Have you ever seen a blood sausage? the skin is soooo tight you don't understand how is that thing holding itself. You know that it doesn't matter how gently you touch it or caress it with the fork, it will explode and OMG! rice! blood! peas! everything inside will fly all over the place.
Just like that.
When you are fat, buying clothes is a complete torture: nothing looks good on you, all the pretty things you like are NEVER on your size, all your friends trade clothes and lend each other pretty dresses but you? noooooo. Try to wear what your best friend wore to the party the other day and you will look like, well... a ready-to-burst blood sausage. She's a size 8, you are a size 12... wait... I thought we were kinda similar! does that mean that I'm FATTER than she is?!?!? Oh triple fuc---csia!!!! She's big... oh motherfuuuudge... Am I a cow?
Wearing a skirt is shameful, there aren't shapes that can accommodate your so-called-pear-shaped figure. Pear-shape? HA! that's a nice way to say you have a huge ba-dunk-a-dunk. Trust me, mine was big.
Boobs? don't get me started. And no boys, it's not fun to carry those things around, it's heavy and it hurts your back.
Pencil skirt? big nono, your belly is not going to look appealing on that. Don't do it.
Your legs? well... no, don't show them around, those are little blood sausages themselves so, no.
So, that's truma number one.
[Disclaimer: all the opinions reflected on this blog are solely property of the writer. If you don't like how I, ME AND MYSELF didn't enjoy being fat, that's YOUR problem, not mine]
Trauma number two comes from this: in Colombia, pretty girls are called "bizcochos", meaning BISCUITS. Because you want to eat them... duh!
Don't look at me like that, I didn't make that up. I don't like it either!
No, I was never called like that. Bummer? I don't know.
So, "Smurfette" [that's how I call myself when I'm writing about myself] was, well... a little overweight... just a little... but enough to be beyooooooond overweight... like... obese.
Now, unfortunately for me, and girls don't try this at home, the three problems stated above (Obesity, the blood sausage psycho-thing, and the biscuit blob) were solved by three different [sigh] men:
Problem No. 1. Overcoming Obesity:
I broke-up with a guy I was with for SIX YEARS and started what my friends called the "lipo-depression due to a divorce". I've lost 20 kilos in 9 months and counting.. I'm still 8 kilos from my ideal weight but now I know how to handle it:
Avoid ice cream and chocolate and cookies and sodas and carbs and pastas and sweets and bread and rice and everything tasty... all types of food whatsoever because you'll never know when you'll see him again and you MUST look amaaaaaaah-zing.
All joking aside, if something like this EVER happens to you, don't go crazy.
What I did was, considering how I lost my appetite due to incredible sadness and I didn't want to get sick but I wanted to take advantage of the situation, I went to a nutritionist and together, we created a meal and workout plan (designed just for me). She measured my body mass, bone structure and other things I don't remember and gave me the number of calories I needed to consume daily to lose weight and stay healthy. The cool part is "there's an app for that"!!
Be smart! It's not about the missing dude, it's about yourself.
Problem No. 2: Overcoming the Blood Sausage Psychosis:
Career fair and I needed to look smart, pffff!! professional and interesting, but feminine at the same time. Oh man...
Even thought I've lost enough weight to wear THE pencil skirt, I was still feeling a little... well... meh.
I bought the skirt but didn't try it until the day I was supposed to wear it. This, to add difficulty to the task, of course and make it a surprise even for myself. I like challenges and sometimes I'm stupid. Sometimes.
With no one home to give an opinion about how I looked, I took one of those "duck-face-on-the-mirror-you-can-see-the-toilet" pictures of myself and sent it to the most reliable source of feedback: "my diet coach" who lives in Mexico. Thank you Whatsapp!!
Yes, I sound whiney, but please understand that my body is slowly gaining self-confidence. It's not easy, believe me. I trust my geeky knowledge, but this new appearance is still a mystery to me. I know it's not the most important thing but hey...
As I arrive at the fair, I still feel weird so I call this guy-friend and ask him about what does he think about my attire and he, well, very honestly said: WELL MAFECITA, YOU DON'T LOOK LIKE A BLOOD SAUSAGE READY TO BURST, YOU LOOK FINE.
You see? as gentle as a gorilla high on RedBull. Just what I needed.
Problem No. 3: Biscuit Index:
Last year, almost one year ago, one friend called me for drinks and introduced me to a guy who he calls "my good friend". Oh, ok, hi, how are you?... the guy leaves and blah, I forget about him the minute he walked out the door. He barely noticed or talked to me so, whatever. Biscuit Index = 1.3
Recently, I met the same friend who introduced me to the same guy. This time, the guy "gently" (ha!) pulls and sits me next to him at the table, buys me a drink, and 20 minutes later, poses his manly hands on my lap without asking for permission. Biscuit Index = 8.1
Yeah, last night out of the blue, I realized I've met the guy from the touchy-touchy post one year ago but by that time I was fat and he barely acknowledge my presence.
My personal Biscuit Index enhancement has been proven. I feel uselessly sexy.
So, feeling stupid and knowing that I have to do things for myself and do not let others give me the push I need to do what I actually need to do, I've created a list called "Smurfette gets a life":
- Number one: Finish the #$%^&*() research proposal!
- Number two: Get a job, you have a killer CV and a huge ego, go ahead, don't be a chicken.
- Number three: Get some sleep, sleep deprivation will make you stupid, and we can't afford that.
- Number four: Forgive people for what they've done, after all, I'm nice... or something like that. Besides, I don't like this feeling of not having closure.
- Number five: Forget people, don't let them live inside my head and my heart without paying rent.
- Number six: Take the FE exam, because I want to be a REAL engineer in this country.
- Number seven: Finish the $%^&* thesis.
- Number eight: Graduate and grow up.
Maybe not exactly in that order. That's something that I, me and myself are still thinking about.
More to come.
All credit to the "Biscuit Index" concept goes to Miss Olavia Kite, the coolest blogger / singer / ukulele players / dream-catcher I've have the pleasure and great fun to vlog-laborate with.