I haven't written in a while. Part of that has been due to the busy holiday season, and part of it has been due to an internal struggle with having an actual "blog", and writing about intricate details pertaining to my life. While a lot of it is entertaining...certainly, some of it can be disheartening, and even hurtful to those that I don't actually mean to hurt. With that said, the underlying truth is that I have daily topics that run through my head that scream "that would make a great blog!". So, here I am, returning to what helps shine a light into my personal life.
The whirlwind internet dating is over. I will take a much needed break, and when I'm feeling JUST empty enough inside again, I will probably sign my soul over, and give it another attempt. It wasn't successful for me at all- but, I can say that I did make 1 long lasting friendship out of it, which is enough for me.
I did attempt to date a 48 year old Greek guy (whom I met at church), but it was a COMPLETE disaster, and partially made me hate myself for ending it by being such a mean bitch. He and I were night and day...I don't know what I was thinking....it had to be his Greek genes that kept me intrigued for a full month- and seeing him slave over the gyro grill at the Greek Festival certainly didn't hurt, but it ended quickly after he served me lentil soup and salad for dinner one night (ahem, a GERIATRIC dinner!). He was EXTREMELY religious, which at first I found sexy, but I think the final straw for him was learning that I would (gasp!) share a room with guys that are friends on an upcoming vacation. It's funny to me now though....God, I'm an idiot for idiot men!
I have recently been having strange dreams...and men from my past, whom I will never talk with again, have been popping up. No matter how bad they were to me, I always end up with underlying guilt that we're not "cool" with each other. There are very few of those men in my life...and if we're not on speaking terms it's for good reason, but still- it does bother me deep down and has been making random appearances in my dreams. That is definitely a guilty trait that I inherited from my mother. My mom would feel guilty if someone else chopped off HER arm.
2010 is coming to an end, and I am ready to say "sianara, sucka!" I will be lucky enough to ring in the New Year with some girlfriends in New Orleans, LA. I wish everyone the best for 2011! May the New Year bring you much happiness, lots of love, and a fresh wardrobe complete with Manolo Blahniks.
Monday, December 27, 2010
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Change of Heart
It was a Friday morning, and I could think of a million places I would rather be than right where I was at that moment. I was sitting in a Project Costing session, learning all about how to work with our finance team and a new version of our budgets. It was being held in a small room in the building's basement, big enough to hold around 50 people seated at tables, and illuminated by flourescent lights. The overhead made a constant, dull, murmur that was just loud enough for my mind to escape and let my thoughts wonder for a bit.
The first logical thought was, "are my peers really into what our speakers are telling us?!" I mean, come on...it's Friday, and we're learning about BUDGETS? No one in their right mind holds a meeting on Friday in our company, because most people check out Thursday afternoon, and return with a half-way lucid thought process Tuesday morning. Fridays are reserved for the mundane paperwork that each person dreads doing throughout their typical work week, but can do with their eyes closed. I am definitely one of those people.
As I felt my eyes get heavy, and my internal energy switch to its lowest gear, I quietly allowed myself to wonder into a "closed" place in my heart. A place where love once roamed freely and a place where pain was short lived. A place where happiness abound, and grossly outweighed sadness. I thought back to falling in love and how wonderful that feeling was. I remembered the days when bitterness was something I could only label on divorcees and not come close to understanding the term on my own. I remembered how easy it was. How sporadic, and how momentarily lovely it all was. At one time, love flowed freely through my heart, body, and soul, and invigorated all aspects of my life. It was in that instant, in the small, basement room with fluorescent lighting, that I decided I could...no, I WANTED to love again.
"I have found the paradox, that if you love until it hurts, there can be no more hurt, only love." ~Mother Teresa
The first logical thought was, "are my peers really into what our speakers are telling us?!" I mean, come on...it's Friday, and we're learning about BUDGETS? No one in their right mind holds a meeting on Friday in our company, because most people check out Thursday afternoon, and return with a half-way lucid thought process Tuesday morning. Fridays are reserved for the mundane paperwork that each person dreads doing throughout their typical work week, but can do with their eyes closed. I am definitely one of those people.
As I felt my eyes get heavy, and my internal energy switch to its lowest gear, I quietly allowed myself to wonder into a "closed" place in my heart. A place where love once roamed freely and a place where pain was short lived. A place where happiness abound, and grossly outweighed sadness. I thought back to falling in love and how wonderful that feeling was. I remembered the days when bitterness was something I could only label on divorcees and not come close to understanding the term on my own. I remembered how easy it was. How sporadic, and how momentarily lovely it all was. At one time, love flowed freely through my heart, body, and soul, and invigorated all aspects of my life. It was in that instant, in the small, basement room with fluorescent lighting, that I decided I could...no, I WANTED to love again.
"I have found the paradox, that if you love until it hurts, there can be no more hurt, only love." ~Mother Teresa
Friday, November 5, 2010
Vanilla Bean
There are, I believe, 2 types of people in this world.
There are people who appreciate a variety when it comes to food, and then you have people who prefer consistency when it comes to food.
I, obviously, fall into the first category. I know that even as a child I loved trying new restaurants, new dishes, and always had a desire to please my taste buds in a way that only a new, exotic taste would fulfill.
Over my (almost) 27 years here on earth, I have met a wide variety of people. Many of these people fall into the same category as me- enjoying new savory and mouthwatering adventures with their taste buds. I have also been surprised by the amount of people that I have come across who want absolutely nothing to do with my adventures into Indian, Japanese, or Vietnamese food. I use to regard these people as quite difficult, and rather annoying. I even coined the nickname "Vanilla Bean" for a dear friend, who simply wants nothing to do with trying new foods. For many years I have been perplexed at the unwillingness of some people to just TRY something new. I was married to someone with the "Vanilla Bean" mentality, which completely drove me insane! We would go to dinner, and there I would be- almost having an orgasm over a chocolate fondue with caramel (no nuts), and he would barely pick at the food, looking rather uninterested, which would always end with me being disappointed that I could not share one of the things that I am most passionate about with the person that I most loved.
To be honest, picky people tend to annoy the shit out of me. However, I have many friends who profess the "Vanilla Bean" mentality, and recently, I happened upon a discussion regarding this very topic with one of them. I met this guy through one of my recent dating escapades, and although I found myself wildly attracted to him, I ended up talking myself down from the ledge when I found out that he eats the same. thing. every. day.
*Bummer*
He tends to find it hilarious that I freak out over his eating habits, so he will occasionally indulge some of his recent menu information to me. The most recent was 37 continual lunch trips to the exact same restaurant, ordering the exact same meal- with variety being thrown in on Fridays (ordering a different type of meat on the same sandwich).
What
the
fuck?!
I almost literally had a meltdown for this poor guy, but when we got to talking about it, a light bulb went off in my head.
*This guy CRAVES consistency*
I don't know his entire life story, but what I do know about him, makes sense why he is this way. Many of the picky eaters in my life have had one, two, or several traumatizing events in their lives. I also think that in some particular cases, picky eaters have emerged due to the attention that they received in their early years of pickiness.
I will also mention, that picky eaters are also some of the most loyal and best friends I could ask for. Most likely due to the fact that they find the things in life that they love, and stick with it- religiously.
In my case, I love variety. I usually embrace change, and I have no problem welcoming new and improved things into my life. This is fun when it comes to food, however, can be damaging when it comes to relationships. I'm always looking for something better....scouring the earth for the thing that looks, tastes, and feels the best. The here and now isn't good enough, and so I continue on a search for the best. My very loved picky eaters, tend to find themselves more content in the here and the now, and don't worry so much about what they might have missed out on, or what new things may come their way.
In this recent discovery, I have a new appreciation for my "vanilla beans". They are a constant light in my life, and I wouldn't change them for the world.
I hope to be just as good of a friend to them and not portray the fickle side of me that so often wants to make an appearance.
Now, on to my curry dinner! :)
There are people who appreciate a variety when it comes to food, and then you have people who prefer consistency when it comes to food.
I, obviously, fall into the first category. I know that even as a child I loved trying new restaurants, new dishes, and always had a desire to please my taste buds in a way that only a new, exotic taste would fulfill.
Over my (almost) 27 years here on earth, I have met a wide variety of people. Many of these people fall into the same category as me- enjoying new savory and mouthwatering adventures with their taste buds. I have also been surprised by the amount of people that I have come across who want absolutely nothing to do with my adventures into Indian, Japanese, or Vietnamese food. I use to regard these people as quite difficult, and rather annoying. I even coined the nickname "Vanilla Bean" for a dear friend, who simply wants nothing to do with trying new foods. For many years I have been perplexed at the unwillingness of some people to just TRY something new. I was married to someone with the "Vanilla Bean" mentality, which completely drove me insane! We would go to dinner, and there I would be- almost having an orgasm over a chocolate fondue with caramel (no nuts), and he would barely pick at the food, looking rather uninterested, which would always end with me being disappointed that I could not share one of the things that I am most passionate about with the person that I most loved.
To be honest, picky people tend to annoy the shit out of me. However, I have many friends who profess the "Vanilla Bean" mentality, and recently, I happened upon a discussion regarding this very topic with one of them. I met this guy through one of my recent dating escapades, and although I found myself wildly attracted to him, I ended up talking myself down from the ledge when I found out that he eats the same. thing. every. day.
*Bummer*
He tends to find it hilarious that I freak out over his eating habits, so he will occasionally indulge some of his recent menu information to me. The most recent was 37 continual lunch trips to the exact same restaurant, ordering the exact same meal- with variety being thrown in on Fridays (ordering a different type of meat on the same sandwich).
What
the
fuck?!
I almost literally had a meltdown for this poor guy, but when we got to talking about it, a light bulb went off in my head.
*This guy CRAVES consistency*
I don't know his entire life story, but what I do know about him, makes sense why he is this way. Many of the picky eaters in my life have had one, two, or several traumatizing events in their lives. I also think that in some particular cases, picky eaters have emerged due to the attention that they received in their early years of pickiness.
I will also mention, that picky eaters are also some of the most loyal and best friends I could ask for. Most likely due to the fact that they find the things in life that they love, and stick with it- religiously.
In my case, I love variety. I usually embrace change, and I have no problem welcoming new and improved things into my life. This is fun when it comes to food, however, can be damaging when it comes to relationships. I'm always looking for something better....scouring the earth for the thing that looks, tastes, and feels the best. The here and now isn't good enough, and so I continue on a search for the best. My very loved picky eaters, tend to find themselves more content in the here and the now, and don't worry so much about what they might have missed out on, or what new things may come their way.
In this recent discovery, I have a new appreciation for my "vanilla beans". They are a constant light in my life, and I wouldn't change them for the world.
I hope to be just as good of a friend to them and not portray the fickle side of me that so often wants to make an appearance.
Now, on to my curry dinner! :)
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Venus and Mars
I love the feeling that I get when listening to The Beatles.
It's a feeling that brings about my youth, my father, and an overall contentment with life that has been relatively distant these days. I've had a hard time writing at all, because I've felt so negative, but when I listen to John, Paul, George, and Ringo- suddenly, "All the Lonely People" put me at ease. I have had a string of bad luck events lately, and I am down and out on this whole dating scene....it's not my thing, and no one wants to "Hold My Hand" or just "Let It Be". I'm so over it. I didn't think it would be this hard! The online dating thing has severely wounded my self-confidence. I know it works for some people, but it's just too strange for me. I tend to fall in love with my best friend....and these internet guys have no history in my life. I don't know if I can trust them, if I want to trust them, or if it's worth my time to invest in someone that's just-nice-enough-but-not-quite-cute-enough-and-doesn't-have-a-job-and-is-25-years-my-senior. **Dear God, please make me stop freaking out about my 27th birthday approaching, and I'm still single and childless.**
I wish we all lived in a "Yellow Submarine". That sounds like a nice place. It's similar to when I get mad, or fed up with the American way of life and I say, "Screw this shit hole, I'm moving to Greece!" But then, I'm quickly reminded that Greece isn't really up to speed on technology, or ice cubes, or air conditioning....HOWEVER, they don't work like slaves, they have AMAZING food, and who couldn't be happy just sitting around looking at what engulfs them?! Greece is a beautiful country, but they are suffering greatly right now. I pray many times that they won't have to sell their debt to a place like China....*sigh*...
Now, before I go getting all political on you....rest assured, it's a "Good Day, Sunshine".
On a much more personal note, I am having issues with sleeping. My sleep is constantly interrupted by some strong brute-which whom, by the way, I'm having sex with! It's great, because in your dreams there is no reason to worry about such debauchery! This man seems to be of Swedish decent, he's a body builder, and he has tattoos....it's everything that I've never had, and I don't get where this *man* has come from, but I'm starting to believe in invisible (boy)friends...he "Don't Let Me Down", which is in and of itself a pretty fantastic feat- EVEN IF he IS made up! After describing this to my best friend and therapist, she told me that our dreams are usually fragments from our day that form into a deep rooted thought. Soooooooo, in other words, I pretty much sit around and think about porking all day long, while it’s not happening for me, and everyone around me IS porking- so I just get to dream about porking with some fictional douchebag, probably named “Ty”. Meanwhile, I am feeling like Tiger Woods on a bad ecstasy trip locked away in a monastery.
Speaking of monastery….
Today my priest spoke of "being a farmer of your own heart". I thought it was interesting- especially considering how much my heart has hurt lately. What he said was so right...couldn't be more right. We have to work on our hearts- much like a crop. Pull the weeds; keep it clear of rocks and other harmful things. And we must plant patience, truth, obedience, discipline...above all things though, we must plant LOVE. Thank you Father for speaking those words to me today. I need more of my own love planted in my heart...for without my love to fertilize, no one elses love will be able to sustain the terrain.
In the great words of my favorite musicians...."All You Need Is Love"
Thank you, dad, for introducing me to The Beatles and giving me their amazing melodies to brighten my days.
It's a feeling that brings about my youth, my father, and an overall contentment with life that has been relatively distant these days. I've had a hard time writing at all, because I've felt so negative, but when I listen to John, Paul, George, and Ringo- suddenly, "All the Lonely People" put me at ease. I have had a string of bad luck events lately, and I am down and out on this whole dating scene....it's not my thing, and no one wants to "Hold My Hand" or just "Let It Be". I'm so over it. I didn't think it would be this hard! The online dating thing has severely wounded my self-confidence. I know it works for some people, but it's just too strange for me. I tend to fall in love with my best friend....and these internet guys have no history in my life. I don't know if I can trust them, if I want to trust them, or if it's worth my time to invest in someone that's just-nice-enough-but-not-quite-cute-enough-and-doesn't-have-a-job-and-is-25-years-my-senior. **Dear God, please make me stop freaking out about my 27th birthday approaching, and I'm still single and childless.**
I wish we all lived in a "Yellow Submarine". That sounds like a nice place. It's similar to when I get mad, or fed up with the American way of life and I say, "Screw this shit hole, I'm moving to Greece!" But then, I'm quickly reminded that Greece isn't really up to speed on technology, or ice cubes, or air conditioning....HOWEVER, they don't work like slaves, they have AMAZING food, and who couldn't be happy just sitting around looking at what engulfs them?! Greece is a beautiful country, but they are suffering greatly right now. I pray many times that they won't have to sell their debt to a place like China....*sigh*...
Now, before I go getting all political on you....rest assured, it's a "Good Day, Sunshine".
On a much more personal note, I am having issues with sleeping. My sleep is constantly interrupted by some strong brute-which whom, by the way, I'm having sex with! It's great, because in your dreams there is no reason to worry about such debauchery! This man seems to be of Swedish decent, he's a body builder, and he has tattoos....it's everything that I've never had, and I don't get where this *man* has come from, but I'm starting to believe in invisible (boy)friends...he "Don't Let Me Down", which is in and of itself a pretty fantastic feat- EVEN IF he IS made up! After describing this to my best friend and therapist, she told me that our dreams are usually fragments from our day that form into a deep rooted thought. Soooooooo, in other words, I pretty much sit around and think about porking all day long, while it’s not happening for me, and everyone around me IS porking- so I just get to dream about porking with some fictional douchebag, probably named “Ty”. Meanwhile, I am feeling like Tiger Woods on a bad ecstasy trip locked away in a monastery.
Speaking of monastery….
Today my priest spoke of "being a farmer of your own heart". I thought it was interesting- especially considering how much my heart has hurt lately. What he said was so right...couldn't be more right. We have to work on our hearts- much like a crop. Pull the weeds; keep it clear of rocks and other harmful things. And we must plant patience, truth, obedience, discipline...above all things though, we must plant LOVE. Thank you Father for speaking those words to me today. I need more of my own love planted in my heart...for without my love to fertilize, no one elses love will be able to sustain the terrain.
In the great words of my favorite musicians...."All You Need Is Love"
Thank you, dad, for introducing me to The Beatles and giving me their amazing melodies to brighten my days.
Saturday, October 9, 2010
Mangy
Have you ever had a moment in your life when you really questioned what in the hell you could possibly be doing SO wrong to make the tide have turned against you in such a fierce manner??
I have recently been slammed back-to-back with some incidents that were predominantly beyond my control, and made me almost lose it. A few weeks ago, I rear-ended an SUV in a sudden downpour which almost totaled my car. 2 days after getting my car repaired, I backed out of my garage to go to work, and the garage door came down onto my rear windshield and busted it. Let me add that in-between all of this mess, I had contracted food poisoning, my sister and I had a terrible fight, I went on a 2 day work trip to Missouri- one of which took 5 hours to drive, 2 of those hours were spent on back roads in BFE surrounded by the smell of cow manure and no civilized place to stop and pee- I worked a 16 hour day only to be called a "secretary", and I topped it all off with a $500 electric bill. One would think this was enough for such a short time frame (2.5 weeks), and then on my way home from work yesterday, my car started making really strange sounds. I looked at my temperature gauge (this is one of those things your dad teaches you to do, and 10 years later, it comes in handy) and my car was HOT. Damnit.
I pulled over on the side of the interstate and called my mechanic (also happens to be one of my best friends' husband) and he very graciously towed my car and fixed the hose that was leaky. I wanted to break down and cry tears of complete exhaustion, but then my debit card was rejected for $30 at the gas station. At this point, it didn't even phase me because I felt like everything just seemed to be going wrong. The gas station lady was nice and let me write a check, but I was humiliated. I knew I had the money in the bank, but it was obvious that she thought I was one second away from selling organically grown pot brownies to the neighborhood kids for quick change.
My car was fixed, and I headed home. I felt a sense of defeat, and I wondered why God would be testing me so rigorously right now. I also kept trying to remind myself that things could be SO much worse. Thankfully, everything that has occurred has not injured me (except my feelings and my bank account) or anyone else, and I am very grateful for that. People around me have sick kids, sick dogs, sick parents....and I am reminded to be thankful for these crappy things because it could be so much worse. I got home and poured a glass of wine, and just tried to make sense of all of the bad stuff.
I have also had some really terrible dates lately, and the whole online dating thing is really wearing me out. I met a Greek guy recently, which got my blood flowing for about 10 minutes....until I found out he was 50. Yep, 5-0. I have a thing for the oldies, but it made me slightly uncomfortable thinking about the possibility of having sex with someone who could EASILY be my dad, and who truly is just a couple of years younger than my dad. It freaked me out, and I haven't talked to him since.
It's Friday night, and although I had a couple of gentleman callers, I decided to stay in and hang out with...myself. I gave myself a mani/pedi, researched some stuff online, watched "Say Yes to the Dress", and rescued a dog with the worst demodex mange I have ever seen. He is being taken care of by a rescue group now for treatment, and I can't wait to hear his story. I am surrounded by 5 dogs here at in my home that are all pleasantly knocked out- Lord, please don't let them wake me up at 5:30am with a wrestling match on my bed! And, I am happy as can be. I sometimes wonder if I am meant to be a single, crazy dog lady for the rest of my life. For now, the answer is yes, but if my car continues to operate for the next few weeks, I'm sure my mindset will change.
I have recently been slammed back-to-back with some incidents that were predominantly beyond my control, and made me almost lose it. A few weeks ago, I rear-ended an SUV in a sudden downpour which almost totaled my car. 2 days after getting my car repaired, I backed out of my garage to go to work, and the garage door came down onto my rear windshield and busted it. Let me add that in-between all of this mess, I had contracted food poisoning, my sister and I had a terrible fight, I went on a 2 day work trip to Missouri- one of which took 5 hours to drive, 2 of those hours were spent on back roads in BFE surrounded by the smell of cow manure and no civilized place to stop and pee- I worked a 16 hour day only to be called a "secretary", and I topped it all off with a $500 electric bill. One would think this was enough for such a short time frame (2.5 weeks), and then on my way home from work yesterday, my car started making really strange sounds. I looked at my temperature gauge (this is one of those things your dad teaches you to do, and 10 years later, it comes in handy) and my car was HOT. Damnit.
I pulled over on the side of the interstate and called my mechanic (also happens to be one of my best friends' husband) and he very graciously towed my car and fixed the hose that was leaky. I wanted to break down and cry tears of complete exhaustion, but then my debit card was rejected for $30 at the gas station. At this point, it didn't even phase me because I felt like everything just seemed to be going wrong. The gas station lady was nice and let me write a check, but I was humiliated. I knew I had the money in the bank, but it was obvious that she thought I was one second away from selling organically grown pot brownies to the neighborhood kids for quick change.
My car was fixed, and I headed home. I felt a sense of defeat, and I wondered why God would be testing me so rigorously right now. I also kept trying to remind myself that things could be SO much worse. Thankfully, everything that has occurred has not injured me (except my feelings and my bank account) or anyone else, and I am very grateful for that. People around me have sick kids, sick dogs, sick parents....and I am reminded to be thankful for these crappy things because it could be so much worse. I got home and poured a glass of wine, and just tried to make sense of all of the bad stuff.
I have also had some really terrible dates lately, and the whole online dating thing is really wearing me out. I met a Greek guy recently, which got my blood flowing for about 10 minutes....until I found out he was 50. Yep, 5-0. I have a thing for the oldies, but it made me slightly uncomfortable thinking about the possibility of having sex with someone who could EASILY be my dad, and who truly is just a couple of years younger than my dad. It freaked me out, and I haven't talked to him since.
It's Friday night, and although I had a couple of gentleman callers, I decided to stay in and hang out with...myself. I gave myself a mani/pedi, researched some stuff online, watched "Say Yes to the Dress", and rescued a dog with the worst demodex mange I have ever seen. He is being taken care of by a rescue group now for treatment, and I can't wait to hear his story. I am surrounded by 5 dogs here at in my home that are all pleasantly knocked out- Lord, please don't let them wake me up at 5:30am with a wrestling match on my bed! And, I am happy as can be. I sometimes wonder if I am meant to be a single, crazy dog lady for the rest of my life. For now, the answer is yes, but if my car continues to operate for the next few weeks, I'm sure my mindset will change.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Cynically Devout Love Seeker
I am finally into month 2 of my 3 month online dating stint. I gave myself 3 months because the 50% off coupon was only valid for that time period, and I was pretty convinced that this would be a relatively easy process. Boy, was I wrong. I have a huge mix of emotions when it comes to my experiences thus far. I have been on dates with 5 different guys, and I don't have a bad thing to say about any of them. 1 of them, in fact, will most likely be a long-term friend and sounding board for many topics. The others....well, they were all nice, but there has to be more than "nice", right??? I long for the date when you both show up, look lovingly into each other’s eyes, and decide that you never want to leave without that person! "Calling Ms. K to the psych ward", I know...
As much of a cynic as I am when it comes to men, there IS a passion for love and relationship deep within my soul. One of my favorite things about the Orthodox Church is the value that they place on love, and being loved. It is truly one of the best gifts that God gave us, and I know I would be missing out to never have that again in my life. So, I search for "it"...like a lost kid who wonders if anyone will TRULY ever love me for the person that I have become- through the hurt, the shame, the tears, and the resounding independence that I seem to sprout more and more of everyday. Independence is a great thing, but I find myself often thinking how much a man would disrupt my lovely way of life. Obviously this feeling is the lesser of my options, because I continue to search for the "one"...like Neo and Trinity.
Eventually, I'm sure that time will win, and when I'm least expecting it- I will be slapped in the face by my future forever lover (at least, this is what my mom tells me). Right now, I am going to continue to forward the hilarious matches that I receive daily, and share them with my friends.
Signing out-
Cynically Devout Love Seeker
And for your entertainment:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8FefWp_4B0k
As much of a cynic as I am when it comes to men, there IS a passion for love and relationship deep within my soul. One of my favorite things about the Orthodox Church is the value that they place on love, and being loved. It is truly one of the best gifts that God gave us, and I know I would be missing out to never have that again in my life. So, I search for "it"...like a lost kid who wonders if anyone will TRULY ever love me for the person that I have become- through the hurt, the shame, the tears, and the resounding independence that I seem to sprout more and more of everyday. Independence is a great thing, but I find myself often thinking how much a man would disrupt my lovely way of life. Obviously this feeling is the lesser of my options, because I continue to search for the "one"...like Neo and Trinity.
Eventually, I'm sure that time will win, and when I'm least expecting it- I will be slapped in the face by my future forever lover (at least, this is what my mom tells me). Right now, I am going to continue to forward the hilarious matches that I receive daily, and share them with my friends.
Signing out-
Cynically Devout Love Seeker
And for your entertainment:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8FefWp_4B0k
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Happiness
Happiness has recently come to me in all kinds of forms. Here is my short list:
Successfully potty training the foster dog, "Chi Chi"
Having my house cleaned- by someone else
Hiking
Cooking for family and friends
My relationship with my parents
Renewing my commitment to the Orthodox Church
When I think about the things that make me happy, it all boils down to a few stability factors: emotional stability, physical stability, mental stability, and spiritual stability. With the exception of the money that I spent on having my house cleaned, none of the above things require money to be happy. And, the only reason I paid someone to clean my house is to have more time to spend with the people that I love and enjoy being around, so I don't consider that materialistic. Plus, having a clean house has been great for my sanity!
I topped off the end of August by throwing a party for my high school girlfriends and their moms. I cooked a traditional Greek cuisine and honestly had an amazing time. Having friends and family all combined in the same house, sitting at the same table, eating the same food, is something that fills my heart with contentment. I think it's the feeling of love, respect, admiration, and fulfillment that each of us brought to the table that night, and it excites me to have lifelong friends who I KNOW will always be by my side. Each of us girls come from such different backgrounds, have been through such different things, and we've all ended up in different places in life- but, ultimately, we all love and respect each other. It's nice to have that comradery.
Starting the month of September was a refresher for me. I felt a great weight being lifted- and not being haunted by the d-day month of August, is a nice thing. September makes me happy...the cooler weather, the warm colors, and the thought of the holiday season brings a sense of calm to my heart,
As I look at my life, and where I am today, I know that happiness comes from within. It comes from the place when my mom texts me with "I love you so much", it comes from the place when I get to see my best friends kids play soccer, it comes from the place when the foster dog sleeps as close to me as possible- when just months earlier he was scared of any human contact. Happiness is just a word, but that word holds the context of which every day should be observed.
Successfully potty training the foster dog, "Chi Chi"
Having my house cleaned- by someone else
Hiking
Cooking for family and friends
My relationship with my parents
Renewing my commitment to the Orthodox Church
When I think about the things that make me happy, it all boils down to a few stability factors: emotional stability, physical stability, mental stability, and spiritual stability. With the exception of the money that I spent on having my house cleaned, none of the above things require money to be happy. And, the only reason I paid someone to clean my house is to have more time to spend with the people that I love and enjoy being around, so I don't consider that materialistic. Plus, having a clean house has been great for my sanity!
I topped off the end of August by throwing a party for my high school girlfriends and their moms. I cooked a traditional Greek cuisine and honestly had an amazing time. Having friends and family all combined in the same house, sitting at the same table, eating the same food, is something that fills my heart with contentment. I think it's the feeling of love, respect, admiration, and fulfillment that each of us brought to the table that night, and it excites me to have lifelong friends who I KNOW will always be by my side. Each of us girls come from such different backgrounds, have been through such different things, and we've all ended up in different places in life- but, ultimately, we all love and respect each other. It's nice to have that comradery.
Starting the month of September was a refresher for me. I felt a great weight being lifted- and not being haunted by the d-day month of August, is a nice thing. September makes me happy...the cooler weather, the warm colors, and the thought of the holiday season brings a sense of calm to my heart,
As I look at my life, and where I am today, I know that happiness comes from within. It comes from the place when my mom texts me with "I love you so much", it comes from the place when I get to see my best friends kids play soccer, it comes from the place when the foster dog sleeps as close to me as possible- when just months earlier he was scared of any human contact. Happiness is just a word, but that word holds the context of which every day should be observed.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Only Time Will Tell
Online dating has to be one of the most ridiculous things we can do as single human beings. I am in the process of a 3 month long stint with online dating, so I fall into this category of "ridiculous single human beings". Many of you probably already know this, but online dating really allows you to flaunt all of the good things about yourself. "I'm good at this", "I work hard at that", "I like this", "I have this and that"...nowhere, not on ONE profile (of the 96 matches that have been sent to me) does it state how bad someone is at something- anything! There is no place on the profile to state your flaws, no where does it ask you about what you can't do, where you fail in relationships...ultimately, the reason why we're all stuck in the online dating world in the first place! So you meet someone, and you immediately have a nice, tidy picture of the other person. Things appear quite nice on the profile.
I will admit that even my profile is filled with the things that have come to annoy me most about everyone else's. I am very quick to talk about all of the positive things in my life- and on the surface- there really isn't much of a reason for anyone NOT to like me....unless, they don't like brunette's. I also continue to be surprised with UGLINESS! I'm not talking just plain looking, ordinary Joe's...I'm talking FUGLY! I've had one guy sent to me sitting on a stool in a Christmas sweater, holding a tuba as if it were his prized possession. I know- some of you are thinking "that HAS to be a joke", but I can assure you, it wasn't a joke. This guy had picture after picture of him and his tuba and it made me reminisce "This one time, at band camp....". Then, there was the guy with red hair, red rimmed glasses, and a maroon suit. Again, not a joke. I could go on and on, but I will spare you. By this time, you get the picture.
So, I've had a couple of dates, had some fun conversation, and enough nerves to rattle a snake. Is it worth it? According to my online dating website, everyday 542 people marry from meeting right there. *542*!!! That's enough to make even ME skeptical about my own skepticism. Hmmm....
What I fear: having a surge in dates and only meeting more jerk-offs and becoming even more cynical towards men. After 1 failed marriage and a couple of really bad broken relationships, I can tell you that I have enough cynicism towards men to almost munch the carpet. But rather than destroy all of my heterosexual hopes and dreams, I am going to carry on with my 3 month term in the online dating world. I know that I have a lot to offer, and maybe somewhere, somehow, someone will see through all of the bullshit on my profile, and settle for a real human being.
It's funny, because even after my experience thus far, I still wake up excited every morning that maybe...just MAYBE, today will be the day that the online dating gods are in favor of creating a 1/542 chance for me. As my mom frequently reminds me, "Only time will tell".
I will admit that even my profile is filled with the things that have come to annoy me most about everyone else's. I am very quick to talk about all of the positive things in my life- and on the surface- there really isn't much of a reason for anyone NOT to like me....unless, they don't like brunette's. I also continue to be surprised with UGLINESS! I'm not talking just plain looking, ordinary Joe's...I'm talking FUGLY! I've had one guy sent to me sitting on a stool in a Christmas sweater, holding a tuba as if it were his prized possession. I know- some of you are thinking "that HAS to be a joke", but I can assure you, it wasn't a joke. This guy had picture after picture of him and his tuba and it made me reminisce "This one time, at band camp....". Then, there was the guy with red hair, red rimmed glasses, and a maroon suit. Again, not a joke. I could go on and on, but I will spare you. By this time, you get the picture.
So, I've had a couple of dates, had some fun conversation, and enough nerves to rattle a snake. Is it worth it? According to my online dating website, everyday 542 people marry from meeting right there. *542*!!! That's enough to make even ME skeptical about my own skepticism. Hmmm....
What I fear: having a surge in dates and only meeting more jerk-offs and becoming even more cynical towards men. After 1 failed marriage and a couple of really bad broken relationships, I can tell you that I have enough cynicism towards men to almost munch the carpet. But rather than destroy all of my heterosexual hopes and dreams, I am going to carry on with my 3 month term in the online dating world. I know that I have a lot to offer, and maybe somewhere, somehow, someone will see through all of the bullshit on my profile, and settle for a real human being.
It's funny, because even after my experience thus far, I still wake up excited every morning that maybe...just MAYBE, today will be the day that the online dating gods are in favor of creating a 1/542 chance for me. As my mom frequently reminds me, "Only time will tell".
Friday, August 20, 2010
Acceptance
The other day I convinced a girlfriend to join an online dating website with me. Granted, we BOTH need to get the hell out of the house and probably need to get laid, but that's beside the point. Online dating is a habitual way of entertainment for me. I am always SHOCKED at the type of guys that I find online, and after 1 bad experience with a date, I'll take my profile down and swear off dating....then, approximately 2-3 months later, I find myself signing back up because the thrill of the unknown gets me every time. This time, signing up was more due to the fact that I got a coupon for 50% off the 1st 3 months- I figured, "what the hell?!".
I received my first matches within 24 hours, and was almost immediately feeling defeated. Here I am, 5 years after my divorce, and I STILL can't find a guy that really interests me. Many of these guys seem nice- probably have the right thing to offer- just not to me. And so I make my way through sorting through the "maybes", the "hell no's", and the "I would need to see him in person to deceifer this mess". I am an optimist by nature, a pessimest by men.
The next morning I get a match with someone who states their ethnic origin as "other", "6 feet tall", and is a college graduate- see, my standards aren't THAT high. As I was giving this website a mental high five, I decided to take a leap and see what this guy was all about. Interesting. Charming. Seems genuine and sincere. And so this begins our full day of communication. It was a lot of fun, and we have even planned a date for later this same day. I have already prayed to God and asked for Him to please not let this guy be a HUGE douchebag...I'll keep you posted on what God has in store for me.
The thing is, this guy may not be prince charming...who knows, really?? But, the more I keep myself couped up in my house- as far away from men as humanly possible- where is that going to get me?? I'll tell you where- in a doctor's office in a couple more years getting inseminated by a plastic syringe. And yes, this is a possibility that I have already accepted in my life! For now though, I think it's best that I continue to search for MY match rather than a donor match. There's someone for everyone....right?
The irony in all of this is that my date comes exactly 5 years after my marriage. It's funny how things work. I guess God decided it was against His better judgment to keep me home, another night alone, when I should be able to celebrate just a little bit just how far my life has come in these past 5 years. After my date, I look forward to PJ partying it up with my online dating cohort and good friend - I have a feeling the next 3 months of this madness will be good for both of us girls.
I received my first matches within 24 hours, and was almost immediately feeling defeated. Here I am, 5 years after my divorce, and I STILL can't find a guy that really interests me. Many of these guys seem nice- probably have the right thing to offer- just not to me. And so I make my way through sorting through the "maybes", the "hell no's", and the "I would need to see him in person to deceifer this mess". I am an optimist by nature, a pessimest by men.
The next morning I get a match with someone who states their ethnic origin as "other", "6 feet tall", and is a college graduate- see, my standards aren't THAT high. As I was giving this website a mental high five, I decided to take a leap and see what this guy was all about. Interesting. Charming. Seems genuine and sincere. And so this begins our full day of communication. It was a lot of fun, and we have even planned a date for later this same day. I have already prayed to God and asked for Him to please not let this guy be a HUGE douchebag...I'll keep you posted on what God has in store for me.
The thing is, this guy may not be prince charming...who knows, really?? But, the more I keep myself couped up in my house- as far away from men as humanly possible- where is that going to get me?? I'll tell you where- in a doctor's office in a couple more years getting inseminated by a plastic syringe. And yes, this is a possibility that I have already accepted in my life! For now though, I think it's best that I continue to search for MY match rather than a donor match. There's someone for everyone....right?
The irony in all of this is that my date comes exactly 5 years after my marriage. It's funny how things work. I guess God decided it was against His better judgment to keep me home, another night alone, when I should be able to celebrate just a little bit just how far my life has come in these past 5 years. After my date, I look forward to PJ partying it up with my online dating cohort and good friend - I have a feeling the next 3 months of this madness will be good for both of us girls.
Monday, August 9, 2010
Big, Bigger, Biggest
I just returned from my first night to "Curves". With the introductory price, they should also throw in a prescription of Xanax laced with Prozac, because let me tell ya- when you leave from orientation, all you want is a pitcher of margarita's, some Jimmy Buffet music, and a prescription to make the fat rolls disappear (or maybe just to take your mind off of the fact that you really ARE a fat ass).
In my defense, I have spent the entire year in agonizing back pain, which resulted in back surgery nearly 8 months after trying to fix the problem holistically. In my defense, I have not been able to work out due to the pain and the surgery. In my defense, the doctors put me on medications to help with the nerve pain, which side effects included "weight gain". But, on top of allllll of these excuses- lies a much bigger problem- EATING, inactivity, EATING, more inactivity, and even more EATING!
My Curves instructor was a mere 69 years old, and when I told her that I have an "eating disorder", and then started laughing about it, she got very concerned. I thought it was pretty funny- but, she did not! She ran over and got one of her books that she usually sells for $9.99, and told me that it was being put to good use in my hands. Boy, I hope I don't let Ms. Sandra down! Ms. Sandra also told me that I needed to lose 50 pounds in order to get back to my high school weight. I also laughed at her (and mostly at myself), because I find that goal completely unreachable. 50 pounds?!?!?! Are you fucking kidding me?!?! This isn't The Biggest Loser, and I certainly don't see Jillian or Bob around to persuade me to stop eating the delicious cake that my brother just made, nor are they around to get my fat ass on a treadmill for 18 hours per day! You're looking at a girl (ahem, woman) who barely has the energy to dress herself in the morning, so I think it's best that we start with a goal of 10 pounds- and go from there.
I WANT to be thin again...I really do. But, what I want more than that is to FEEL thin! God, I haven't FELT thin in a long time. I long for the day that I don't have to do squats in the morning to get my pants to finally fit, and I'm also ready to get back into a size where I LOOK good- you know those days when you FEEL thin, which in turn makes you FEEL confident. My new bra size is 36DD, and believe me, I wasn't high-fiving the Victoria's Secret salesperson with this news. Shirts will barely button around my chest, and pants will barely button around my hips! This is out of control, and BY FAR, the fattest I've ever gotten- and hopefully Ms. Sandra has some secrets in store for me at Curves. If not, I'm going to schedule a session of lypo with a doctor in Mexico. Ariiiiba!
In my defense, I have spent the entire year in agonizing back pain, which resulted in back surgery nearly 8 months after trying to fix the problem holistically. In my defense, I have not been able to work out due to the pain and the surgery. In my defense, the doctors put me on medications to help with the nerve pain, which side effects included "weight gain". But, on top of allllll of these excuses- lies a much bigger problem- EATING, inactivity, EATING, more inactivity, and even more EATING!
My Curves instructor was a mere 69 years old, and when I told her that I have an "eating disorder", and then started laughing about it, she got very concerned. I thought it was pretty funny- but, she did not! She ran over and got one of her books that she usually sells for $9.99, and told me that it was being put to good use in my hands. Boy, I hope I don't let Ms. Sandra down! Ms. Sandra also told me that I needed to lose 50 pounds in order to get back to my high school weight. I also laughed at her (and mostly at myself), because I find that goal completely unreachable. 50 pounds?!?!?! Are you fucking kidding me?!?! This isn't The Biggest Loser, and I certainly don't see Jillian or Bob around to persuade me to stop eating the delicious cake that my brother just made, nor are they around to get my fat ass on a treadmill for 18 hours per day! You're looking at a girl (ahem, woman) who barely has the energy to dress herself in the morning, so I think it's best that we start with a goal of 10 pounds- and go from there.
I WANT to be thin again...I really do. But, what I want more than that is to FEEL thin! God, I haven't FELT thin in a long time. I long for the day that I don't have to do squats in the morning to get my pants to finally fit, and I'm also ready to get back into a size where I LOOK good- you know those days when you FEEL thin, which in turn makes you FEEL confident. My new bra size is 36DD, and believe me, I wasn't high-fiving the Victoria's Secret salesperson with this news. Shirts will barely button around my chest, and pants will barely button around my hips! This is out of control, and BY FAR, the fattest I've ever gotten- and hopefully Ms. Sandra has some secrets in store for me at Curves. If not, I'm going to schedule a session of lypo with a doctor in Mexico. Ariiiiba!
Monday, August 2, 2010
Nerds, Gays, and Marriage- Oh my!
I was still laying in bed for the 2nd day in a row with a sour stomach and unwashed hair. Honestly, I wanted to blame the whole thing on a horrible case of PMS, but my sensible half knew that was only the beginning of my problems. It was August 1st, and along with the symptoms of bloating, tiredness, frumpiness, cravings, and self-loathing, I had a fresh, steaming pile of guilt to top it all off.
When I was a kid, I was pretty damn awesome. I grew up in a small town with a lot of regular people, and did my best to set myself apart. For starters, I was the only Greek girl in town (besides my sister), and I let everyone know it. Parents of my friends told them I was going to burn in hell because I wasn't "saved", and others pretended to be intrigued- all along placing me right into the burning pits with the Catholics- which in my mind wasn't such a bad place to be- but in small town Tennessee, no one knows anything about Catholicism except for the Catholics, and it was practically the same as throwing me in with the Muslims. To be honest, it was one of the only things that set me apart from the rest of my friends, so I used it to my advantage. I liked being different- even if their mom's were convinced that I would one day take a hike to the dark side. I always had a tan, grew enormous boobs by the age of 10, and had a mouth like a sailor by the age of 12.
Ok, so the boobs probably weren't an attributing factor to being Greek, but who am I to decide these things.
I played every sport a girl was allowed to play and was voted as Student Council President every year- until my Senior year- which I graduated early and wasn't eligible. I was lucky enough to play a part in a few of the Homecoming and Cominghome celebrations, and I'm pretty sure I only got voted into these spots because my parents taught me to be kind to EVERYONE...gays, blacks, Indians, and nerds. I had a lot of nerdy friends, and I am pretty sure that it was due to the nerds "pull" that I got voted in for anything. I wasn't necessarily "in" with the popular crowd, but I wasn't completely excluded either. I had a large group of diverse friends....well, as diverse as this little town could produce.
Somewhere between 18 and 26, I made a lot happen. Graduated from college with my bachelor's at 21, married my HS sweetheart, divorced my HS sweetheart, traveled to Europe, and I've held 2 great jobs.
August 1st was upon me, and it felt as if doomsday had rolled into town. I don't like to acknowledge this month for 2 reasons:
1.) July is hot enough, then August rolls around like hell on wheels and throws us for a REAL loop- reaching into the low 100's with a 200% humidity factor.
2.) This was also the month that I married my best friend of 4 years. This was the month that set my whole world apart. This was the month I made a BIG mistake.
When I was a little girl, I wanted to get married, have a beautiful wedding, and have lots of babies. In my mind, they were specifically Greek babies, because my father was always convinced that his kids would all marry Greeks. Yeah right, Dad. Raise your family in Chicago, and this could have been a reality- not in a southern town with a bunch of Baptist's running around! Haha...so, of course, in spite of my father, I married one of those Baptist's. We had the beautiful wedding that I always dreamed of- and still, to this day, it remains one of the best days of my life. Of course, everything that follows is a whirlwind of tribulations that are best left between the divorcee's. And it was right, smack dab in the middle of August. Hottest day of the year.
Every year when August rolls around, I think to myself..."How did all of that happen so quickly?". In just a blink of an eye my marriage ended and I often wonder what made it so easy to give up. This is probably part of the reason why I am such a disaster when it comes to dating. I don't trust myself, or the man that is presented to me. I see them mostly as worms- a parasite that will eat away at my life if I let it.
So, what happened to the girl that was so eager to get involved and be everyone's friend? I know that along each of our journey's in life, we learn and we grow. I have learned a lot from my past, and I do continue to grow, but the more I learn about people, the more I close myself off to any potential partner and opt for the closest chocolate bar in site. Hey, I will put that pilates dvd in later. Yeah right.
"My name is Christina, and I am an emotional eater."
So, behind the additional 30lbs that I have put on since HS, I am still the same girl with that same sense to be a crowd pleaser, and make the most out of my life with amazing people by my side. I still prefer the nerds, because they are more trustworthy and have more to offer in a conversation than the latest news on Lindsay Lohan. I also have a strong connection to the gays and the blacks, which I'm pretty sure I have been both in previous lives.
I realize more now, at 26 1/2, that I AM a strong, independent, trustworthy, go-getting woman. At 18 these are things you aspire to be, but until you live a little and break through your own shame, your own guilt, and your own chains of life- you will never fully recognize your own potential.
"I am woman. Hear me roar!"
Yeah right. For today, I will pick the pieces up and continue to move down the path of breaking free of my own chains that I have wrapped myself in. I have a great life, with a great family, and beautiful friends- but, my life has its imperfections. Which, my imperfections get to be shoved in my face every time I look at a calendar (God, I can't wait for September 1st). For the time being, I will avoid writing checks and placing any ebay ads which confine me to a day and a time. I'm going to freeball this month, and see where it takes me. I hope I'm not still lying in bed by August 31st. If so, someone please call an asylum to come pick me up.
When I was a kid, I was pretty damn awesome. I grew up in a small town with a lot of regular people, and did my best to set myself apart. For starters, I was the only Greek girl in town (besides my sister), and I let everyone know it. Parents of my friends told them I was going to burn in hell because I wasn't "saved", and others pretended to be intrigued- all along placing me right into the burning pits with the Catholics- which in my mind wasn't such a bad place to be- but in small town Tennessee, no one knows anything about Catholicism except for the Catholics, and it was practically the same as throwing me in with the Muslims. To be honest, it was one of the only things that set me apart from the rest of my friends, so I used it to my advantage. I liked being different- even if their mom's were convinced that I would one day take a hike to the dark side. I always had a tan, grew enormous boobs by the age of 10, and had a mouth like a sailor by the age of 12.
Ok, so the boobs probably weren't an attributing factor to being Greek, but who am I to decide these things.
I played every sport a girl was allowed to play and was voted as Student Council President every year- until my Senior year- which I graduated early and wasn't eligible. I was lucky enough to play a part in a few of the Homecoming and Cominghome celebrations, and I'm pretty sure I only got voted into these spots because my parents taught me to be kind to EVERYONE...gays, blacks, Indians, and nerds. I had a lot of nerdy friends, and I am pretty sure that it was due to the nerds "pull" that I got voted in for anything. I wasn't necessarily "in" with the popular crowd, but I wasn't completely excluded either. I had a large group of diverse friends....well, as diverse as this little town could produce.
Somewhere between 18 and 26, I made a lot happen. Graduated from college with my bachelor's at 21, married my HS sweetheart, divorced my HS sweetheart, traveled to Europe, and I've held 2 great jobs.
August 1st was upon me, and it felt as if doomsday had rolled into town. I don't like to acknowledge this month for 2 reasons:
1.) July is hot enough, then August rolls around like hell on wheels and throws us for a REAL loop- reaching into the low 100's with a 200% humidity factor.
2.) This was also the month that I married my best friend of 4 years. This was the month that set my whole world apart. This was the month I made a BIG mistake.
When I was a little girl, I wanted to get married, have a beautiful wedding, and have lots of babies. In my mind, they were specifically Greek babies, because my father was always convinced that his kids would all marry Greeks. Yeah right, Dad. Raise your family in Chicago, and this could have been a reality- not in a southern town with a bunch of Baptist's running around! Haha...so, of course, in spite of my father, I married one of those Baptist's. We had the beautiful wedding that I always dreamed of- and still, to this day, it remains one of the best days of my life. Of course, everything that follows is a whirlwind of tribulations that are best left between the divorcee's. And it was right, smack dab in the middle of August. Hottest day of the year.
Every year when August rolls around, I think to myself..."How did all of that happen so quickly?". In just a blink of an eye my marriage ended and I often wonder what made it so easy to give up. This is probably part of the reason why I am such a disaster when it comes to dating. I don't trust myself, or the man that is presented to me. I see them mostly as worms- a parasite that will eat away at my life if I let it.
So, what happened to the girl that was so eager to get involved and be everyone's friend? I know that along each of our journey's in life, we learn and we grow. I have learned a lot from my past, and I do continue to grow, but the more I learn about people, the more I close myself off to any potential partner and opt for the closest chocolate bar in site. Hey, I will put that pilates dvd in later. Yeah right.
"My name is Christina, and I am an emotional eater."
So, behind the additional 30lbs that I have put on since HS, I am still the same girl with that same sense to be a crowd pleaser, and make the most out of my life with amazing people by my side. I still prefer the nerds, because they are more trustworthy and have more to offer in a conversation than the latest news on Lindsay Lohan. I also have a strong connection to the gays and the blacks, which I'm pretty sure I have been both in previous lives.
I realize more now, at 26 1/2, that I AM a strong, independent, trustworthy, go-getting woman. At 18 these are things you aspire to be, but until you live a little and break through your own shame, your own guilt, and your own chains of life- you will never fully recognize your own potential.
"I am woman. Hear me roar!"
Yeah right. For today, I will pick the pieces up and continue to move down the path of breaking free of my own chains that I have wrapped myself in. I have a great life, with a great family, and beautiful friends- but, my life has its imperfections. Which, my imperfections get to be shoved in my face every time I look at a calendar (God, I can't wait for September 1st). For the time being, I will avoid writing checks and placing any ebay ads which confine me to a day and a time. I'm going to freeball this month, and see where it takes me. I hope I'm not still lying in bed by August 31st. If so, someone please call an asylum to come pick me up.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Lime Concoction- aka- Homemade Margarita's
If you LOVE margarita's, but hate the mixes that are found in stores, I have just the recipe for you!
What you will need:
- 1 gallon of drinking water
- funnel
- 1 cup of sugar
- triple sec, curacao, or grand marnier
- 1 regular bottle of concentrated lime juice
- Some kind of juice based on your taste preferences. I usually go with an orange, mango, peach blend to give it a tropical taste.
How to prep:
- Pour the water out of the gallon, until you are left with approx 1/3 water in the gallon.
- Add the bottle of lime juice into the water.
- Add the cup of sugar by using the funnel.
- Add 3/4 cup of the triple sec, curacao, or grand marnier to the mixture.
- Then add your fruit juice until the gallon is almost full (leaving room to shake it well and blend the sugar)
- Shake well and refrigerate until ready to use.
- Add Tequila (my preference is a blanco) to taste!
If you are really interested in delighting the taste buds, try squeezing fresh limes instead of using the lime concentrate- either way you go, you will be SO much happier with this mix than the stuff you get from the stores, and this is cheap and easy (just like your arch enemy).
απολαύσει!
(apoláfsei!)
(enjoy!)
Erotas Trofi
What you will need:
- 1 gallon of drinking water
- funnel
- 1 cup of sugar
- triple sec, curacao, or grand marnier
- 1 regular bottle of concentrated lime juice
- Some kind of juice based on your taste preferences. I usually go with an orange, mango, peach blend to give it a tropical taste.
How to prep:
- Pour the water out of the gallon, until you are left with approx 1/3 water in the gallon.
- Add the bottle of lime juice into the water.
- Add the cup of sugar by using the funnel.
- Add 3/4 cup of the triple sec, curacao, or grand marnier to the mixture.
- Then add your fruit juice until the gallon is almost full (leaving room to shake it well and blend the sugar)
- Shake well and refrigerate until ready to use.
- Add Tequila (my preference is a blanco) to taste!
If you are really interested in delighting the taste buds, try squeezing fresh limes instead of using the lime concentrate- either way you go, you will be SO much happier with this mix than the stuff you get from the stores, and this is cheap and easy (just like your arch enemy).
απολαύσει!
(apoláfsei!)
(enjoy!)
Erotas Trofi
Saturday, July 24, 2010
20/20
In the dating world, life seems to come with a high speed chase of emotions. It's as if you are stuck in some horrifying Lifetime movie- Main character falls in love with some abusive ass hole and she ends up fighting for her life before the knight in shining armor comes in and saves her. They're all the same, right? We've seen the movies time, and time again, and yet, when it happens in real life- usually there is no knight in shining armor to save us. We either pick those pieces up ourselves, or our moms, sisters, and best friends help us to put the pieces back together again.
I heard a quote recently, and thought it was good enough to share:
"There's a 95% chance that the Knight in Shining Armor coming up the road is really the Village Idiot wearing tinfoil."
PERFECT!! I laughed really hard when I first read this, but truth be told, how many times do we "fall in love" only to realize, in time, that your "knight" is truly nothing but the village idiot in disguise? It's happened to me on more than one occasion, and I can bet (from what I hear), that it's happened to you as well. I pray that you only dated him, and didn't marry him.
As all things go with my blog, I will give you one of my true life experiences so you can laugh with me- and in order to fully understand my experience, go ahead and order yourself a large supreme pizza (no onions), and eat your heart out. That's what *I* do anyway.
On a cool rainy night, I was introduced to "Jason". Jason was everything that I had been looking for: intelligent, fun, outgoing, tall, steady job, 1 marriage behind him, olive skin..... Well, this Jason was something else- I could swear to you that I fell for him almost the minute I laid eyes on him. I wanted him BAD, and I was like a kitty cat after her prey. I knew what I wanted, and dammit, I was going to get it. We were introduced in a nice, yet informal setting, and we immediately hit it off. I could feel my cheeks blushing frequently, but I told myself it was just the wine. I had pictures of grandeur in my head- and I could almost swear little fairies did a dance to the sugar plums in the honor of my new found love. I immediately made up my mind that he was the most amazing find, and had us coupled up (in my head) for 6 months.
Here is what prince charming really looked like: neat freak, workaholic, gym obsessed, phone obsessed, no sex drive, sense of humor was lacking, talked to people like shit, and I am pretty sure he was seeing many other women during our time together. I introduced him to my friends, and they didn't like him. I introduced him to some of my family, and they didn't like him. Yet, I continued to perceive this guy as though he was a real piece of work. I even caught him texting other girls, and saying things to them that no one would say, if they really cared about you. But, I told myself it was “ok”, because no REAL exchange of words had taken place between us saying that we were committed. "Committed" being the right word, because that’s exactly what should have happened to me.
My point in all of this is that the real abuse sometimes comes from ourselves. *I* allowed Mr. Know It All to put me last on his list and *I* continued to make excuses for his no-good, piece of shit ass. Eventually, after I'm sure, a nice eating binge, and a pep-talk from my father, I ended things with Prince Charming. It was so hard for me to do, but as soon as it was over, I felt more relieved than I had felt in a LONG time! The weight had been lifted, and I quickly felt better about my life. This guy had me hooked worse than a bad Percocet habit, and as any recovering alcoholic or drug addict knows- it's not easy to stay sober. Relapses happen most of the time, but my strong, independent, Greek side does have an upper hand in this game (at least, I hope).
In recent weeks, I have seen Jason, and I see him for exactly what he is. It makes me sad that I was so attracted to a man who is completely void of intimate emotion, and thinks he is God's gift...when in reality, he was pretty darn lucky to have me even give him the time of day - but, life goes on, and thank God I'm not broken enough to stay with someone who treats me like that.
I have learned a lot since the days of Jason. Hindsight is always 20/20, and boy am I ready for a man that doesn't require an extensive (emotional) surgery to see clearly. For now, I am sticking with marshmallows, graham crackers, and chocolate, to occupy my relationship status.
I heard a quote recently, and thought it was good enough to share:
"There's a 95% chance that the Knight in Shining Armor coming up the road is really the Village Idiot wearing tinfoil."
PERFECT!! I laughed really hard when I first read this, but truth be told, how many times do we "fall in love" only to realize, in time, that your "knight" is truly nothing but the village idiot in disguise? It's happened to me on more than one occasion, and I can bet (from what I hear), that it's happened to you as well. I pray that you only dated him, and didn't marry him.
As all things go with my blog, I will give you one of my true life experiences so you can laugh with me- and in order to fully understand my experience, go ahead and order yourself a large supreme pizza (no onions), and eat your heart out. That's what *I* do anyway.
On a cool rainy night, I was introduced to "Jason". Jason was everything that I had been looking for: intelligent, fun, outgoing, tall, steady job, 1 marriage behind him, olive skin..... Well, this Jason was something else- I could swear to you that I fell for him almost the minute I laid eyes on him. I wanted him BAD, and I was like a kitty cat after her prey. I knew what I wanted, and dammit, I was going to get it. We were introduced in a nice, yet informal setting, and we immediately hit it off. I could feel my cheeks blushing frequently, but I told myself it was just the wine. I had pictures of grandeur in my head- and I could almost swear little fairies did a dance to the sugar plums in the honor of my new found love. I immediately made up my mind that he was the most amazing find, and had us coupled up (in my head) for 6 months.
Here is what prince charming really looked like: neat freak, workaholic, gym obsessed, phone obsessed, no sex drive, sense of humor was lacking, talked to people like shit, and I am pretty sure he was seeing many other women during our time together. I introduced him to my friends, and they didn't like him. I introduced him to some of my family, and they didn't like him. Yet, I continued to perceive this guy as though he was a real piece of work. I even caught him texting other girls, and saying things to them that no one would say, if they really cared about you. But, I told myself it was “ok”, because no REAL exchange of words had taken place between us saying that we were committed. "Committed" being the right word, because that’s exactly what should have happened to me.
My point in all of this is that the real abuse sometimes comes from ourselves. *I* allowed Mr. Know It All to put me last on his list and *I* continued to make excuses for his no-good, piece of shit ass. Eventually, after I'm sure, a nice eating binge, and a pep-talk from my father, I ended things with Prince Charming. It was so hard for me to do, but as soon as it was over, I felt more relieved than I had felt in a LONG time! The weight had been lifted, and I quickly felt better about my life. This guy had me hooked worse than a bad Percocet habit, and as any recovering alcoholic or drug addict knows- it's not easy to stay sober. Relapses happen most of the time, but my strong, independent, Greek side does have an upper hand in this game (at least, I hope).
In recent weeks, I have seen Jason, and I see him for exactly what he is. It makes me sad that I was so attracted to a man who is completely void of intimate emotion, and thinks he is God's gift...when in reality, he was pretty darn lucky to have me even give him the time of day - but, life goes on, and thank God I'm not broken enough to stay with someone who treats me like that.
I have learned a lot since the days of Jason. Hindsight is always 20/20, and boy am I ready for a man that doesn't require an extensive (emotional) surgery to see clearly. For now, I am sticking with marshmallows, graham crackers, and chocolate, to occupy my relationship status.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Fantasy Smantasy
I have always had this fantasy of becoming an undercover agent, and traveling the world to spy on big corporate companies for wrong-doings. It seems sexy, intriguing, and exhilarating. I also convince myself regularly that I am one hell of a strong bitch, and believe, on my good days, that I am completely capable of pulling off a female version of a Leo DiCaprio protege from one of his most action packed movies.
I have traveled by myself a lot over the years, and rather than dressing in my favorite Baby Phat jumpsuit that hugs my ass just a little too tight, I prefer to dress very professional, in all black, with my hair done, and my very fashionable Betsey Johnson leopard bag that will hold my laptop, lip gloss, cell phone, and wallet. I also like to bring a book with me, not only for my reading pleasure, but to make sure and avoid any conversation from the possible hairy beast that speaks only broken English, but yet insists on trying to make conversation- that will more than likely get sat right next to me.
As with most type-A personalities, I do my utmost best to get a seat towards the front of the plane. I'm not even really sure why it's so important to me to sit up front, but it's cut-throat business. I've been this way my whole life: I want the first, the biggest, the closest, and ultimately...the best of everything and anything. Any chance that I get for some good ol' competition, I'll take it, and I will slip right in front of the senior citizen, small child, or skinny bitch to get my seat up front. I will also make a sweet smile to any man that gets in my way.
On a particular cross-country flight, I was ready to do my thing. I had done the usual prep to get a good seat up front, and I ended up being positioned between a 300lb 55 year old woman- who didn't seem too happy about anything- but who could blame her, we were on a 6:30am flight, she had probably ran out of time to stop at Starbucks, and she just happened to be sitting next to the diva on the plane. I was already getting my frequent flyer drink coupons together to order an early morning Mimosa and Red Bull to prepare for this mess of a flight because my stomach felt a bit queasy, and I figured I just needed to make up for the lack of drinking from the night before. The guy sitting on the other side of me, by the window, didn't appear to be striking or even interesting, and I just paid him no attention. I did notice his dark olive skin.
After about 30 minutes in the air, Ms. Personality had passed out, and I was comforted by this, except for the fear that her wide open mouth would fall my way and I would be victim to close breathing, snoring, or drooling. I was just glad I didn't have to make uncomfortable small talk. My Mimosa wasn't quite doing the trick to ease my quesiness for this 4 hour flight, but I was quickly diverted by Mr. Olive reading through what I could only decipher as a law case. Hmmm...lawyer? Olive skin?? Hot.
I did what any undercover spy would do, and I struck up conversation with him- sporting my own biggest pet peeve on an airplane. What a hypocrite. He was actually pretty cute- he lived in L.A., he had deep blue eyes- which were probably fake contacts, he was a lawyer who owned his own firm off of Santa Monica Blvd., and he was of Persian decent- puurrrrfect! The more Mr. Olive talked, the more I became intrigued and wanted to know more. He introduced me to Trader Joe's, which I had never heard of, and wouldn't have any idea what it was until one opened in Nashville a year later. I have been quite disappointed that we can't get the "Two Buck Chuck" that he spoke highly of for a cheap wine. I am all about cheap wine. Cheap vodka...no. Cheap wine...yes.
We were about 2 hours in to our flight when he told me I had the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen, and that he would love to get my number so that we could continue our new found friendship after we departed ways in L.A. I lied and told him that I had friends in L.A., and that it would be no problem for me to come and visit him some time, but I needed to make sure and Google him first. I needed confirmation that this guy was in fact a self-made, 1st generation, Persian hottie. After exchanging business cards, and writing my cell on the back, a waive of nausea hit me that was too much to ignore. I sat back in my seat in silence and pretended to rest to avoid any conversation with Mr. Olive, because I felt the color quickly dissapating from my face, and knew he might change his mind about my "beautiful eyes" if he saw me in this condition. I felt the color of my face quickly turning a nice shade of pale green, and I knew this would not be an attractive color on me. I was also beginning to panic, because Ms. Personality had begun a light snore, and for some reason I couldn't quite figure out how I would get around her to the lavatory. The obvious thing to do would be to wake sleeping beauty up, but I wasn't thinking quite clearly, and all I could focus on was a good breathing technique to keep the nausea to a minimum.
Mr. Olive had returned to reading and reviewing some big important case he was preparing for, so I was relieved that I didn't have to keep up the bad Charlie's Angel's impersonation. I realized that I wasn't going to be able to fight this much longer...I didn't know what had happened...food poisoning, stomach flu, immaculate conception?! Nevertheless, I eyed straight for the lavatory, but saw the vacancy light was red. Shit! My breathing methods were beginning to leave me as panic began to set in, and a cold sweat began to break out on my face. So much pressure to maintain composure in front of Mr. Olive- I didn't want to ruin my beautiful appearance as an international spy of mystery...ok, Austin Powers. Hey, we all like to live in a fantasy world at times, and flying always seems like the best setting for such ridiculous behavior. As if I'm ever going to see these assholes again in my life. But, this time was different! I WANTED to see Mr. Olive again, and I had already conjured up the Porshe SUV he would buy me, the beautiful house I would convince him to buy in the Hills (rather than the loft bachelor pad he currently occupied), and the adorable olive skinned 1/2 Persian Jews, 1/2 Greek Orthodox kids we would raise together. My father would be so proud!
Just as these thoughts swept through my mind, and the light to the lavatory still shined red, I could no longer contain my composure, grabbed the little white barf bag that was conveniently provided in front of each of our seats, and proceeded to hack up what seemed to be the last 24 hours of whatever food intake I had had.
I.Was.Humiliated.
Mr. Olive quickly pushed the service button and seemed mortified. Ms. Personality slowly stirred awake and looked around in a very pissed off state as to what all the commotion was about. A flight attendant strutted her way towards us, preparing to take my next drink order, but quickly realized that I was in no condition to order another Mimosa...I was so stunned by the happenings, that I quickly started apologizing, and I explained to the attendant that I was PREGNANT, and the flight must have been affecting me in a bad way.
There is a reason I went with this outlandish excuse- it was to avoid getting kicked off of our layover in Phoenix. They don't allow people with air-borne virus's to fly because of the circulation of air, you can easily affect the whole flight. Call me selfish, but I had work to do, and nothing holds back a type-A bitch...plus, I wasn't prepared to send the whole flight crew into a panic, and I needed pity. I had just puked in front of the love of my life (of the past 2 hours), and I knew I had ruined any chance of having his Jewish babies. Bummer.
As it turns out, I had one wicked stomach virus. Truly one of the worst experiences of my life, and one I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. I explained to the next flight crew from Phoenix to L.A. that I was in the early months of pregnancy and I had experienced a lot of nausea on my previous flight. The ladies understood because they too were mothers, and saved me the very front seat, closest to the lavatory. I ended up in that lavatory for the entire flight to L.A., and just kept making deals with God that if he would spare me this misery- away from home, away from my own toilet, away from my mommy- I would commit myself to a convent and that He would be my only lover for the rest of my life. Obviously, God knew I was also lying about this, because the virus continued on for a solid 24 hours.
I never heard from Mr. Olive, but I did Google him.
Turns out, he did own the prestigious law firm that he talked about...with his wife.
Everytime I visit Trader Joe's, I think of that asshole and how I hope he was a victim of splattering.
I have traveled by myself a lot over the years, and rather than dressing in my favorite Baby Phat jumpsuit that hugs my ass just a little too tight, I prefer to dress very professional, in all black, with my hair done, and my very fashionable Betsey Johnson leopard bag that will hold my laptop, lip gloss, cell phone, and wallet. I also like to bring a book with me, not only for my reading pleasure, but to make sure and avoid any conversation from the possible hairy beast that speaks only broken English, but yet insists on trying to make conversation- that will more than likely get sat right next to me.
As with most type-A personalities, I do my utmost best to get a seat towards the front of the plane. I'm not even really sure why it's so important to me to sit up front, but it's cut-throat business. I've been this way my whole life: I want the first, the biggest, the closest, and ultimately...the best of everything and anything. Any chance that I get for some good ol' competition, I'll take it, and I will slip right in front of the senior citizen, small child, or skinny bitch to get my seat up front. I will also make a sweet smile to any man that gets in my way.
On a particular cross-country flight, I was ready to do my thing. I had done the usual prep to get a good seat up front, and I ended up being positioned between a 300lb 55 year old woman- who didn't seem too happy about anything- but who could blame her, we were on a 6:30am flight, she had probably ran out of time to stop at Starbucks, and she just happened to be sitting next to the diva on the plane. I was already getting my frequent flyer drink coupons together to order an early morning Mimosa and Red Bull to prepare for this mess of a flight because my stomach felt a bit queasy, and I figured I just needed to make up for the lack of drinking from the night before. The guy sitting on the other side of me, by the window, didn't appear to be striking or even interesting, and I just paid him no attention. I did notice his dark olive skin.
After about 30 minutes in the air, Ms. Personality had passed out, and I was comforted by this, except for the fear that her wide open mouth would fall my way and I would be victim to close breathing, snoring, or drooling. I was just glad I didn't have to make uncomfortable small talk. My Mimosa wasn't quite doing the trick to ease my quesiness for this 4 hour flight, but I was quickly diverted by Mr. Olive reading through what I could only decipher as a law case. Hmmm...lawyer? Olive skin?? Hot.
I did what any undercover spy would do, and I struck up conversation with him- sporting my own biggest pet peeve on an airplane. What a hypocrite. He was actually pretty cute- he lived in L.A., he had deep blue eyes- which were probably fake contacts, he was a lawyer who owned his own firm off of Santa Monica Blvd., and he was of Persian decent- puurrrrfect! The more Mr. Olive talked, the more I became intrigued and wanted to know more. He introduced me to Trader Joe's, which I had never heard of, and wouldn't have any idea what it was until one opened in Nashville a year later. I have been quite disappointed that we can't get the "Two Buck Chuck" that he spoke highly of for a cheap wine. I am all about cheap wine. Cheap vodka...no. Cheap wine...yes.
We were about 2 hours in to our flight when he told me I had the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen, and that he would love to get my number so that we could continue our new found friendship after we departed ways in L.A. I lied and told him that I had friends in L.A., and that it would be no problem for me to come and visit him some time, but I needed to make sure and Google him first. I needed confirmation that this guy was in fact a self-made, 1st generation, Persian hottie. After exchanging business cards, and writing my cell on the back, a waive of nausea hit me that was too much to ignore. I sat back in my seat in silence and pretended to rest to avoid any conversation with Mr. Olive, because I felt the color quickly dissapating from my face, and knew he might change his mind about my "beautiful eyes" if he saw me in this condition. I felt the color of my face quickly turning a nice shade of pale green, and I knew this would not be an attractive color on me. I was also beginning to panic, because Ms. Personality had begun a light snore, and for some reason I couldn't quite figure out how I would get around her to the lavatory. The obvious thing to do would be to wake sleeping beauty up, but I wasn't thinking quite clearly, and all I could focus on was a good breathing technique to keep the nausea to a minimum.
Mr. Olive had returned to reading and reviewing some big important case he was preparing for, so I was relieved that I didn't have to keep up the bad Charlie's Angel's impersonation. I realized that I wasn't going to be able to fight this much longer...I didn't know what had happened...food poisoning, stomach flu, immaculate conception?! Nevertheless, I eyed straight for the lavatory, but saw the vacancy light was red. Shit! My breathing methods were beginning to leave me as panic began to set in, and a cold sweat began to break out on my face. So much pressure to maintain composure in front of Mr. Olive- I didn't want to ruin my beautiful appearance as an international spy of mystery...ok, Austin Powers. Hey, we all like to live in a fantasy world at times, and flying always seems like the best setting for such ridiculous behavior. As if I'm ever going to see these assholes again in my life. But, this time was different! I WANTED to see Mr. Olive again, and I had already conjured up the Porshe SUV he would buy me, the beautiful house I would convince him to buy in the Hills (rather than the loft bachelor pad he currently occupied), and the adorable olive skinned 1/2 Persian Jews, 1/2 Greek Orthodox kids we would raise together. My father would be so proud!
Just as these thoughts swept through my mind, and the light to the lavatory still shined red, I could no longer contain my composure, grabbed the little white barf bag that was conveniently provided in front of each of our seats, and proceeded to hack up what seemed to be the last 24 hours of whatever food intake I had had.
I.Was.Humiliated.
Mr. Olive quickly pushed the service button and seemed mortified. Ms. Personality slowly stirred awake and looked around in a very pissed off state as to what all the commotion was about. A flight attendant strutted her way towards us, preparing to take my next drink order, but quickly realized that I was in no condition to order another Mimosa...I was so stunned by the happenings, that I quickly started apologizing, and I explained to the attendant that I was PREGNANT, and the flight must have been affecting me in a bad way.
There is a reason I went with this outlandish excuse- it was to avoid getting kicked off of our layover in Phoenix. They don't allow people with air-borne virus's to fly because of the circulation of air, you can easily affect the whole flight. Call me selfish, but I had work to do, and nothing holds back a type-A bitch...plus, I wasn't prepared to send the whole flight crew into a panic, and I needed pity. I had just puked in front of the love of my life (of the past 2 hours), and I knew I had ruined any chance of having his Jewish babies. Bummer.
As it turns out, I had one wicked stomach virus. Truly one of the worst experiences of my life, and one I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. I explained to the next flight crew from Phoenix to L.A. that I was in the early months of pregnancy and I had experienced a lot of nausea on my previous flight. The ladies understood because they too were mothers, and saved me the very front seat, closest to the lavatory. I ended up in that lavatory for the entire flight to L.A., and just kept making deals with God that if he would spare me this misery- away from home, away from my own toilet, away from my mommy- I would commit myself to a convent and that He would be my only lover for the rest of my life. Obviously, God knew I was also lying about this, because the virus continued on for a solid 24 hours.
I never heard from Mr. Olive, but I did Google him.
Turns out, he did own the prestigious law firm that he talked about...with his wife.
Everytime I visit Trader Joe's, I think of that asshole and how I hope he was a victim of splattering.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Take your pick
When I was a little girl, my parents would occasionally haul us off to the Greek Orthodox Church in Nashville. If we were really lucky- we would have lunch out together afterwards in a Chinese restaurant or McDonald's. Usually, as is customary for cheap Greeks, dad would encourage us to eat as much baklava, kourabiedes, and loukoumades as we could possibly handle after our church service, which the older Greek ladies would supply for the congregation- because there is only one way to keep Greeks hanging around...FOOD.
When we weren't busy stuffing our faces with delectable Greek pastries, or if my dad got a wild hair up his ass, we would venture out as a family to a place like McDonald's or the Golden Dragon. Here's how things would usually go for our family of 5:
McDonald's
6 cheeseburgers- we each got a cheeseburger, dad would have 2
1 large fry- we each got about 3 fries
1 large orange Hi-C- free refills, need I say more??
Happy Meals- forget about it! No man with any common-sense would waste his money on such BS.
Golden Dragon
1 large order of hot and sour soup
2 large orders of lo mein.
water for everyone
When I reached the age of 10, I was huge. Seriously, I had grown so much, and my father was convinced that I was to be the next Michael Jordan in the female sector of sports. With this growth spurt came a whole new appetite. I was taller than my mom, and I was one hungry Greek girl. I'll never forget the numerous amount of times that my dad would try to convince the waiters that I was 6 or under, and needed to be kept on a children's menu. How embarrassing. I'm sure it was very obvious that I was eating more than macaroni and cheese off of a $2 menu to keep my body sustained. As luck would have it, one day at O'Charley's, my aunt told me I could order "anything that you want", and so I did. I ordered the club sandwich and fries, ate the whole thing, and never let my dad live it down. I actually still give him hell about it, and to this day, I am extremely territorial when it comes to my food, and I am still nervous my dad is going to ask for a kids menu when we venture out for dinner. Don't put a wedge between a chubby Greek girl and her food...
For all intents and purposes, I know my father meant well. He had a mediocre job when we were young, and I'm sure he was more focused on housing, college funds, and wedding funds, as opposed to Happy Meal funds. But, to a young kid- what more do you have, really?? When all of your hopes, dreams, and desires rest on some piece of shit toy made by sweatshop employees in Asia, and bouncy balls covered in some 3 year olds urine- there really isn't anywhere to go but up, right?? I remember those hopes and dreams vividly, and I can say that I still have resentment towards my parents for their unwillingness to cooperate in achieving them.
Somewhere around the age of 12, my parents decided to really throw us for a loop. Dad must have gotten a big raise at work, because one day after church they took us to Old Country Buffet. This was like discovering Heaven on a greasy, carbo-loaded, deep-fried platter! It was one of the first places that I wasn't forced to drink water, because the soda was included- I was ecstatic! Carved ham, shaved turkey, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, fried potatoes, broccoli, salad bar, dessert bar. Yes, seriously, this was what every chubby, pre-teen, jilted girl needed. I also believe this might have even been the beginning of my "emotional eating disorder" because I don't remember a time since the invention of Spanx that I was happier. I was free to eat whatever I wanted, leave what I wanted, and go back for more. Although times have changed, and I prefer my buffets to be made up of men and/or shoes...the desires and the consequences haven't changed much. I believe in the saying "too much of a good thing", because as I finally came to the end of my marathon eating adventure, I had to excuse myself for what would later come to be known as "IBS" in my early adulthood. I was sick for days over my overindulgence on fried, broiled, and baked foods that were probably some of the poorest food qualities known to Nashville. These days, I steer clear from any form of buffets...I've learned that even when everything looks good on your plate, most of the time, it's too good to be true. But, it just so happens, I can still enjoy an order of Lo Mein or a simple cheeseburger and fries.
When we weren't busy stuffing our faces with delectable Greek pastries, or if my dad got a wild hair up his ass, we would venture out as a family to a place like McDonald's or the Golden Dragon. Here's how things would usually go for our family of 5:
McDonald's
6 cheeseburgers- we each got a cheeseburger, dad would have 2
1 large fry- we each got about 3 fries
1 large orange Hi-C- free refills, need I say more??
Happy Meals- forget about it! No man with any common-sense would waste his money on such BS.
Golden Dragon
1 large order of hot and sour soup
2 large orders of lo mein.
water for everyone
When I reached the age of 10, I was huge. Seriously, I had grown so much, and my father was convinced that I was to be the next Michael Jordan in the female sector of sports. With this growth spurt came a whole new appetite. I was taller than my mom, and I was one hungry Greek girl. I'll never forget the numerous amount of times that my dad would try to convince the waiters that I was 6 or under, and needed to be kept on a children's menu. How embarrassing. I'm sure it was very obvious that I was eating more than macaroni and cheese off of a $2 menu to keep my body sustained. As luck would have it, one day at O'Charley's, my aunt told me I could order "anything that you want", and so I did. I ordered the club sandwich and fries, ate the whole thing, and never let my dad live it down. I actually still give him hell about it, and to this day, I am extremely territorial when it comes to my food, and I am still nervous my dad is going to ask for a kids menu when we venture out for dinner. Don't put a wedge between a chubby Greek girl and her food...
For all intents and purposes, I know my father meant well. He had a mediocre job when we were young, and I'm sure he was more focused on housing, college funds, and wedding funds, as opposed to Happy Meal funds. But, to a young kid- what more do you have, really?? When all of your hopes, dreams, and desires rest on some piece of shit toy made by sweatshop employees in Asia, and bouncy balls covered in some 3 year olds urine- there really isn't anywhere to go but up, right?? I remember those hopes and dreams vividly, and I can say that I still have resentment towards my parents for their unwillingness to cooperate in achieving them.
Somewhere around the age of 12, my parents decided to really throw us for a loop. Dad must have gotten a big raise at work, because one day after church they took us to Old Country Buffet. This was like discovering Heaven on a greasy, carbo-loaded, deep-fried platter! It was one of the first places that I wasn't forced to drink water, because the soda was included- I was ecstatic! Carved ham, shaved turkey, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, fried potatoes, broccoli, salad bar, dessert bar. Yes, seriously, this was what every chubby, pre-teen, jilted girl needed. I also believe this might have even been the beginning of my "emotional eating disorder" because I don't remember a time since the invention of Spanx that I was happier. I was free to eat whatever I wanted, leave what I wanted, and go back for more. Although times have changed, and I prefer my buffets to be made up of men and/or shoes...the desires and the consequences haven't changed much. I believe in the saying "too much of a good thing", because as I finally came to the end of my marathon eating adventure, I had to excuse myself for what would later come to be known as "IBS" in my early adulthood. I was sick for days over my overindulgence on fried, broiled, and baked foods that were probably some of the poorest food qualities known to Nashville. These days, I steer clear from any form of buffets...I've learned that even when everything looks good on your plate, most of the time, it's too good to be true. But, it just so happens, I can still enjoy an order of Lo Mein or a simple cheeseburger and fries.
Friday, May 21, 2010
Background
As I laid in bed, with a pint of Cookies and Cream ice cream between my legs, and a classic episode of Cheaters on TV, I wondered how my love life (and my weight) had spiraled so out of control.
My childhood years were mostly blissful. I had a father that worked very hard and provided well, and a stay at home mom, whose life evolved around her children. My mom always took care of a ton of kids, and she would take us to the community pool, to Dairy Queen for treats, to the $1 movie theater, and was always quick to start up an art project with all of us. She wasn't the type of mom who had to have a spotless house- she was more concerned with us kids having fun and experiencing life to its fullest. She was...amazing.
By the time I hit 14, things in the K household started to shift. My dad was making more and more money, traveling very frequently, doing what he thought was best for our family, and my mom began to have a lot of resentment build up. She was watching her children grow up, and become independent...we didn't need her to do all of the things that she use to do, and the older we got, the worse she got. It was a hard time. Mom turned to alcohol to ease the absence of my father, his moodiness when he was home, and to deal with a lot of the problems that she left behind when she married my dad and gave birth to her children. Those problems never really went away though, and as we grew more and more independent, she grew more and more dependent. Eventually, mom got help. We had all struggled a lot, but we grew tighter and closer as a family- and I believe that her strength in becoming sober was what made us all fall in love with her again- especially my dad. There wasn't ever a time when my mom didn't sacrifice for her family, and I know we are all eternally grateful.
At 17, I fell in love with, what appeared to be, prince charming. He had everything that a very mature 17 year old could want- ambition. He was broke, but that didn't matter to me, because I knew one day, he would make something great of himself. We were married when I was 21; 6 weeks after having invasive back surgery, and 12 weeks before I was to graduate with my Bachelor's. H1 (as I will refer to husband #1) was never particularly supportive. He didn't take off of work when I had my back surgery, didn't stay at home with me during my recovery, and I can't remember 1 time when I was sick or hurting when he would attempt to make dinner, or even bring anything home. It was a hard beginning to our marriage. I immediately started losing faith in him as my "other half", and realized quickly that I would have to rely on myself for most things. This was not a new concept to me, as I had been grossly independent as a teenager. My relationship with H1 started to take an even bigger hit when I traveled all of the time for my job. We both worked during the week, then I traveled on the weekends, and we rarely got to see each other or spend any quality time together. Our views on handling money became a real problem. The things that we enjoyed doing were not complimentary, or anything that we wanted to do together. He preferred playing poker almost every night. I am very passionate about cooking and food, and when I would try to make my husband dinner at night, many times he would opt for a grilled cheese sandwich and Vienne Sausages. I would be so aggravated. Eventually, I never wanted him to touch me- I had so much resentment and anger towards H1 never contributing- that I recoiled and demanded a divorce.
In the summer of 2008, my family took our cultural journey together to Greece. This helped to ease my mind from my divorce, and also helped me to think about the possibility of starting to date. It felt too soon- but, H1 was already in a relationship, so I wanted to do the same. Instead of forcing myself onto the dating scene though, I got a new job that didn't require me to travel so much, and I was able to move back home and be closer to my parents. I all of a sudden had a lot of free time- something I was NOT use to. It felt good though. Freedom to do as I pleased during the weekends, no late, grueling hours at the office, much better pay, and a job where I would have lots of opportunity to grow professionally. The only catch was...it was in IT!!! This was not something I had any experience with, and I was super nervous.
In my free time, I was now able to really start experimenting with my true love, food! I had cooked on and off in years prior, but never was I able to put in a lot of effort. Suddenly, I found myself hosting Thanksgiving dinners, Christmas dinners, wine tasting events, baby showers, and cookouts. When I cook, I never follow a recipe. I prefer to show my artistic ability through my tastebuds, and the most success I've felt is being able to satisfy other people's appetites. We require food in order to sustain life- so it is essential- but, I believe that fresh, homemade, and made with love food is the best way to sustain my life. Now, all I need is the perfect man on my plate.
My journey of dating began one rainy afternoon- my roommate (at the time) and I decided to be idiots while laying in bed and create an online dating profile, for a free dating website which will remain nameless. Within matter of hours, I found my first catch...David. He was really cute- 1/2 Spanish and 1/2 Italian. He was 39, had 3 kids by two baby momma's and had been divorced 2x. HOTTTT! We talked a lot via email before ever meeting, and he seemed great! I was so nervous to meet him, because I had never actually been on a date with someone that I didn't know....let me take that back, I had never been on a date with anyone besides the 2 (count them- 2) boyfriends that I had had- and 1 of them, I married! So, going on this date made me absolutely sick to my stomach. I think I took around 4 Immodium tablets that day in fear of shitting all over myself when I met this guy. I.WAS.FREAKED. We met at this super trendy little hot spot in Nashville that was known for their amazing mohito's and tapa's. I remember thinking the most exciting part of the date was what kind of food I would be eating...but, then, I told myself I shouldn't eat much because then he might think that the chunkiness of my body was due to overeating and not just a possible week of bloating. When I met David, most of the queesiness died down- probably because I realized I was about 3 inches taller than him in my heels, and one of his eyes seemed to not be working properly. Wait. This wasn't the guy who I had seen online! That guy was HOT. I guess we all get that 1 in a million picture taken of us- and he just happened to use that bad boy to trick innocent girls like me. David was nice- but, I decided I probably wasn't ready to become his 3rd baby momma.
To be continued...
My childhood years were mostly blissful. I had a father that worked very hard and provided well, and a stay at home mom, whose life evolved around her children. My mom always took care of a ton of kids, and she would take us to the community pool, to Dairy Queen for treats, to the $1 movie theater, and was always quick to start up an art project with all of us. She wasn't the type of mom who had to have a spotless house- she was more concerned with us kids having fun and experiencing life to its fullest. She was...amazing.
By the time I hit 14, things in the K household started to shift. My dad was making more and more money, traveling very frequently, doing what he thought was best for our family, and my mom began to have a lot of resentment build up. She was watching her children grow up, and become independent...we didn't need her to do all of the things that she use to do, and the older we got, the worse she got. It was a hard time. Mom turned to alcohol to ease the absence of my father, his moodiness when he was home, and to deal with a lot of the problems that she left behind when she married my dad and gave birth to her children. Those problems never really went away though, and as we grew more and more independent, she grew more and more dependent. Eventually, mom got help. We had all struggled a lot, but we grew tighter and closer as a family- and I believe that her strength in becoming sober was what made us all fall in love with her again- especially my dad. There wasn't ever a time when my mom didn't sacrifice for her family, and I know we are all eternally grateful.
At 17, I fell in love with, what appeared to be, prince charming. He had everything that a very mature 17 year old could want- ambition. He was broke, but that didn't matter to me, because I knew one day, he would make something great of himself. We were married when I was 21; 6 weeks after having invasive back surgery, and 12 weeks before I was to graduate with my Bachelor's. H1 (as I will refer to husband #1) was never particularly supportive. He didn't take off of work when I had my back surgery, didn't stay at home with me during my recovery, and I can't remember 1 time when I was sick or hurting when he would attempt to make dinner, or even bring anything home. It was a hard beginning to our marriage. I immediately started losing faith in him as my "other half", and realized quickly that I would have to rely on myself for most things. This was not a new concept to me, as I had been grossly independent as a teenager. My relationship with H1 started to take an even bigger hit when I traveled all of the time for my job. We both worked during the week, then I traveled on the weekends, and we rarely got to see each other or spend any quality time together. Our views on handling money became a real problem. The things that we enjoyed doing were not complimentary, or anything that we wanted to do together. He preferred playing poker almost every night. I am very passionate about cooking and food, and when I would try to make my husband dinner at night, many times he would opt for a grilled cheese sandwich and Vienne Sausages. I would be so aggravated. Eventually, I never wanted him to touch me- I had so much resentment and anger towards H1 never contributing- that I recoiled and demanded a divorce.
In the summer of 2008, my family took our cultural journey together to Greece. This helped to ease my mind from my divorce, and also helped me to think about the possibility of starting to date. It felt too soon- but, H1 was already in a relationship, so I wanted to do the same. Instead of forcing myself onto the dating scene though, I got a new job that didn't require me to travel so much, and I was able to move back home and be closer to my parents. I all of a sudden had a lot of free time- something I was NOT use to. It felt good though. Freedom to do as I pleased during the weekends, no late, grueling hours at the office, much better pay, and a job where I would have lots of opportunity to grow professionally. The only catch was...it was in IT!!! This was not something I had any experience with, and I was super nervous.
In my free time, I was now able to really start experimenting with my true love, food! I had cooked on and off in years prior, but never was I able to put in a lot of effort. Suddenly, I found myself hosting Thanksgiving dinners, Christmas dinners, wine tasting events, baby showers, and cookouts. When I cook, I never follow a recipe. I prefer to show my artistic ability through my tastebuds, and the most success I've felt is being able to satisfy other people's appetites. We require food in order to sustain life- so it is essential- but, I believe that fresh, homemade, and made with love food is the best way to sustain my life. Now, all I need is the perfect man on my plate.
My journey of dating began one rainy afternoon- my roommate (at the time) and I decided to be idiots while laying in bed and create an online dating profile, for a free dating website which will remain nameless. Within matter of hours, I found my first catch...David. He was really cute- 1/2 Spanish and 1/2 Italian. He was 39, had 3 kids by two baby momma's and had been divorced 2x. HOTTTT! We talked a lot via email before ever meeting, and he seemed great! I was so nervous to meet him, because I had never actually been on a date with someone that I didn't know....let me take that back, I had never been on a date with anyone besides the 2 (count them- 2) boyfriends that I had had- and 1 of them, I married! So, going on this date made me absolutely sick to my stomach. I think I took around 4 Immodium tablets that day in fear of shitting all over myself when I met this guy. I.WAS.FREAKED. We met at this super trendy little hot spot in Nashville that was known for their amazing mohito's and tapa's. I remember thinking the most exciting part of the date was what kind of food I would be eating...but, then, I told myself I shouldn't eat much because then he might think that the chunkiness of my body was due to overeating and not just a possible week of bloating. When I met David, most of the queesiness died down- probably because I realized I was about 3 inches taller than him in my heels, and one of his eyes seemed to not be working properly. Wait. This wasn't the guy who I had seen online! That guy was HOT. I guess we all get that 1 in a million picture taken of us- and he just happened to use that bad boy to trick innocent girls like me. David was nice- but, I decided I probably wasn't ready to become his 3rd baby momma.
To be continued...
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