12-28-2011, 02:20 AM
::: claps hands :::
Originally Posted by Gay Panda
Bonus points for furry-spotting (I am most envious). Points also for recliner self-discipline. Happy holidaying, Panda!
I have the simplest tastes. I am always satisfied with the best.
12-29-2011, 06:17 PM
Dear Bed and Breakfast:
Your Bed is lovely. But Gay Panda wishes to quibble over your boast of a 'heart-healthy' Breakfast. Cereal, juice, toast, and muffins . . . FAIL.
12-29-2011, 07:02 PM
It's not you, it's me. We're just such different people, and in such different places in our lives. I deserve a partner who doesn't flit in and out my door every few months, and you deserve a partner who can pronounce your name. There are so many ways that this relationship is never meant to be. Must I enumerate them? Oh, but I cannot. I am going out for dinner, hopefully to a restaurant that has a truly 'Heart-Healthy' option, and you have already moved on in your flirtations to other journals. So let us remember all the love that could have been but never was, and we will forever remain two ships that passed in the night.
Last edited by Gay Panda; 12-29-2011 at 08:48 PM.
01-01-2012, 05:32 PM
PART ONE: Sometimes in life there are no good choices, only the bad and the worse.
I confronted this dilemma in high school, where to save my prospects of going to college, I cheated through certain classes. When one’s trig teacher cannot solve a problem for the weeks in which he is teaching a chapter, and then presents a test upon material that he himself has not mastered, his students are left with no other choice. When one’s chemistry teacher flunks en masse because he is so disorganized that he loses sets of papers (and is so senile that he doesn’t realize he’s lost them and blames us for not doing the work) cheating is a natural consequence. And everyone had to cheat in French 2, because the teacher for French 1 had not spoken French herself and thus could not teach it, and the teacher for French 2 refused to backtrack for students who understood no more than bonjour and merde. Cheating was the bad option, and flunking was the worse option. So I took the bad option.
Days ago a famished Gay Panda took a seat in a restaurant and perused a menu that had nothing primal. Had I not been hungry, I could have lived off a side salad and scraped the meat out of what was described as a tiny appetizer. But I required a full meal, and had the choice of pizza or macaroni and cheese. Gay Panda does not care for the latter, but loves the former. However, I have not had pizza in almost a year after noticing that every time I indulged, I received the jungle drums of a headache and a visit from the Cave Troll of Depression.
This always annoyed me, because worse than being depressed for a reason is being depressed for no reason at all. Being depressed for no reason at all and having a tribe of angry neurons beating jungle drums between your ears all while trying to have a good time with friends was a disastrous option. I read and reread the menu hoping that I had missed something, but I had not. Then I noticed that I could get the pizza gluten-free.
Gay Panda is no nutrition master, and does not know what exactly it is about pizza that brings on the jungle drums and Cave Troll. But I eat cheese with no consequence, and only tomato in excess invites Mistress GERD for an overnight stay. So it has to be something about the dough. In addition to not being a nutrition master, Gay Panda is also not someone inclined to experiment. What I know about gluten-free I can count on no paws. As my tablemates conversed about beer and politics, I parsed my options quietly:
1. Regular pizza: jungle drums and Cave Troll: worst option.
2. Side salad and meat bits: sit among friends with growling stomach: bad option.
3. Macaroni and cheese: stir around food and nibble at it unwillingly: very bad option.
4. Gluten-free pizza: outcome unknown.
01-01-2012, 05:43 PM
PART TWO: Worriedly, I chose #4. This trip has been a semi-disaster for carb restriction, but a semi-disaster beats a full disaster. I’ve had one soda, which I could not finish. I had a cupcake and was punished soundly by the jungle drums. There have been far too many potatoes. But I said no to popcorn at the theater (and should have said NO to the movie altogether – Breaking Dawn, YOU SUCK) and no to beer. I said yes to bread in one instance but no in another. My body has been very upset about the increase in carbohydrates, enough to keep me from acting entirely with abandon.
I ate my gluten-free pork loin pizza and waited for the punishment to begin. The native tribe of angry neurons beat twice on their jungle drums and then let out a collective oh, never mind and ceased. The Cave Troll did not emerge. The dough was thin and oddly crunchy, but still tasted good. I allowed myself the fantasy that gluten-free meant fewer-carbohydrate, but Professor Google swiftly disabused me of that notion. It was the best I could do of poor choices, and choosing not to pair it with beer or a sugary dessert like I would have before kept this a semi-fail instead of a full-fail. The larger fail happened over the next three days. My dietary Waterloo is potatoes, and they brought a cupcake with them, and then my friend kept pouring me margaritas and I kept drinking them, and that led to a pastrami sandwich and well . . . I drive home tomorrow and Bare Gay Panda will step on the scale.
The longer I do this, the less I worry that I am going to lose control. I feel sick on carbohydrates. My body is lusting after them right now even though at the same time it is feeling gross. I want to go to Whole Foods and raid the meat counter and buy some heavy cream, and go home to try that recipe with beef short ribs and roasted pumpkin. I’m not worried that I’m going to buy cereal (which sounds DELICIOUS) or that cookies will appear in my cart. I want my body to feel like it did before the holidays, where headaches and upset stomachs were an anomaly, not a normal daily occurrence. But it is good to know that my body does not react with sad faces on feelings charts to gluten-free pizza, and what looked like a hopeless situation actually provided an opportunity to learn.
How much did you fail on the holidays? Or was everyone else visited by the Fairy of Resolve, which blithely skipped over me in the delicatessen where I said YES to potatoes and YES to a happy face cupcake and YES to a little pumpernickel and later on that night YES to Margarita #1, Margarita #2, and Margarita #3? While you were busy entertaining the Fairy of Resolve, I was visited by the Fairy of Remorse at three in the morning, and we spent a lot of time together in the can discussing my bad decisions. The jungle drums moved in to stay over the course of a whole day, despite medication, and finally I banished it with another trio of margaritas. But tomorrow this ends and I gladly return to my somewhat boring primal menu. Since this year is not about making resolutions over matters in which I have limited control, such as achieving psychic powers or a number on the scale that I like, perhaps I should make one in which I do have control, and experiment with a new primal recipe at least once a month.
Sweet Valhalla, I am actually this boring. Happy New Year! ☺
01-02-2012, 03:45 AM
The Fairy of Remorse had her way with me for pretty much the last two weeks of December, so she was probably quite exhausted by 1 January when the Fairy of Resolve finally got her lazy backside into gear and paid me a grudging visit. No big New Year's ZOMG-I-am-totally-gonna-become-a-swimsuit-model-this-year-truly-I-am resolutions, just a half-arsed commitment to keep plodding on, trying to do what I know is best. I ended up having a bitching carb flu day yesterday as I weaned myself off recent excesses. Oh well - all better today and back on the wagon.
Happy New Year, Panda! Onward and upward! (unless we're talking scale weight, in which case downward would undoubtedly be more welcome).
I have the simplest tastes. I am always satisfied with the best.
01-02-2012, 11:29 AM
The Fairy of Remorse got me too. Candy, chips, pizza, you name it - I ate it. And my digestive system hates me for it. Back to Primal and gluten-free for me. I have Celiac and my stomach does not like it when I go off gluten-free. When I want pizza, I use the Chebe brand pizza crust mix. It's manioc root flour and you add cheese to the crust mix. It's not Primal but it's not terrible since it is a root.
01-02-2012, 10:05 PM
Gay Panda was totally hot in high school.
It is said that people can be intimidated by hotness, and this explains why a hot person might not have a date on Saturday night. Everyone was simply too afraid to ask, assuming that this glory of humanity could not possibly be single, or else would scoff and say no to the ludicrousness of spending time in the company of someone just average in appearance. As my four years of high school passed without any dates at all, I hoped that perhaps I was simply so gorgeous that everyone believed a rollicking social life swallowed my days and nights whole, and I would not have time for them. Of course, the mirror told a different story, but it is more complimentary to the ego to think that people see an untouchable perfection than a plain old untouchable.
My teeth were dotted with braces and linked with rubber bands; my headgear gave me a most charming lisp. The thick lenses of my glasses covered half of my face. My hair at the time was light blonde, and the chlorine from the pool I swam in every afternoon allotted it a leprechaun green cast and dried it out. I was gawky and freckly and had chicken pox scars, and the finishing touch was a rabid case of acne. All over my face, my shoulders, my back, and my chest: no sooner did blemishes clear up on my cheeks and forehead than the replacement squad erupted on my chin and nose. I washed frequently, applied medication, and despaired of the unending siege upon my pores.
I was broken out from the age of nine onwards, and the hormonal frenzy did not quell until my twenties. Even then, it has never totally gone away. But the reduction was to a bearable level, and the remaining blemishes are nothing like they used to be, at least not until Gay Panda had the brilliant idea to take a road trip. When I ran my fingers over my bumpy cheeks today on the long drive home, I had the strongest sense of déjà vu. My skin has gone back to high school.
FAIRY OF REMORSE: Why did you do it, Gay Panda?
GAY PANDA: Eating primal on a road trip is really difficult.
FAIRY OF REMORSE: Really? You had a lunch menu of fifty meat items today and selected nachos.
GAY PANDA: But I didn’t get a soda or eat the bread roll.
FAIRY OF REMORSE: And you had seven shots of tequila last night while playing Mario Kart.
GAY PANDA: Yes, I did. And I won every race.
FAIRY OF REMORSE: That’s great! But the trade-off is acne. Your face hasn’t looked this bad since tenth grade. No one loves a pimply panda.
GAY PANDA: Primal Coach Kitty still loves me. She missed me so much that she barfed under the table from loneliness and refused to eat her lysine tablets. She doesn’t care how pimply I am.
FAIRY OF REMORSE: Is Primal Coach Kitty going to be your cashier at Whole Foods tomorrow? People will think that you’ve got some tropical illness.
GAY PANDA: On the bright side, people associate pimples with youth. Maybe if I break out enough, I’ll start getting carded again when I buy beer!
FAIRY OF REMORSE: I guess we all have our Silver Linings, Gay Panda.
I’m beginning to think that this next week, as I return to limited sugar and starch, is going to be about Silver Linings. Yes, I’m covered in zits, but maybe it makes me look young. Yes, my body feels clogged with gunk, but I drank seven shots of tequila and still creamed my two sober companions in Mario Kart. Yes, the jungle drums are beating and I’m retaining enough water to flood a small island, but I no longer wear braces and the kitty loves me to the point of nausea.
Silver Linings, ducklings. Write in yours, and let’s speed through this week’s Carb Flu Country together.
01-03-2012, 02:25 AM
01-03-2012, 04:51 AM
Oh, I do like your Silver Lining, Panda - acne makes one look younger! Excellent. I may be needing to bear that at front of mind very soon.
I'm sitting here, feeling my face (hmm, that just sounds wrong), nervously waiting for any spots to appear, because (GULP!) ... I am finally weaning myself off hormonal contraceptives. The only reason I started taking the pill years ago was because I suffered from such appalling adult acne that I decided any possible side effects would be completely cancelled out by finally feeling NORMAL and not so horribly self-conscious all the time. And they were. Skin - beautiful. Periods - utterly controllable and barely noticeable (sorry, TMI there). But as I head toward A Certain Age, I have decided to stop mucking about with nature and see if my lower body weight, Primal eating and improved health have now brought me to the point of being able to experience my natural body cycle without the awful oiliness/spottiness/misery of before.
But if it all goes pear-shaped, I now at least have a Silver Lining ...
I have the simplest tastes. I am always satisfied with the best.