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Thread: Primal With A Side Of FABULOUS page 89

  1. #881
    Gay Panda's Avatar
    Gay Panda is offline Senior Member
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    Primal Fuel
    Quote Originally Posted by bloodorchid View Post
    *whisper* mashed cauliflower fakepotatoes. O.O

    *more whisper* is delishus
    * ear-splitting shout * I HATE CAULIFLOWER!!!!!

  2. #882
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    bloodorchid is online now Senior Member
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    lol

    IT DOESN'T TASTE ANYTHING LIKE CAULIFLOWER
    beautiful
    yeah you are

    I mean there's so many ants in my eyes! And there are so many TVs, microwaves, radios... I think, I can't, I'm not 100% sure what we have here in stock.. I don't know because I can't see anything! Our prices, I hope, aren't too low!

  3. #883
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    Quote Originally Posted by bloodorchid View Post
    lol

    IT DOESN'T TASTE ANYTHING LIKE CAULIFLOWER
    She's right. With enough butter it's ok. I hate cauliflower too, and yet, there's some in my fridge. I'm going to oversteam it. Then put in in the food processor and food-process the everliving crap out of it, and then I'm going to stir in some butter, milk, a little salt. Lastly, I'll pour some of the juices of some roasted buffalo over it since I can't make gravy consistently to save my life.

  4. #884
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    I'm going to oversteam it. Then put in in the food processor and food-process the everliving crap out of it, and then I'm going to stir in some butter, milk, a little salt. Lastly, I'll pour some of the juices of some roasted buffalo over it since I can't make gravy consistently to save my life.
    **drool . . . . **
    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

    The Primal Adventures of Griffin - Huzzah!

  5. #885
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    Quote Originally Posted by bloodorchid View Post
    lol

    IT DOESN'T TASTE ANYTHING LIKE CAULIFLOWER
    IT DOES IF YOU HATE CAULIFLOWER!!* ::: shudders :::



    *ETA: I love raw cauliflower. But cooked ... ptooooiee!
    Last edited by Sigi; 12-03-2011 at 01:02 AM.

  6. #886
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    tsk tsk tsk...

    that saddens me

    but at least i could in good conscience hoard the whole bowl to myself
    beautiful
    yeah you are

    I mean there's so many ants in my eyes! And there are so many TVs, microwaves, radios... I think, I can't, I'm not 100% sure what we have here in stock.. I don't know because I can't see anything! Our prices, I hope, aren't too low!

  7. #887
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    PixieKitten is offline Senior Member
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    I HAVE NO INPUT BUT I WANTED TO BE INVOLVED IN THE SHOUTING.

    Ok, I'm finished. Continue. *takes back seat*
    Bunny trainer extraordinaire!

  8. #888
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    UPDATE:

    Tuesday: 189.6
    Wednesday: 187.8
    Thursday: 187.2
    Friday: 185.8
    Saturday: 184.4

    I have now returned to my lowest point. Wow, that was quick. Go High Fat!

  9. #889
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    PART ONE: Being cool became important in second grade. In order to qualify, one had to meet strict criteria. A cool kid ran very fast, always had money for Pizza Day, and owned the best toys. A cool kid did not fall off the jungle gym, and if that happened, the cool kid did not cry. A cool kid said funny or snarky things, and if another said something that was not funny or snarky, the cool kid perfected a lip-lifting scoff and cold shoulder.

    Once through the cootie stage, the cool kid became interested in the opposite sex. Not too much, that was uncool, but just enough. The cool kid had tastes in music, and money with which to indulge. The cool kid saw movies rated PG-13 or even R. R! The parents of the cool kid were often cool themselves, athletic and friendly, drove on field trips and brought the best snacks. The coolness of the parents increased the coolness quotient of the kid, and vice versa.

    I was not the slowest runner in my class, but I was nowhere near the front. I did have money for Pizza Day, and some cool toys, but not enough to qualify for cool kid status. I knew better than to cry, but that plus was wiped out by the minus of liking to read more than was cool. As to saying funny or snarky things, I blasted all hopes of coolness by being the kid who spoke in non sequitur. It wasn’t intentional; the conversation had bored me and I’d floated away in my mind to a more interesting topic. Then I finished it off at recess by eating grass and running across the field and into the fence since I was determined to transform into a Pegasus and escape. My parents weren’t cool either, and a friend explained, “I’m not sure we can hang out. My parents like YOU, Young Gay Panda, but they think your parents are WEIRD.” Death knell. No, Young Gay Panda was not cool.

    I never developed any interest in the opposite sex, despite Mother Panda’s reassurances that I was just a late bloomer. Mother Panda was a former cool kid and she knew what was important; it was highly frustrating to her when she asked what brands of shoes the other kids were wearing and I looked at her in total blankness. Their shoes? Why would I look at their shoes? Shoes were shoes. She asked about the brands of their clothes and got the same blank stare. Was I supposed to check their tags? I didn’t enjoy popular music and felt no need to acquire it, and I thought most of the popular television shows were dumb. I made an exception for Baywatch, because I had a crush on one of the lifeguards.

    Then I went to college, not wanting to be the weird one, and just blend* in. I had stopped eating grass and galloping into fences, and learned to keep my mouth shut to stop the flow of non sequitur. To blend, I just had to take bits and pieces of what everyone cool was doing in order to look individual and not like a creepy copycat. Some of the cool people liked the show ER, so I pretended that I liked it. Other cool people had specific music tastes, so I acquired a selection of their most-tolerable albums. They obsessed about the opposite sex and I smiled uncomfortably and said nothing.

    So now you understand why I began smoking. I was sitting outside a coffee shop with the cool people in my dorm, and they were all doing it. Obviously, this was one of those criteria on which I would be judged, so I took one when offered and inhaled. My nostrils flared and my eyes watered (crying is not cool; coughing is not cool; yelling GROSS is not cool) but I puffed and hid the choke and puffed again and passed it on. Success! I had blended.

  10. #890
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    PART TWO: All told, I took part in six cigarettes by junior year. I never bought a pack; I never bummed one off a friend; I only smoked when it was offered. If I were to add up all the puffs of those six instances of cigarettes, I doubt that I smoked a single one in full. The instances were spread out widely over three years, and yet one day, as I left my horrid Greek Mythology class stressed about finals and papers and tuition and an ill Panda Parent, I suddenly thought I want to smoke.

    I never took a puff again. I didn’t want to be one of the students so addicted that they would leave campus at two in the morning for the 24-hour mini-mart in the next town. Their days were spaced by smoke breaks, their clothes smelled, and under their dorm room windows, the ground was littered with butts. I didn’t want to be that person in the back of someone’s car after a movie, begging the driver to pull over so I could buy a pack. I decided that I would rather be uncool, and that a mere handful of puffs spread out over three years led to fervent desire for more was repellent.

    I haven’t thought about this for ages, but the strength of these food cravings reminded me. This desire for a gigantic bowl of starch is as strong as that one for a cigarette. But I fought that one off, and I am doing my best to fight this one. I have taken part in Periodic Potato Instances all along, but this is the first time I had (fairly large) quantities of them three days in a row, with another instance two days before that. Clearly, this is much more than my body can handle without falling into chaos.

    I don’t want to go potato-free, because that isn’t realistic for me. I will be going out to eat on Sunday, and next week for Lady Friend’s birthday**. Both restaurants have lovely meat dishes that will come with a side of potatoes. But as I don’t want to give these cravings more power, I think the best compromise is that the only potatoes I’ll eat are those from restaurants. I don’t go out that much anyway. But they cannot be in my shopping cart; they cannot come in my house. Not only do they stop the loss, a few too many and my body leaps after them instead of meat as a fuel source.

    They’re potatoes. To crave them so deeply is as bizarre as craving cigarettes after the little that I had. But fortunately, there is no social pressure in my life concerning potatoes. And if there were, age has brought the benefit of no longer caring as much. I’m not cool. I never will be. And that’s okay. Being cool must be exhausting work. I don’t want to edit my journal entries to remove the weirdness just to create a pretense of cool before you. If I did that, this journal would be nearly blank and no one would ever visit it, including myself.

    One day I might lose my gut and saddlebags, my thighs will stop looking like Parthenon columns, and then I will go to Whole Foods and buy mashed potatoes. Armed with this knowledge, it will be the smallest container, and I will have to learn what amount I can handle without gaining weight or triggering the fiercest cravings that I have ever experienced. And since I am nowhere near that weight yet, I’m going to make sure I eat a big steak before I go shopping next. Maybe that will reduce the temptation of floating over to the hot bar and watching potatoes fall into my cart. Maybe I should shop with Lady Friend, and let her yell that the second the potatoes fall into the cart, I have to push it.

    Are potatoes worth imaginary swine flu? I think I just found my own aversion therapy.

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