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Thread: Primal With A Side Of FABULOUS page 166

  1. #1651
    Lady Friend's Avatar
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    Quote Originally Posted by Sigi View Post
    (Hmm, I hope Gay Panda has now shared some of that candy with you, Lady Friend.
    ::: stern look in the direction of Magical Bamboo Forest :::
    )
    Thank you, Sigi! Yeah, Gay Panda, we wants candy!!

  2. #1652
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    Quote Originally Posted by Gay Panda View Post
    Twinkies and Red Bull? I think you just beat that cashier's Corn Nuts and Dr. Pepper.

    The philosophy of veganism is very interesting to me. Lady Friend raises sheep as part of her work, and they live far better lives on her pastures than they would in the wild. From birth to slaughter they amble over many acres, receive medical care, have access to fresh and clean water, are kept safe from predators, and live happy little sheepie lives. She toured slaughterhouses herself to find the best one. Lady Friend was a vegetarian for twenty years, and ironically it was raising farm animals herself that allowed her to begin eating meat. She knows firsthand what good lives they had, and she liked what Barbara Kingsolver said about there being three types of animals: pets (won't someone please eat Windows Vista? I'll give her to you), wild animals, and livestock. The only reason livestock is created is to be eaten, so her responsibility to them is to make sure they have good lives doing what sheep like to do for as long as they are here, and quick, easy deaths.

    A vegan wants to live on this Earth making as little impact as possible, and I respect that wish but I don't think it's possible. Your life has crowded out some other life, just as it crowded out one itself. I've worked in agriculture, and I don't know that you can farm without killing something. A farm is not a Disney cartoon. It would be nice, but it's not. The ideal of respecting animals so much that we don't eat them runs afoul of our own selves and the foods we need to be healthy. Anyway, I'll stop my stream-of-thought there because Avada is pecking at the house AGAIN and I need to go turn the hose on her (I mean, scoop her up and give her a really big snuggle).
    Dear Gay Pandapants,

    I loved your entry on veganism; you so eloquently stated why it's such a problem. And as for what you wrote above, yes, that was exactly my process in being able to eat meat - that and you introducing me to the idea of primal eating, Atkins, etc. Apparently, regardless of what my brain may think, my body requires animal products to be happy and healthy (and to grow triceps, apparently.)

    We are so divorced from the genesis of our food in our modern, urban societies (at least those of us who don't have the awesome luck to be farmers), that I think it makes the idea of vegetarianism and/or veganism easy by allowing us to anthropomorphize the animals that sustain us. However, spending any amount of time with a chicken would completely erase any guilt associated with eating them. (Bless them, chickens are simple creatures that would mostly likely eat me if I sat still long enough.)

    Mammals are a little harder, since they are so like us. Again, though, getting to know them helps. Sheep are ephemeral flames in the landscape - as a vet friend of mine says, "they live to die." Once, I came upon a ewe in the pasture stuck on her back with her feet in the air; I thought she was dead but when I poked at her, she scared the piss out of me by moving. She then got up, ran around in a circle to the left and fell over. Then, in about five minutes after a few more attempts, got up and ran away completely normal. She apparently got "cast" (stuck in a spot) while laying down and so just waited there to die - and I think her right side fell asleep while she did so. After this incident, she had a completely normal life - other than we named her Zombie since she came back from the dead. I bred her and now we have a whole flock of the undead.

    But I digress! Cows are a bit larger presences and very much alive. Pigs are really smart - as well as sometimes large and mean. But I've come to realize that it's not really the quantity of life that's important, but rather it's quality.

    Best,
    Lady Friend

    p.s. Who is Mrs. Bra-Strap?

  3. #1653
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    Quote Originally Posted by Gay Panda View Post
    Sigi, thank you so much for your review of The Dammerung on Amazon!!! That was a wonderful surprise.
    You're welcome, Gay Panda. (I nearly wrote "Pandapants" - thank you for that, Lady Friend.)

    I wish you great success with this book, and all those to follow.
    I have the simplest tastes. I am always satisfied with the best.

    Oscar Wilde

  4. #1654
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    Oh my. O.O Panda, I could not live your life. I'm totally over-the-top OCD about lists. If I don't write a list of things I have to do the next day before I go to bed, I'll wake up the next morning and panic before sitting there and doing nothing for an hour or so before realising there's still time to make a list. I startd doing that way too much so made a back up schedule, constructed into hourly sessions almost exactly like my school planner, so that if I find myself literally listless, I can look at my backup schedule (Filled with things like 'College Assignment writing' 'Drawing Horses in Motion' 'Feline Anatomy' and 'Bunny Jumping') And Huzzah! I have something to do!
    I have lists plastered all over my wall above my desk. Pet schedule which needs updating since I lost my gerbils and one of my rabbits. A list of areas in drawing that I need practice on. A monthly budget so I know how much I need to save up for. A list of model horses that still need little rugs made for them. A list of birthdays and gift ideas. A home spa day checklist. A morning routine. I would seriously crash without them.

    Oddly enough, when I go to my boyfriends house, I don't have the tiniset urge for a list. We just chill. As soon as I get home.. LISTS!!! O.o
    Bunny trainer extraordinaire!

  5. #1655
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    Part One: Mrs. Bra-Strap.

    The class was English 3. I was a high school sophomore with color-coordinated binders and folders and notebooks, pencils sharpened to points that would have caused their confiscation at an airport and pens arranged in a neat line in the plastic holder. Although I loathed school, I loved the paraphernalia, and shopping for supplies always brought me joy. I believe I had selected blue for that class, and so I took out my blue binder and blue folder and blue notebook, one sharp pencil and one unused blue pen, and waited for class to start. As I always did, I counted the semesters I had left in high school. Six. Sigh.

    Obviously, the crisp new schedule handed to me by my absent-minded counselor Ms. Pom-Pom did not say Panda, Gay – English 3 – Room 815 – Mrs. Bra-Strap. It would have given me great merriment had this been her name, but I will protect her identity since it is not polite to excoriate people who cannot defend themselves against faceless former students on the Internet. There is also a high chance that she has moved on to Valhalla, given her age at the time and how many years have gone by. I do not want her haunting me, and so we shall only ever know her here by this pseudonym.

    Mrs. Bra-Strap was already in the classroom when I took my seat. She was in her sixties, a short, somewhat stout woman with gray-and-white hair in tufts all about her head. I had seen her around campus before, her clothing partially obscured by gaily-colored ponchos, but she had taken it off within the classroom to reveal an outfit too large for her frame. She was perched on a stool by the chalkboard, and she bestowed upon us a beaming smile while asking with far too much exuberance about our summers. Young Gay Panda smiled politely and said nothing while fellow students talked about surfing and amusement parks. I had spent the summer in and out of a dermatologist’s office being treated for a mysterious rash, babysitting the Perpetually Sticky Panda Siblings, and grieving for an unrequited crush whose family had moved to South Korea. None of this needed to be announced.

    The bell rang. Her smile began to beam even more brightly, as if the highlight of her entire year was the first day of school. Even as a cub, Gay Panda had a finely tuned meter for the unbalanced, and it was beginning to ping. The first part of class was of no note, the passing around of syllabi and then the painfully boring reading of it, signing our names in our new books and scanning to see if we knew someone who had had it before, and then the teacher said, “But MOST IMPORTANTLY, this week you need to get a new pen JUST FOR THIS CLASS.”
    Last edited by Gay Panda; 04-11-2012 at 01:58 PM.

  6. #1656
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    PART TWO: What? Why? I had pens already, and so did everyone else.
    “You need to get . . . a FUNNY PEN!”
    We stared at her.
    “See THAT?” she cried, pointing to the pens we had on our desks. “Blue ink. Black ink. Black ink. THAT’S NOT FUNNY! A FUNNY PEN HAS INK IN A DIFFERENT COLOR!”
    She bounced around on her stool roaring with laughter. No one laughed with her, although the suck-ups managed tentative smiles. Fourteen-year-old Gay Panda glared at this uncombed chucklehead and wondered why my education so consistently required me to surrender my dignity at the door.
    “A FUNNY PEN HAS GREEN INK! A FUNNY PEN HAS RED OR PURPLE OR ORANGE INK! So this week YOUR JOB is to buy A FUNNY PEN! You have to have one BY FRIDAY, and from then on, ALL YOUR WORK is to be done WITH YOUR FUNNY PEN!” She bellowed with laughter and clutched her sides, nearly in tears from the entertainment of her own idiocy.

    Six semesters. I wasn’t going to survive. As the week progressed, she checked daily to see if we had acquired our funny pens, marking it off in her grade book, and she gave us an exaggerated sad face if we only showed her a blue or black one. In a fit, Young Gay Panda stomped to the store and bought a pen with four colors: blue, black, green, and red. She thought this was marvelous, half of the pen was funny, and half of it was not. I earned my two points, but I lost my self-respect. On the due date of our first assignment, which had been to write about our summers, we were told to pass them to the student next to us and take out our funny pens. Hating the world and everything in it, I obeyed.

    “NOW! Now WITH YOUR FUNNY PENS (giggle-giggle) you are going to . . . put TRIANGLES around the verbs! You are going to (giggle-snort) CIRCLE the nouns! And then you are going to put . . . STARS over the (snort-giggle-hack-wipe eyes) ADJECTIVES!”
    I looked at her in absolute disgust as she drew Lucky Charms on the board with arrows pointing to parts of speech. The pronouns had to be in rectangles. The adverbs got exclamation points, because adverbs were apparently exciting. I clicked on my red ink and got to work while she read upon a podium in front of her stool. Why couldn’t I be home-schooled? The Panda Parents always refused my requests. I finished Lucky Charming some poor boy’s essay and looked up for further direction. Lost blissfully in the text, the teacher had a hand down the neck of her shirt.

  7. #1657
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    PART THREE: Other students had noticed, too. The material of her blouse at the shoulder bulged as she sought for something there. Oblivious to her audience, her wrist vanished into the blouse next while the material on her upper arm began to bulge. Slowly, slowly, more of her arm sank into the blouse. The neck began to stretch down. Deeper and deeper her arm went as she groped herself while reading, and at last, when her arm was down her shirt nearly to the elbow, she found the object of her mission. Hauling up her bra strap to its rightful place on the shoulder, she released it with a small snap and withdrew. “NOW! Now let’s just see how FUNNY you made these essays! Hold them up!” she cried. Thirty-five students sat in wide-eyed stillness.

    Young Gay Panda soon learned that while every day was a day for funny pens, the quest for an elusive bra strap happened at least three times a week as well. Some students looked away in embarrassment when she went huntin’, and others watched in horror. She never took notice of either reaction. Young Gay Panda began to ditch as long as there wasn’t a test, and tried to take refuge in the library to the upset of our Going-Through-Coffee-Withdrawal Librarians. They felt it was important for me to be in class. I strenuously disagreed. Since they would not allow me to do my work there, I took refuge in either the can or the Anatomy room. In November I had a vicious bout of food poisoning and missed three days of school, and realized that I would rather be violently vomiting than sit in a class decorating work with stars, triangles, hearts, and circles or watching the teacher expose herself while chasing her bra strap. I got an A in the class and have no idea how, but I have a suspicion that every single one of us got an A.

    Anything else just wouldn’t be funny.

    So there is the answer to your question, Lady Friend.
    Last edited by Gay Panda; 02-18-2012 at 10:46 AM.

  8. #1658
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    Dear Person at Whole Foods,

    I understand wanting to sample from the olive bar. I understand that you picked one that you did not particularly like. What I do NOT understand is placing the half of the olive you do not want to consume BACK IN THE OLIVE BAR. You are NASTY.

    Gay Panda

    P.S. NASTYNASTYNASTY!!!

  9. #1659
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    ewwwwwww I agree that's nasty!!! I just don't understand some people!!! Now hearing this I will never buy anything from the olive bar at my grocery store ever again!! My imagination can come up with some yucky scenarios!! I never really thought about it before!!!

    thank you Gay Panda, for the public service announcement!
    SW-211
    CW-209


    Goal: Don't worry be happy!

  10. #1660
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    EEEeeewwwww!!! I am not at all germ phobic, but this is just GROSS! As PrimalCajun said, thank you for the public service announcement.

    You have not mentioned Debauchery in your recent posts. Perhaps you have noticed her absence. She has been visiting me here in the wilds of Montana. Perhaps she's here on a ski vacation (can she ski on Twizzlers?). Under her supervision, I had a vacation myself, a vacation from eating primally and feeling good. She and I had a nearly week-long coffee binge, which led, in its blood-sugar-roller-coaster style, to further binging on chocolate marzipan bars, lots of red wine, and a temporarily very satisfying gyros sandwich. When I found myself snacking on pita chips and rice chips a few days later I knew it was time to ask her to depart. For all of our sakes, I hope she took off on her Twizzler skis and got lost in the wilds of Glacier Park. Maybe she'll tangle with a wolverine and become its dinner. We can only hope.
    5'2"
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    Goal weight 115? 120? I'll know when I get there.

    "When I've fallen off dietary wagons before, the wagon stops, backs over me and leaves me for dead in the ditch. On PB, I can fall off, hang on with one hand, hold a cookie in the other, throw half away, and get right back on." ~Ottercat

    Writing on the Cave Wall - my Primal Journal

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