Mountain View part II and more horrors

 The four of us went to a beautiful (but strange) place called Rosewood Sand Hill in Palo Alto. The bar was classy, but a hybrid thing where everyone was standing but no one danced, which apparently is normal in California but for the two Europeans in the group was weird?

Anyways the night quickly took off, company was great. After a first bottle of Dom Perigno (fort of 4 and admittedly I generously contributed to the emptying of the bottles) and a few Negronis, At some point the guys started talking sports and I waltzed my way towards two Israeli girls who were clearly looking for a distraction (read: they were wearing very deep a neck blouses and very red lipsticks) and made friends with them, they were super fun and told me how the ate mothers, bored with their life and so on and they were super nice. 

That is until Alex, started screaming at me “Lucy stop talking to hookers and come back here”. 

I saw red - turned to Mischief who looked horrified and hissed at him “Seriously? Those are not hookers Mischief. The one that has been sitting closer and closer to you is though”.

Somehow Mischief managed to be gracious enough to fix things, inviting Sara and Dvora to have a glass with us.

Much later, after the ladies left, the real hooker came to talk to me and slipped a hand under my shirt “your boobs are so beautiful “ she said. She was very drunk and older than I expected and I think she was really looking for an easy job. I gave her a kiss on her cheek and gently told her Thank you but I was not into it. She desisted and went her way. I turned and my friends were.. speechless…

By then most of the people had left, our tab was amounting to $2,500 (seriously everything in the US is overpriced) and I made my way to the restroom. 

Did I wait to check if I could hear footsteps following me? I did, out of curiosity really. No one followed me. 

When I came back the Americans started talking about how they are scared of divorcing and I was puzzled. Mischief especially was serious and I was like why if you don’t fuck around why would you divorce I mean your wife is a stay at home mom, why would she leave you? And that’s where he started complaining she never wants to have sex and I said wait, you do use lubricant right? Once again everyone was speechless (apparently no they did not). I was baffled and said guys your wives are no longer 20, they just don’t get that wet, lube is your best friend just don’t make a big deal of it! It’s a few bucks per pack and makes your sex life so much more enjoyable!

We also spent a long time talking how it's different to do business in the US vs Europe and how it's different for men and women - I would never go to a dinner alone with a male client in Milan, although I may do it if we were both travelling (I would still prefer to be more than 2 people). Europe is flexing towards business lunch these days... but reality is that it's easier for men (clients are 99% men so apologies if I sound biased).

The night started slowing down after that and eventually we made it back to the hotel at 2am with the usual promises of everlasting friendship (Alex was too drunk for those and anyways..) Mischief and I were on the top floor at the hotel and again I thought he was giving me the eye when he said goodnight out of my room but I did my best to casually say Nite and thanks I had a great night and quicklyake it into my room to avoid any confusion.

The next day was the last. Alex never showed up at the training, I felt fine, Carlos had a bad headache and I proceeded teasing Mischief saying that if his wife was going to see the bar bill he would be divorced in no time under the accusation of having paid strippers and we had a good laugh. Mischief hugged me goodbye a little longer and a little closer than Carlos did but it felt good and off I went back to Europe.

I came home to find that I was still 72kg (159lbs). The week later I was in Amsterdam where they filmed me for the interview where I look like a whale and it was hard. 

I should also mention that over the past four years I have not been good. As part of the overall horrible body situation, I got never-ending periods (at the worst point over one summer I experienced 70 days of bleeding, 10 days off, followed by 45 more days bleeding) with huge back pains and smarting joints. This has not helped with the weight, with my feelings towards my body (and with our sex life tbh). I have seen several different doctors who always told me it was normal and to just deal with it. Back in September I tried a new doctor who finally listened to me and immediately put me on different meds that almost stopped the bleeding, and then prescribed some more analyses. I got some results before Mountain View and they basically found a tumor but did not know what kind in my womb, so I had to do two biopsies right after Mountain View and before the Netherlands. I was seriously depressed, although because I've been through horrible years that could have been dealt with. Doctors told me in any case I shall probably have my womb removed. No cliffhangers here, I got all the biopsies done and it turned out to be a benign thing, and eventually my doctor said that I should not undergo surgery for the time being, continue the meds (bleeding has now completely stopped and I am immensely grateful) and keep the thing monitored once a year through a scan. I also got positive feedback on dealing it this way from my Brother (who's a doctor).

To add more horrors, my mom (the Panther) got a knee replaced while I was in the US, replunged in her anorexia and stopped eating. Of course she got anemic and they would not release her from the hospital, and then she escaped and went home. On the day after my biopsies I drove to my parents place and spent two days cooking stuff and freezing or putting it under vacuum so they would have food while she was using crutches. In exchange I got a lot of sneaky remarks on how fat I am.

My mom is still eating very little and is now 44kg (97lbs) and ecstatic about this.

Husband meanwhile has been there although it sometimes seems like we share a house. I mean, he has not initiated sex in years, and after the bleeding stopped back at the end of September I've tried to make this somehow more frequent but... it's a bit embarrassing to always be the one that starts things you know? He's having a hard time at work (but he's been bitching about it over the past two years), and I often feel he really resents that I've achieved a better career than he has over the past 3 years (it was always the opposite way around previously). I'm not trying to justify anything, this is just how things are. I certainly still love him and I'm invested in our relationship, although this will sound phony in the next post, please do believe me.

The thing is I've been travelling a lot and you may remember from the past some of his "lapses", when I would be away for work and he would get wasted and high and end up with a broken arm, a twisted foot, black eyes or this kind of things. This year it's easier for me because now two (beloved) nieces moved to Milan and always hang out at our place and I've been basically blackmailing them to come over to our apartment as much as possible when I'm away (it was my friend Matt who suggested this genius strategy). I had almost always worked, just last week there was a minor episode where I think he fell coming home but nothing dramatic.

Meanwhile, Mischief set up a chat with me and Carlos and we kept texting....

Song for this post: Chandelier, by Sia

(forgive typos, most of this long post was typed on my iphone and my nails are too long)

Guess who’s back?

 Do I deserve your attention? Certainly not but you all know why ai am back.

Ok you do not know the exact trigger (but you already figured the situation) so let me share this.

In February I went on a work trip to the US and it was very interesting and also fun. I met some colleagues from other countries and even thought one fancied me. This is just to record I thought this, of course I didn’t care but I thought he was giving me the eye.

The week after that I had another work event in Europe and I was filmed for an interview. They shared the final cut today.

I look like a sea lion perched on a stool.

I shall also add that the interview was not at my peak weight which was 80kg last year (I dropped 6kg before the interview and 4 more since).

I have no idea how I thought anyone could possibly fancy me.

I am fucking horrified. My mother, bless her, is right. She, incidentally, has lost further weight after a knee surgery and is now 45kg.

The worst part is you wouldn’t believe how much training I am doing.

At this point t I shall just stop eating but I also thought it was time to come back to the place that always helped me. 

I missed you lovelies

a conversation with the Panther

 The trip to Florida is in a week, and then in May I have a work event in Barcelona and my sister in law wedding.

I needed a dress that fit and the Panther (mom) needed a break from her daily shenanigans, so she came to Milan last Friday. We went to see an exhibition featuring Marc Chagall drawings, and then shopping. I had already in my mind to buy the same model as the dress below, in an acquamarine color (and in a different size).

"You are not going to wear that right?"

"uh yes, why?"

"your arms are too fat"

"Mom - this is a size 8 and I do not even have to pull by belly in to zip it - I don't think it's necessary to make dramas"

"I still don't think you should wear it - and it doesn't make sense to buy it, why don't you just wear the old one?"

"Because the old one (size 4) does not fit any longer - I would need to drop 15kg (33lbs). And Florida is next week and the wedding is on May 15"

"Well I think you can lose 15 kilos in two months"

"Mom are you kidding me? If I lost 15kg while working in 8 weeks, I would die or worse".

Below the original dress, worn at a wedding in Portugal in summer 2017

I cringe at the thought I felt fat. I was not skinny, but compared to now I was a fucking goddess.

Once upon a time

 Aunt Piera made it so far, and was sent home last weekend. I spent the last two weekends at my parents' place, as Mom (the Panther) really needed some rest and someone to step up on her behalf.

I was VERY happy to see Aunt back, although I must admit she is so much more fragile (I know it sounds absurd as you will tell me the woman was 94 even before her heart attack, but trust me - she was not fragile). It's not just a psychological matter: she cannot hurry or make efforts as she gets angina if she does. On Saturday night, after she spent the day at my parents' place (she had had her third covid shot in the morning) I was walking her to the car as she wanted me to drive her home, and she missed a step. I was kinda expecting this, as my Grandma (her sister) always misses the same step, so I was holding her and she did not fall at all, but she got a bit scared and she immediately had a bit of angina.

Meanwhile Grandmother is less and less lucid and aware - most of the time it's like she'd rather be left alone than having someone talking with her. While I try and understand this, it is very hard for her sister (Aunt P) and her daughter (my Mom).

On Sunday morning Aunt P came over for lunch, and we talked a bit just the two of us, about how much she still misses her husband (who passed 30 years ago), and how they always cared for each other. They started dating when she was 15 and he was 16, and not one year later he went rogue as his older brothers were called to war and they all ran away, so they all spent 2 years in the mountains as partisans. They were not driven by high ideologies, politics, or anything really, except for one strong drive: staying alive. --he would write postcards to his young fiancée, and sometimes she would hike up the mountain to bring him a basket of food.

Later on, while I was driving back to the city, I thought about how skinny and unhappy I was in all those years back from when B left me, until I started dating Husband. How I felt alone, lonely, and how I had gotten used to being sad and hurting.

And yet, Husband deserves more - he started dating a skinny girl, married a normal one, and now has a fat wife.

And I deserve more.

So it's probably time I do something about this - after all, I'll never go back to running again, so it's time to restrict.

the crazy life of a financial advisor during lockdown

The morning starts well. By now (after 5 weeks of smart-working from my parents' place and 3 weeks of total lockdown) Husband and I have completely corrupted my mother's black cat.
The Panther (aka Mom) has two cats: Tigros - a smart huntress, intelligent, reactive and a bit of a tedious whore if you want my point of view - and Negus (which means black prince in Ethiopia).
Negus is the dumb brother, he's a black cat who only has (had?) one goal in his life: being petted by my parents. He's super-loyal and affectionate, but the Panther always had a thing for intelligent ones (see Bro and I, where I was treated like the accident daughter until my late twenties).
After these weeks, where we have been spending only on treats for Negus, he's finally moved downstairs with us (insert evil laugh here).
So in the morning he steps in from our bedroom window and plops down on our bed, right in the middle. Goodbye morning sex by the way - clearly gaining the cat's affection has become more vital.

Despite everything, two clients managed to close their transactions this week - I usually don't develop much on my job, but basically they have acquired other companies. Given the lockdown (and the recession), it's almost a miracle.

Fast forward through a morning of conference calls, lunch with the family and quickly preparing some bread (currently baking in the wood stove upstairs).
At 2.45PM I was preparing for a long videoconference when a girl rings our bell and frantically warns that, in the filed close to our home where we keep the hens, she spotted a dog chasing Mom's hens.
Now, the Panther is a bit peculiar - we are virtually vegetarian and she takes very good care of her hens that are more like pets then anything else.
Husband reached that part of the yard first - blame it on my knee surgery, but I still cannot run (not even a few steps) at the risk of stumbling down. By the time I got there, it was a mix between a will coyote cartoon and a zombie apocalypse movie. The hens are 14 and live a very large yard, with their coop (the fox comes every night so they must be locked sunset to sunrise) lots of grass, bushes and trees.
There were feathers everywhere, bloodied pieces of hens spread around, dead hens, hens running like crazy and in the middle, my beautiful, brave, big husband with a pitchfork, chasing a pitbull that was chasing hens.
Surreal.
He managed to scare away the dog while my parents reached the owner, and then we proceeded for the next hour in counting the fallen, the injured and grouping the scared healthy survivors.

All while trying to soothe the poor Panther, who was very grateful towards us, until I suddenly realized I was 30 minutes late for a conference call, and absentmindedly dropped an F bomb right in the face of my Mom. Aw, well, fuck it.

Fast forward through a boring call, more cat therapy, realizing that I screamed into the dog owner's face that he is a fucking moron who likes to butt-fuck his sister (and most important, realizing I dropped all this in front of the Panther but she was probably in shock or something because she did not flinch nor mention this), I finally remember to bake bread for dinner.

While the bread was baking in the wooden stove I was strolling through pant-suits on IG and started wondering if we'll really ever go back to the pant-suit and heels life (well if my knee does not heal I can probably forget the heels). Back to the city, professional version of ourselves?
I honestly don't know any longer, but meanwhile I took a mental note that I need to fetch more wood for the chimney tomorrow morning.