat, making food choices for the next few days easy, and unless the pain hits that same unreal peak of yesterday, I refuse to take any more medication.
REMORSE: If you’d eaten better on your road trip, you wouldn’t have needed to take it at all.
Of course you wrote a whole post about your shoulder fairies instead of work- I guarantee it was more interesting!
I love coming here for my daily chuckle- even if it's just the way you string the words together.
"Be careful what you pretend to be because you are what you pretend to be." Kurt Vonnegut
"I love deadlines. I like the whooshing sound they make as they fly by." Douglas Adams
"Moderation sucks." Suse
"Wine is a vegetable." Meaty
"Every decision you make, from what you eat to what you do with your time tonight, turns you into who you are tomorrow and the day after that." Cmdr Chris Hadfield
Is that our beloved Primal Kitty? Looks like she's saying "BACK TO WORK, SLAVE" or "EAT YOUR STEAK, PANDA" or "WHERE THE HELL IS MY BACON?"
Yes, that is Primal Coach Kitty! She's fifteen years old but mentally plateaued around four months, and spent part of yesterday trapped in Narnia because she sneaked into the pantry while the door was open and then hid behind the jug of olive oil as the door was closed. Then she played battering ram with my leg as I was walking to the laundry room, and capped it off by falling for yet another of Benign Poltergeist's yo-mama jokes. The war cry at 4 a.m. rang through the house. She is both wonderful and tiresome.