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Thread: Primal With A Side Of FABULOUS page 57

  1. #561
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    Quote Originally Posted by AbigailLyn View Post
    shirley temple was my FAVORITE, but I definitely liked the version better with the girl with ringlets and the turban guy with the monkey. Watched on repeat for so many years. Also could be a toy story induced illusion? They're pretty good with the quick freeze.
    They were too good with the quick freeze! I spied on my stuffed animals for years. One night I had a very lucid dream in which I caught them doing one of their pagan dances sacrificing my Legos to a bonfire on my carpet, and I woke up in total triumph that it had really happened.

  2. #562
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    Quote Originally Posted by Malka4re View Post
    Looking forward to more posts from you
    Ah, then you're in luck. After I obsessively check and recheck my next entry for spelling errors, I will post it.

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    Oh definitely referring to the mid-90s adaption. So magical. That and "Fairy Tale: A True Story".
    Journal on depression/anxiety
    Currently trying to figure out WTF to eat (for IBS-C).

  4. #564
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    PART ONE: I took first place in the science fair twice in high school. Yes, I know how smart I am. Thank you. The medal hung on my wall, the trophy blazed on my desk. There were flowers and congratulations and handshakes and headlines and envy at the brilliance and glorious future lying ahead of one Young Gay Panda. I was something special, except for one problem.

    My mother did the projects for me.

    Oh, it stings that the most celebrated accomplishments of my youth were not due wholly to my own authorship. My mother did not forge a project from start to finish, but her hand did far more of it than was honest. She also wrote a hefty portion of my piece of humorous writing in fifth grade that was published in the school paper and read out loud to the entire student body by the principal. I writhed to hear those words spoken into the microphone with appreciative chuckles. The chuckles did not belong to me. I truly love to be a clown, but only on my own merit. The byline in the paper before that funny piece should have read: By Young Gay Panda’s Mom With Some Help From Young Gay Panda.

    At least when I won the 50 butterfly in swimming, it was my success. The dirty little secret behind some of my A’s, my medals and trophies and ribbons, was that they needed to be modified by the first person plural possessive pronoun. They were our awards, not mine. Mother Panda was affronted to have average cubs, me especially, and the mediocrity of my nature had to be concealed. I was going to cure cancer! I was going to play first chair in a famous orchestra! I was going to find the cause of autism! I was going to be brighter and hotter and wittier than EVERYONE!

    Laboring to reach these impossible heights, I turned into an obsessive-compulsive perfectionist who was genuinely upset at receiving a 99.3% on an algebra test. How had I missed one lousy x? Might as well pack it in and head to Remedial Math. My teacher explained that my 99.3% was the highest of the class and that I should be proud, but I could only see the .7% of failure. Didn’t my teacher understand how high I needed to go? Let others reach for the stars; I had to go beyond them.

    When my juvenile incompetence and shortcomings became too egregious, Mother Panda would step in angrily to take over the running of my life. What was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I do it right? It was insult to injury how she could succeed better under my name than I could. I stopped showing her my stories because I worried that she would redo them. And yes, they would be better, because she was thirty years older than me and smarter, but they would no longer be mine.

    I developed an ambivalent relationship to success. I worry when I finish a book that I have inadvertently plagiarized a passage by Magic, which is the only way it would be possible since I don’t read much fiction when I’m writing. I catch up on it between my books, and my memory is not so photographic that my subconscious lifted a passage from someone else’s novel and inserted it in my own months later. My books are utterly and totally mine. Yet I worry, ridiculously, that some measure of credit might belong to another.

    But it’s mine now, whether a finished book or some other accomplishment, and instead of being thrilled, I hunch protectively over it. This is no more mature than the four-year-olds I used to teach, yelling at me, “I DO IT! I DO IT MYSELF!” Am I happy to succeed? No. Mostly I feel defiant, because I did it myself. Whether my book is great or sucks ass, it belongs to me. Whether Jean-Cluck Picard gives satisfaction or botulism, I did it. Apparently, Gay Panda is still four.

  5. #565
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    PART TWO: I have lost 30 pounds since March. A friend’s jaw dropped to see my shrinkage. We haven’t seen each other in many months. Then she asked if I peed on Ketostix, and commented on how happy I must be. I didn’t know what to say. Am I happy to succeed? No. Isn’t that terrible? It feels as inappropriate as laughing at a funeral. We often have reactions that don’t match what is expected of the occasion. The emotional morass kicked up by this milestone falls into categories:

    *Defiant. No one shoveled food into my mouth but me, and my choices led to successful weight loss. My body skipped being 192 for the large part, and maybe that is because a pound popped right out of my skin just like in Doctor Who, and wobbled away down the road. I can’t take credit for that. But no, my life is not an episode of Doctor Who, and this is fully my accomplishment. MINE!

    *Pleased. I’m still fat, but I have left the holy-shit-you’re-FAT look behind. Now when I’m out in public, I don’t have to worry that some ambitious TV journalist doing a piece on America’s Obesity Epidemic is going to hiss surreptitiously, “Ralph! Ralph, get the camera! Take a shot of that huge panda ass going into Whole Foods! It’s perfect! That ass is going to win me a Peabody!”

    *Surprise. Sweet Valhalla, I lost 30 pounds! Instead of 217, I am 187. Even more incredibly, I used to be 231. That was 44 pounds of extra panda.

    *Fear. What if I never lose another pound? And I’m stuck at 187 forever. I don’t want to be 187! My belly is still such a doughy mess. I poke it when I’m bored and watch it squish around.

    *More fear. What if I start to gain it back uncontrollably? That’s even worse.

    *Shame. I should be happy to have achieved this much. It seemed like an unattainable dream to stand on a scale and see 187. I should be thrilled at what my body has done, and if that’s all it can do, I should accept it gratefully. Demanding more is selfish. Thinking about this so much is vain.

    *Embarrassment. I am a vain, selfish panda who is going to demand more of my body and be mad if it can’t comply. That isn’t nice at all. People in this world are starving and abused while Gay Panda obsesses about a doughy panda belly. What does this say about me? Nothing flattering.

    When are we ever just one pure emotion? I’ve lost 30 pounds since March and that is awesome, and I am terrified that I will stop, and ashamed to be thinking about it as if, in the great scheme of things, it is really that important. But of course it’s important to me, because I’m stuck in this body. I want it to look okay. If I ever muster the gumption to attend a paleo event, I want people to see my fabulous Renaissance wear and snazzy purple clogs, not the continental spread of my Peabody Award Ass. No one will notice me for my sparkling looks (sorry to disappoint, Mother Panda, but I do not control how your genetics blended with Father Panda’s) but no one will notice me for a gigantic panda form.

    Will I feel happy if the day ever comes that I reach 166? According to those arbitrary government charts, at 166 pounds of panda, I’m on the high side of normal. Will I be thrilled? I think that it will be a mix once again. I should be easy to recognize if you ever run into me at a paleo event*. I’ll be the one in lovely clothes with wavy strawberry-blonde hair, looking at my reflection in a window, defiance and pleasure and surprise and fear and embarrassment coursing in turn over my face. I did it myself. I look okay. Wow, I did it! I never want to go back. What if I go back? Uh-oh, I’m staring at myself and people are going to think I’m tremendously conceited.

    Mother Panda was ashamed at how I wasn’t exceptional, and it is comical how I work to eradicate the one exceptional part of me: my weight. I’m not going to cure cancer. You will never see me on TV** accepting an Oscar or tiara. I’m eradicating what made me stand out in a crowd in the hopes that one day, I might achieve average. And with gratitude given to MDA and Taubes and Wolf and all those who inspired it in the acknowledgements, but in the end, they did not come to my house and prepare my meals for me, and I have the satisfaction of knowing that I did it myself.

  6. #566
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    UPDATE: (in explanation of * and **)

    * I will never come over and say hello to you, because I’m desperately shy. To the friendly extraverts out there, offer your swine flu covered hand and babble about yourself. I love that. You will have instantly knocked me off my well-worn mental track of ‘everyone will think I’m an idiot the second I open my mouth’ to my well-worn mental track of ‘oh, hell, I’m covered in swine flu again! UGH.’ And since my nametag will read either Gay Panda or Gay Panda Gay Panda, with the second written in crayon by my inner cub like our remedial psychic friend Tim Tim, you will know exactly what I am thinking and are welcome to tell me to stop being OCD. Lady Friend has yelled this at me many times.

    To the friendly introverts, I have no idea what to say either. Skip the pained attempts at small talk. Just start off with something bizarre that you found online and you’ll have me riveted. If you want to know the nasty details about sneezing fetishes that I edited out of my journal entry, please ask. I am so happy to share them with someone appreciative of the bizarre, and Lady Friend did not appreciate the detailed knowledge I gave her AT ALL. How can someone NOT want to know about people who steal the soiled tissues of the diseased and then wipe . . . well, we’ll hang out at the wall together.

    To the unfriendly people of both persuasions, you will appear in my journal with some horrible name like Poo Hurler. Don’t tempt me. I have a long memory and a treasure chest of unflattering adjectives.

    ** With the exception of Animal Precinct. I forgot the kitty in Narnia yesterday for fifteen minutes. To the cops champing at the bit to slap cuffs on me for the abuse of Primal Coach Kitty, you will happy to know that my weight is moving down again. The faster I get to 156 pounds of panda (since the camera adds 10 pounds), the faster you can arrest me. Then we’re both winners!
    Last edited by Gay Panda; 10-18-2011 at 01:31 PM. Reason: Uncephalized caught a spelling error!

  7. #567
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    Quote Originally Posted by namelesswonder View Post
    Oh definitely referring to the mid-90s adaption. So magical.
    It was such a goodhearted, sparkling little jewel of a movie. Charming for its strengths and forgivable for its flaws, beautifully shot and acted, and the sort of entertainment one wishes every ten-year-old were watching instead those deplorable Kardashians.

    Primal Coach Kitty is currently DEMANDING bacon, the rude little beast.

  8. #568
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    Gay Panda, I have to leave a comment. Up to now I have been just lurking on your journal. But I have to take umbrage at your claim of mediocrity. Just look at the way you write! Screw your mean ol' Panda Parents, they sound like jerks.

    Also, I really, really hope you do come out to some paleo/Primal event sometime. I for one would love to meet you.

    Also also, since you seem to be a pedantic nerd like me, I have to point out the commonly-made error "chomping at the bit", which is properly "champing". Thought you might like to know.
    Today I will: Eat food, not poison. Plan for success, not settle for failure. Live my real life, not a virtual one. Move and grow, not sit and die.

    My Primal Journal

  9. #569
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    Quote Originally Posted by Uncephalized View Post
    Also also, since you seem to be a pedantic nerd like me, I have to point out the commonly-made error "chomping at the bit", which is properly "champing". Thought you might like to know.
    That is AWESOME. I never knew that, and being a nerd, I promptly Googled it to read five articles and a debate. I am going to correct that in my post. Thank you!

    Maybe I'll just appear at a paleo/primal event in a panda costume. Shyness factor solved!

  10. #570
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    Quote Originally Posted by Gay Panda View Post
    I am going to correct that in my post. Thank you!
    Haha, I thought you might.
    Today I will: Eat food, not poison. Plan for success, not settle for failure. Live my real life, not a virtual one. Move and grow, not sit and die.

    My Primal Journal

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