You should try the butter tea, it's not greasy at all!
Otter's Primal Log
"Not baked goods, Professor, baked bads!" ~ The Tick
Well-behaved women rarely make history : Laurel Thatcher Ulrich
My New Primal Journal : http://www.marksdailyapple.com/forum...tml#post821642
My 1st Primal Journal (including travel journal of Africa) http://www.marksdailyapple.com/forum...back-to-Africa
Oh, my sweet pasdf91aew,
Every day I watch the sunset and think of the special times we once shared, when all was right with the world because I was in your arms. You laughed at my jokes. You found me sexy in Lipstick Jammie Pants. You dipped grapes in melted yak butter and fed them to me by hand while Drop Dead Diva played on my television. Oh, no, that was back when it was OUR television.
Why wasn't I enough? What could I not give you? Do you not know the lengths that I would have gone to please you? But you would not even let me try! Instead you chased after athomeontherange, after ApexPredator and Zoebird, even bloodorchid! You are not even her type! Pasdf91aew, there are people in this world who would love to have ONE partner, and here you are, chasing after FIVE. This is exactly why we didn't work, darling. Did you not see the irony in your favorite Bob Marley song being One Love, One Heart? Gay Panda did, and it broke Gay Panda's heart.
So do not visit my journal and flaunt what we used to have. That is just cruel, and I want to believe that you are a better troll than that.
and i was like HEY! o:even bloodorchid!
and then i saw
and then i was 'oh.. yeah!'You are not even her type!
"more you is like extra bacon with my food" - my bay <3
yeah you are
would youuuu like a discount?
Years ago, Gay Panda lied on an official document.
In the vast array of crimes that one can commit, mine would not even make a blip. While filling out my license renewal, Name: Gay Panda, Address: Magical Bamboo Forest, Height: 5’9”, I hesitated at the box demanding Weight. How rude! That’s not state business! I have to show my license to people all the time! This isn’t public information, any more than if I wear boxers, briefs, or French-cut bikinis. Preemptively humiliated at such exposure, my pen wavered above the box.
The truth was that I did not know my weight exactly, since I had not stood on my scale in the last few days. But I could say with confidence that I was over 200 pounds, and this is something that I could not bear to admit even to a complete stranger at the DMV who would process my form with no interest unless the answer was -14 or 3,067 or Q. I liked the idea of saying my weight is the variable Q, a polite code for BUZZ OFF I’M FAT.
I weigh Q.
I skipped the box and filled out the rest of the form until it could no longer be avoided. I had to put in something, I was NOT going to weigh myself (because then I would know and that would make a lie more egregious), and if I wrote Q, I’d be confronted since nobody but me would know what Q means. I was NOT going to put in 200, even if that was also a lie since I was above it.
Gay Panda was raised in a strict school; lying was unconscionable. I’m not talking about white lies; those are a necessary evil to spare feelings. When a particularly hideous student in my class confessed that he loved me, I could not answer that Teacher eagerly waited for the bus every afternoon in order to be free of his incessant crying, whining, spitting, swearing, and assaults. I answered that I was glad to have him in my room. I tell white lies when given odd gifts like a vase that won’t stand up, or when someone has made a meal for me and it contains a loathsome ingredient like broccoli. Yum!
But this lie was to spare my own feelings, not someone else’s. And I KNEW that my weight hadn’t shot down in the days since my last weigh-in. Yet I could not bring myself to write 200 in the box. On my first license acquired at age 17, I was 140. I was tempted just to write that again, because it was what I should weigh at my height. But no one would ever believe it.
I weigh Q.
I wrote 190. After all, I’d zoomed past 190 on my Antidepressant Rocketship Adventure Ride. It was true in the past, and if ever I gained the ability to control time, it could be true again! 190. That’s not as scary as 200 (or the truth that I was even higher than that). 190 meant that I had a problem, yet somehow it wasn’t as daunting. After all, 190 is so close to 189, and the 180s aren’t too freaky. The 180s snuggle next to the 170s, and the 170s are neighbors with the 160s where lies the top range of what I should be. So 190 it was!
Although I limboed under the 190 bar a couple of months ago, it was just yesterday I realized that I am smaller than what my license claims me to be. Half of me wants to fill out the renewal form again just to write 183 (even if that is also not exactly the truth since I am 183.4*) and the other half of me still wants to write Q. Not because I’m that neurotic about 183 (.4), but because the topic of weight is so emotionally laden that I don’t like having it displayed in a public forum**.
I weigh Q. Suck on that, DMV.