Weight just one dang minute!

My mind has been in over drive since my last post. How will I manage to lose half of myself (ok, not half... but a big freakin chunk), AND fulfill my passion in life of baking and creating mind blowing treats that are completely delicious. AND blog about the whole thing? Because as everyone knows, I am NOT a failure. Tell me I wont do something, and then sit back and watch the show. Because honey, I would LOVE to prove you wrong. That's my hard headed side. I get it from my mom. Thanks, mom.

So, Lets get down to the nitty gritty. The nitty, is that I'm skinny. The gritty, is that I'm stuck. In someone else's body. I thought that was important to explain before we keep going. Its totally not fair, but hey... gotta deal with the cards life gives ya.

You see, once upon a time... I wore a tiny little size, and was obsessed with my tiny little self. I kicked ass, and took names. I spent my leisurely days laying on the beach, and worshipping myself. I was hot, and I knew it. I spent hours obsessing about my weight, what I wasn't going to put into my mouth, what color my toes were going to be painted, and should I wear a halter or a tube top. Mirrors were my friend.


Now a little history here. Back before I started worshipping myself, I grew up in a Cuban Italian home. What does that mean exactly? Bread, Pasta, Beans, Cheese, Sauces, Rice, Butter, and creamy ridiculous desserts. Its in my blood. I LOVE the carbs. I crave them. If you were to look into my blood stream, I'm positive you would find mini Cuban sandwiches and chunks of lasagna in there. I love my history. I love my heritage. and I love my food. Italians and Cubans love their families. They love their friends. and the love to cook. So.. What do we have here? Cubans and Italians that love to cook for each other. Because it makes everyone happy. Food=happiness. Had a bad day? Lose a loved one? Stub your toe? EAT! It makes everything better.

I decided to gain control of my Cuban Italian life, and decided a scrambled egg, half a bagel, a boat load of grapefruit juice, and a few granola bars was a sufficient amount of food... daily . And this is where I became obsessed. With what I wouldn't eat, and what I looked like. It consumed my life.

And then one day, I met a handsome man who swept me right off my size 8 stilettos. Soon after, I found myself staring into his perfect blue green eyes, and I was butter. Literally. Everything in my world went away. Nothing else mattered, except 2 things. I loved this man, and I was going to make him happy. Just like his existence made me.

How exactly was I going to make him happy? I was going to cook. Meals rich in carbs, butter, and cheese. And it worked. It made him happy. He loved me, and he loved my food. So, I cooked more. and more. and more. Not just meals, but desserts too. Lots and lots of desserts. I no longer worshipped myself. And I no longer worshipped my skinny jeans.

My clothes started clinging to me more and more, but I didn't care. I was in love, and he was in love with me. We wanted to get married, and spend the rest of our lives.. loving, eating and making babies who would love eating! (like I said, its in our blood) We became engaged, had the fairytale wedding, glamorous honeymoon... and started buying WAY bigger clothes. Within a year. The best year of my life. My waist line would beg to differ.

So here we have it folks. My story. My story about my life of loving food, or myself. But never at the same time. and so begins the newest saga to this thing I call my life. Learn to love me, and food. At the same time. And take those darn skinny jeans from the depths of my closet, and get those bad boys back on! AND create wonderful ooey gooey high calorie goodness so that my husband and family still loves my hard headed self.

Are you ready for the adventure? Please tell me I wont do it. I would LOVE to prove you wrong.

Love,
Me. In here. The me stuck in this other persons body.