Lilac Colored Glasses

It’s funny sometimes, the closer we get to the wedding, when CB and I realize we don’t necessarily know about each other.

I don’t mean little factoids, but rather moods or behaviors. I also can tell you that these discoveries are fairly one sided (with a few exceptions, of course, like the first time I ever saw CB really drunk, which wasn’t until earlier this month).

For example, let me first introduce you to two of my friends, Blingy and Strong Mama (formerly referred to as my Dutch and Romanian colleagues):

Blingy

Strong Mama

Blingy and Strong Mama are probably my first real real friends here in Belgium (there’s also La Capitana and Chica, who I’m sure will end up in another post at some point). By real friends I mean that I met them on my own, we got along wonderfully from day one and we hang out outside of work.
I know those are things that sound simple, but for me, it’s actually a big thing to make friends. I have many acquaintances, but only a few real friends. Up until recently I met most people either directly through CB or through his prodding me to socialize. My coworkers from the call center in Antwerp were all very nice people but I never felt motivated to ever spend time with them outside of work and my two coworkers from Brussels were a. primarily French speaking and b. not people I could really relate to whatsoever.

So anyway, the three of us went out on Thursday afternoon, just to hang out a bit before I’d be gone for almost 2 weeks and we had a blast, like we usually do. It’s not that we did much…mostly walked around Gent in search of an open restaurant with a terrace because Strong Mama is pregnant and craving meat and fresh air a lot of the time. We eventually found a nice Turkish place with an open kitchen and terrace and fake palms trees.

Afterwards we went on a long ambling walk in search of the best gelato in Gent. I know where to find this amazing ice cream (a little place called Nonno on the Korte Dagsteeg), but not a short way to get there from where we were. On the way, CB called and said he was finished working so I asked him to come meet us. We all sat with our ice cream and chatted before I finally said goodbye to my friends who headed back the train station and CB and I came home.

Once we got back, CB looked at me strangely and asked me if I’d had much to drink at the Turkish place.
Because he’s never seen me acting like I was with Blingy and Strong Mama with the exception of when I was under the influence. Because I was acting carefree and silly and giggly. Because I was with my friends.

And he’s never actually seen that before.

Heh…what a misleading title.

I guess we can say I’ve lost my ball, but the chain is still wrapped around my neck. Well, more like my thighs/butt, upper arms, waist and especially my boobs.

And you’re all probably still very confused.

I’m talking about my weight, a topic which I usually avoid, but occasionally address when I feel like wallowing for a while.

See, I haven’t really mentioned it but over the past 3 months or so I’ve really been watching how I eat and I also started biking to and from work. Five days out of the week I count the calories I’m eating and try to stay between 1200-1300 a day.

And I’m a staunch bitch those five days.

The other two days I allow myself leeway and try to eat within reason, without counting.
But honestly, I usually let it get out of control. Or at least I was until finally, this past Thursday and Friday when I wasn’t counting, and also didn’t gain any weight back.

So cut to the chase, you’re probably screaming, man up and tell us how much you’ve lost!!

Well, the answer to that is about 32 pounds (14.55 kilo) and I’ve lost 2 clothing sizes.

How much more do I have to  lose to meet my goal and to be at a more or less healthy weight pre-breast reduction (haven’t mentioned this, but yes, I plan on getting my DDD’s reduced to C’s)? Well, another 20 pounds.

And I find that I’m constantly asking myself when I will finally be finished losing weight.

Really, it feels like the last 15 or so years of my life has been spent trying to lose weight. Be it from peer pressure, the desire to share clothes with all my size 2 friends in high school, or doctors telling me I was overweight (according to bell curves, which in my opinion, is bullshit, but it’s not like trips to nutritionists and dietitians for more accurate measurements is cheap). I played soccer 9 months of the year from the time I was 9 until I was 18, but I was always overweight.

I still am, and I probably always will be overweight, although I think 5-10 pounds over is acceptable. I just don’t want to be obese anymore. I want to shop in regular stores and I don’t want to cry when I look in the mirror. I want to actually see eating and food as something to enjoy, rather than an exercise in mathematics and guilt. Because yes, counting the calories works but it makes me neurotic and pushes me into such a concrete mindset that I actually get nauseous and lose my appetite if I can’t accurately calculate how many calories I’m eating. And if I’m put in a position where I lose track of my daily calories, I quickly spiral into massive overeating for the rest of the day because I feel defeated until bedtime.

It’s just that, I feel that anytime I stop counting, I stop losing. Or worse, start gaining.

I’m currently 197 pounds (89.6 kilos). It is the least I’ve weighed since I was about 23 years old. It’s not what I wanted to be for my wedding, but it’s 60% better than it was 6 months ago, when the only thing I hated about my dress was the body that was in it. Every time I feel discouraged or disgusted I keep in mind that I’ve gotten more than halfway towards something that used to feel impossible.

I just have to find the resolve to keep going till the end.

It was only by chance that I glanced over the chipping railing and intot he dark greenish brown water of the canal in time to see the large silvery fish floating on its side on the surface. There was a large, ragged, circular wound rimmed with blood on the fish’s side, just below the dorsal fin. I stopped and looked, asking CB what kind of fish it was, my interest in biology overcoming any disgust. CB looked down and said it was a brasem, or bream, in english.

I continued looking for a minute, trying to remember the fish and the name, but then I noticed something that totally erased my analytical interest; his mouth was still moving as he bobbed along on the current. The poor thing was still alive.
“Probably got hit by a boat propellor,” CB said, matter of factly.
I shuddered as we turned away and continued walking, stating that things like that really made me consider vegetarianism.

Which is true, but there was something else niggling at me as well.

That wide-eyed, wounded animal, relentlessly pushing water over his gills, despite an obviously fatal injury.
Was he scared?
In pain?
In shock?
Simply operating on instinctual cerebellar autopilot as his consciousness ebbed away?

It just seemed so unfair. Not that the fish would die, of course, as that’s eventually what every living thing does at some point – but the suffering. That was the thing that struck me so hard. There’s a small part of me that crumples and folds slightly when I witness the helpless suffering of pretty much anything, really. Uprooted trees, trapped insects running out of air, injured animals, dying Parkinsons patients… obviously it takes longer for that crumpled part of me to recover in some cases than in others. But I still feel it every time. I avoid watching the news because of it and I’ve decided not to pursue certain careers because of it (nursing, veterinary sciences). I’m unhealthily empathetic.

And while I know there was probably no way that the boat that hit the bream could have known to avoid it, and afterwards there was probably no way to save it, I still wish there was something to be done. Something to even out the utter injustice of any creature having to suffer needlessly.

You know what I mean?

As of last night, I’ve had two bachelorette parties here in Belgium. The first was arranged by my colleagues at work and the second by the wife of CB’s best man.
It is amazing how different those 2 parties were. The party with my colleagues was a joint party as my Dutch coworker got married on April 30th, so it was really for both of us. It started out with the two of us having to try to hawk thongs and chocolate willies in the most crowded part of Gent. My poor coworker ended up doing most of the talking because I kept freezing up when faced with the challenge of selling thongs to strangers in Dutch.

After we’d been tortured enough, we all went to the Drupelkot for a jenever (gin) and then to my Mexican coworker’s house where we all had some tequila and quite a bit of amaretto as well as a few appetizers before heading back to the center for dinner and lots of wine at a Turkish restaurant. We ended up in a salsa bar where my manager talked me into trying a caipirinha (she didn’t have to try very hard to talk me into anything at that point) and I rounded it all off with two Westmalle triples. Needless to say logical thought was no longer an option.

Apparently I had a lot to say about ninjas and bazookas while my Romanian colleague was driving us home/to our respective crash pads.

Last night I was treated to a nice vegetarian dinner by the wives/partners of CB’s friends and CB’s sister while CB was off being drowned in booze by his friends. After dinner we went for a long gondola ride through Gent, stopping for an apperitief under a large willow tree.

All I was told was I had to dress like the 1940′s, with a flower in my hair, so I made my best attempt, although I wore jeans for the part I have pictures from and changed into my skirt later when we reunited with the menfolk. Half of them had to leave early because they were no longer able to behave themselves in public. If I can convince CB to let me post any of it you’ll be hearing more about it later. I will just say I’ve never seen him drunk before, especially not dressed up as Rene Artois from ‘Allo ‘Allo!, so from what I can tell his night was pretty interesting. Anyway, it ended up being the anniversary of when Belgium was liberated from the Germans in WWII so we finally ended up at a ’40′s themed party in a club in town where we did a little dancing, encouraged our respective menfolk to drink extra water, and finally headed for home.

So, like I said, two veeeery different parties, but both very enjoyable.
Makes me wonder what my Pittsburgh bachelorette party will be like…