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...
