The chef and I met in high school. I had transfered from an all girls Catholic school to the public school. It was a drastic change and at the time I couldn't have been happier. The public school was all sorts of fun whereas the all girls school was all sorts of rules & college prep. yuck.
I hooked up with some popular girls and was immediately granted access to the scene. The scene consisted of driving around the neighborhoods in search of a house party, shot gunning natty light and smoking weed out of super cool color changing hand blown glass pipes that we bought at The Wax Factory. Can you say awesome?
I remember the day the chef asked me to be his girlfriend. We went out, mostly likely to see The Daytrippers (one of our faves), and then we parked in the cul-de-sac next to my house. We may have been drinking beer out of a can. I can barely remember.
He confessed his love to me in his crappy blue 1989 Toyota Corolla. After that we were a couple. For a little while. I think two years.
During that two years we did the high school break up one week get back together the next week. We also managed to find time to smoke a lot of pot, hang out on his parents roof, and have school night sleepovers. Sorry Mrs. S. We also fell in love. Teenage love.
He was my first real boyfriend, if you don't count the 2 month relationship I had with his distant cousin (never knew it then). I thought he was the coolest dude around. He wore red cords for chrissakes. Any dude that can get away with wearing red cords in high school is either super gay or super sweet. The chef was the latter. Obviously. Although he scammed me on prom which I have yet to forgive him for but that's another post all together. **
It was great fun and I always looked fondly upon the relationship. Even after I mangled his heart a week after I graduated high school.
We always kept in touch during and after college, in fact I am pretty sure we saw each other every Christmas. And when I say saw each other what I really mean is...well use your imaginations.
When I graduated from Crackron, the Chef was living on the lower east side of Manhattan and working at Charlie Palmer's Kitchen 22. He needed a roommate and I needed to get the fuck out of Ohio. My grandma had just passed away and I was really bummed. Everything and everywhere reminded me of the times we had and the time we didn't. So I packed up my sweet ass Chevy Cavalier with clothes & Vito and I drove to a city that I had never once stepped foot in.
I remember when I first saw the chef's apartment (that cost $1650/month), I nearly packed my car back up and drove back to Ohiya. It was filled with roaches and grossness. It smelled like my butt. Seriously. And then when I found out the chef was dating this amazon woman named Tequila, I really did pack my car. The Chef later unpacked it again for me.
The first couple months were an adjustment. I didn't have a job, there was a nekkid amazon chick walking around my apartment, and I may have been hitting the sauce a little too much. I eventually got a job as a waitress (a terrible waitress) which then opened the door to a night club event planning job. It was hardcore. My hours were shit as were the chef's but somehow we managed to start 'seeing' each other...even though we already lived together.
It gets a little fuzzy because I was also 'seeing' a Frenchman and apparently the chef was unaware of our open relationship. He gave me an ultimatum. Well not so much an ultimatum as the boot. He kicked me out. Twice. And then we lived happily ever after. Wooo Whoo!
Just kidding. We eventually went through some more shit, my job usually being the main issue. It's no fun to date someone who gets paid to stay out all night at a club. You know?
But then something clicked inside me. I finally began to understand why we had stayed in touch all those years. I understood that we were supposed to be in each other's life. We were meant to be in love. He was always the one.
And then came the kicker.
After about a year of all this we found out were knocked up. And his reaction couldn't have been better. While I was scared shitless, he was ecstatic. He stood by my side and told me that we were going to be alright. Whatever we did he would be there for his family. And right then I knew I would marry him.
And I did. Eventually.
And I would do it again ever year if I could.
As we come up on our two year anniversary of marriage, our 10 year anniversary of dating (w/ a 6 year break) I can't help but find myself smiling as I remember living in that god forsaken roach infested apartment on the LES and waking up every morning next to my future husband.