Tuesday, December 29, 2009

A Christmas Story

I'm one of the few people who actually like their family. No, not tolerate, not just love but really and truly LIKE my family. Now, I'm not sure if I would say this with the same enthusiasm if I lived in the same town but since I don't, everytime I'm in my hometown I enjoy every minute of it.

Side excerpt: My family, among their many suggestions, comments, likes and pure and utter distain regarding this blog told me that I use "WAY TOO MANY COMMAS". So instead of taking back all their Christmas presents and exchanging them for 75% off George Forman Grills, I've decided to try to absorb their advice and not, use, too, many, commas.,,,,,

Back to the story....Sorry I get side tracked, I'm off my meds. Which brings me to a word from our sponsor: Wellbutrin-The tiny pill giving you Christmas Spirit all year long.

Well, anyways, (comma,comma, comma)Christmas was great and my fam-damnly was even greater. I do feel somewhat for my family because they feel this deep amount of pressure to provide content for my blog. And since we all like each other and my Grandma isn't going to tell my mom that her green bean casserole taste like a bowl of dirty shoelaces, our enjoyable Christmas weekend would be rather boring to write about and you would all curse my name and shake your white knuckled fist angrily toward you computer screen yelling "Be Funny, Damn it!". You don't understand how much pressure that is on me. I found myself secretly wishing that my family would bring on the drama so I could entertain you through embarassing them.

But oh how my father never fails me. He waited until the Sunday we left, but ye, he gave me blog content. Yes, I am thankful for my dad for putting me through college, giving unconditional love, making grave sacrifices for the betterment of his family, but mostly I'm thankful for my dad for providing me funny blog content.

We ran out of paper towels during Sunday lunch so my Dad went into the pantry to pull out some paper napkins for everyone to use. He comes out with a huge pile of cocktail napkins and sets them out on the table. Everyone grabs one and my fiancee looks at the napkin and then tucks it in the front of his shirt where we could all clearly see the print on the napkin: "Jennifer and Blair R-------. July 16, 2005".

Yep, my family used the rest of Blair's and my left over wedding napkins during our Sunday lunch. I wish I would have snapped a picture of Mark with the wedding napkin tucked in his shirt. It was sooo funny!

Friday, December 25, 2009

My Grown Up Christmas List

Merry Christmas!

I come to you this Christmas morning, from Mont Belvieu, TX. Hometown of the infamous blogger, yours truly, ME.

My father, once again talked us into opening our presents the night before Christmas, so this morning has been rather relaxed except for Hucky vomiting up the Ham I snuck to him during breakfast this morning. The funny thing is immediately after he threw up, all over my bed (nice touch Huck), he seriously stuck his head in my purse and pulled out a piece of gum.

My family was all to generous with their gift giving. Mark also spoiled me before I left the big D with season ticket to the Dallas Summer Musicals. My brother made me tear up with his beautiful gift. But, with all the beautiful presents I received, Santa let me down this year. I only asked him for one simple thing; that Britney Spears and Justin Timberlake would get back together, get married and create a Christmas CD together.

It's not like I'm asking for World Peace, Wars to end, Famine to disappear or an X Box 360. It's just a simple little request that would make my world just a little bit brighter. Oh well Santa, maybe next year. But I must warn you, you might want to double check to see if the fire is still nin my fireplace when it's your turn to come down my chimney next year. No it's not a threat, just something to think about.

In all seriousness, Merry Christmas. I am thankful to serve a God who humbled himself and came to save us through the birth that we celebrate this Christmas morning. The God who hung the moon, came as a weak baby to save us from a life of filth we could not clean off ourselves. Happy Birthday, Jesus.

Sunday, December 20, 2009

Domestic Goddess: A Failed Attempt.

I lied to Mark.

Yesterday we had a Christmas party to attend and earlier that afternoon Mark casually asked me what side dish we should bring. First and foremost, him having to be the one that brings it up proves that I suck (my mom HATES when I use that word, but I need it for emphasis) as a Domestic Goddess because absent minded me would have showed up looking super sassy but empty handed. But above all else, unless Santa's elves could sprinkle some Christmas magic in my kitchen the likely hood of me whipping up a lovely loaf of fruit cake is as unlikely to happen as Britney Spear's becoming my best friend, but a girl can dream.

I usually avoid cooking for other's like I would avoid the plague, however Mark and the kiddos; they have to deal with it. I haven't always felt this way about my family, but after Mark told me how great the Pork chop and rice dish that was the color of pepto bismol on crack, I discovered he loved me enough to fake it. And the kids....I'll I can do is silently apologize and pray that they won't remember my cooking, or lack there of, but rather my mad skills on the trampoline.

Anyways, if it wasn't for the fact that my man's, wonderfully domestic ex had just sweetly given us a bag of Christmas deliciousness that was sooo yummy it made me self-conscious and completely fulfilled and warm inside simultaneously, I probably would have said, "Honey, why do you think there is an ENTIRE aisle at the grocery store designated for snacks? We'll, just pick up a package of Oreos". LONG PAUSE. "Wait, that isn't very festive. Hell, lets go all out and get the red and green frosted kind".

But, I didn't. I lied. I told Mark that I had a holiday dish that I was well versed in and could whip up in a snap. And the dish is.....DRUM ROLL PUUULLLEASSE. Puppy Chow. You know the cereal and chocolate concoction that everyone and there mommas know how to make. The easiest dish I could think of off the top of my head and actually I have made it. Once. In Home Ec. In 6th grade. I made a B-, and that was one of the "easy A" classes.

Well I need some alone time and in a house with two kids, one fiancee and three dogs (that's another blog), the only place to find that is on the pot. So, I told everyone I had to go "big potty" (yes that is what they call dropping the Cosby kids off a the pool in the Gardner house hold) and snuck my lap top in with me....but since I was there and the toilet seat is SO inviting....okay, I'll stop now.

Anyways, so I looked up the ingredients and directions and it looked as easy as farting so I was in like Flinn. (Just just made a fart joke which is funny, even if it's not really funny). I felt like a soccer mom as I ran to the grocery store in my sweat pants and Ugg boots with grocery list in hand. I even bought the Kroger brand to save a few bucks and used my preferred shopper card. Got home and started the whip up process, looking perfected in place in that....oh what's it call? It has the microwave in it and a sink...oh yeah, THE KITCHEN.

Slowly heat the peanut butter and chocolate chips over medium heat until melted. Check.

Mix in a large bowl melted chocolate and peanut butter with box of chex cereal and mixed nuts. Check.

Lightly sprinkle powered sugar on top. Check.

Now tell me, How the HELL did I mess that up? I still don't get it, but guess what? It happened to me! And then I had a mini-meltdown. Actually, if you know me...there's no such thing as a "mini" melt-down. In the mist of snot, tears and more snot (I have had terrible sinuses this week) I wined and fessed up to Mark about my little ole' tiny white lie.

While tasting my salty tears and a little bit of slimy snot, I told him how I felt that I did could not meet his expectations in a mate. That I would never be the Domestic Goddess that his ex-wife was and that my Puppy Chow tasted more like Puppy shit. Now, although this is not verbatim. The love of my life, wrapped his arms around me and assured me by saying:

"You are all I could ever want. You are my best friend, love of my life, you make a killer roast and you have time to learn. And as you learn, with every failure and success, I will be there, cheering for you. And besides, Martha Stewart doesn't hold a candle to your looks".

And as I wiped away my snot and tears on Mark's $150 shirt, I thought to myself, "He's right. Martha's got NOTHING on my ass".

Friday, December 18, 2009

Pass the Pepto

Through this wedding planning process I have found that I can actually be thrifty, especially when I'm spending my own personal money. I wanted a designer dress but I didn't want to fork out a semester of Julia's future college tuition on it, so I bought a sample dress and took it to be fitted. I assured the seamstress during my dress fitting that I would be loosing at least 5 pounds before the wedding as I told her to "pull it tighter" while I gasped for air. She looked a little uneasy, but did as she was told to prevent the rise of bridezilla.

All that to say, I have NOT lost 5 lbs....I've gained it. Now I know why Spring is the peak wedding season and not winter. Like a bear, prepping for hibernation I have been busy stuffing my face and adding an extra layer of blubber over my bones. To prove that I'm NOT exaggerating, which I NEVER do on here, by the way, I have included everything I have eaten today below:

-A Hersey kiss mold in the shape of a mouse (I have some strange co-workers).
-A cup of non-alcoholic (dang it) egg-nog
-A piece of meat with mayo rolled around a pickle (like I said...strange co-workers)
-Bean Dip
-Cheese Ball
-Cheddar Pop-corn....4 servings
-A Salad (had to throw a little health in there)
-Ranch Dressing covering my once healthy salad
-Another cup of egg-nog (still no alcohol)
-Carmel Popcorn
-A slice of Pecan Pie

I feel disgusting. I know 6lb 8 oz baby Jesus didn't invisioned us celebrating his birth by committing the sin of gultony.

MUST STOP EATING. MUST STOP EATING. MUST STOP EATING......
-

Friday, December 11, 2009

Wicked Stepmom

As a child one of my all time favorite movies was "Cinderella". Disney captured my attention and all children alike, in the life of the beautiful girl who was mistreated by her "wicked stepmother". Lady Tremaine, the step-mother of Cinderella, never laid a hand on her, yet her psychological abuse left Cinderella in such despair, her only hope was to find a Prince Charming to rescue her.

Snow White, another Disney favorite has a similar villain, The Queen (a.k.a. Snow White's Evil Step-mother). The Queen, out of jealousy towards her step-daughter's beauty, attempts to kill Snow White by poisoning an apple. Doomed to a fate of eternal sleep, Snow White is only saved by her Prince Charming.

THANKS A LOT DISNEY. You have inadvertently subconsciously instilled a fear of step-mom's into my future step-children's minds which has now lead me to fear that my kid's will fear me because of the fear you made the princess' feel in your feel good movie that's not suppose to make kid's fearful(Pop Quiz: How many x's did I use the word fear?).

Now, I know that J and M love me and are excited about me becoming their step-mom, but hypothetically if I have to send Julia to her room (which, would never happen now, but I was once a teenage girl and I'm already shaking in my Spanx over those few years) will she believe that I am the evil-stepmom that has locked her in the tower of the castle? When I bring her her dinner with sliced apples on the side, will she suspect that I poisoned them and flush them down the toilet. Will she look as Huck and think of the cat, Lucifer from "Cinderella"?

As much as I love Disney, they have put a very negative image on Step-mom's. I guess I will just have to spend the next 50 + years proving to Mitch and Julia that Disney SO got this one wrong and that THIS step-mom is going to rock the socks off of my role in their lives. Yes, I will fail them and myself but unlike the storybooks we've all read, they will never need to fear me or doubt my love for them. I will prove to them that life isn't always a fairy tale and that sometimes...IT'S SO MUCH BETTER THAN THAT!

Monday, December 7, 2009

Weird Craving


No, I'm not pregnant but I've had the weirdest craving lately for Grape Juice and Crackers. I would normally feed the craving but it feels odd eating the Lord's Supper for a snack in front of the t.v. showing Desperate Housewives.

Friday, December 4, 2009

Going to the Chapel


The Date is set! I will become Jennifer Gardner, January 29, 2010!

Now, I have to get started on writing my vows!

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

Contributing to Thanksgiving

Although, I still throw temper tantrums, love watching the Disney channel and obsess over my American Girl doll...I am an adult--like, a full-blown adult who's old enough to start acting like one.... big sigh.

One thing southern adult women do is cook. After the engagement, I vowed not to make the same mistakes twice. One of those mistakes being, never cooking for your family. I've also realized that cooking Sponge Bob Square Pants Mac and Cheese with chopped up weenies does not count as cooking. Nor does going to Central Market, buying the pre-cooked food and transfering it to your own dishes....not that I ever did such a thing--that Chicken Cordon Blue was made from stratch!

With my new outlook on cooking, this past weekend I attempted a Buttermilk Pie. After I made an idiot of myself by asking everyone in the grocery store where I could buy Lemon Zest (if you are as ignorant as I am when it comes to anything domestic, Lemon Zest isn't something you buy,it's something you DO), I went home and tried to "zest" a lemon. Well, guess what, I have NO friggin idea how to zest a lemon, nor do I own a lemon zester or could even tell you where to buy one. That being said,I just improvised and peeled the lemon and stuck it in the pie. Mark was so polite and ate it anyways, dicreatly pulling out the large and painfully bitter lemon peels from each bite that he took.

I want to be a southern cook, just like my mom and grandmothers. I want to fatten up my men with my thick and mind-blowing gravy. I want to fry a pork-chop and know how to make a casserole...I don't even care what kind of cassserole it is, I just want to say, "Hi honey, today I made you a delicous casserole". Doesn't that sound soooo domestic running off of your tongue? I'm even going to buy an apron and when we are married I'll be wearing ONLY the apr....okay, maybe that's TMI. But, what do men like more that food and sex? It will be a Deadly combination.

Although I am quite enthused about my future as a gormet chef, I do not know how to prove to my family that I have moved on from the "bring plates and napkins" kid to the "why don't you throw together one of your delicious dishes" adult. Once again, for Thanksgiving this year I have been told to bring something that required ZERO cooking skills. When you are told to bring some wine, does your family think "Well, she can't cook, but she drinks. We'll just have her bring something in her element"?

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

Thursday, November 19, 2009

Yep, I'm a (almost) stepmom and Yep, I still Love Edward Cullen.

I'm not tooting my own horn, well actually I am...but I'm trying this new humility thing...don't know too much about it but I thought I would give it a shot. Is it bragging when it's TRUE?? Anyways, I am already frickin knocking it out of the park when it comes to the coolness scale of step-moms.

Tonight, I am taking Julz and her friend to the midnight showing of New Moon- for you non-vampire groupies, it's the second movie in the Twilight Saga. Okay, so we have Midnight season premier tickets, which is just cool in itself but on a school night...that's like WAY cool!

I'm happy this is an odd-obsession that I can share with Julia. We both are in love with a fictional vampire. Go figure!?

Monday, November 16, 2009

Redeemed

Wow, what a journey we have been on. (Well, mainly just me but aren't you glad I have the tendency to share TOO much and you have gotten to sit along side me for this crazy rollercoaster?). I'm not sure if you know or not, but my left arm is sore from the freaking fantastic rock of a diamond that is now prettily sitting on my ring finger. Yep, that's right people, I'm engaged!

My first thought after seeing the ring was, "Wow, it's soooo pretty". Second thought was, "Holy Cow, I have a freaking Honda Civic sitting on my finger", which lead to my third thought, "Crap, I sure hope he has it insured".

So am I blissfully happy? YES. Did I find an amazing man? THE BEST. Are my postings going to turn into a wedding obsessed blog filled with images of bouquets, wedding gowns and color palettes? HELL NO. I just wanted to make that clear before, you thought about forgetting about my blog until I went through my NEXT divorce. THAT was a joke...I'm not ever getting another divorce. I will shoot him before he divorces me...also a joking...well kind of.

As I sat in church with my hunk of a FIANCEE', I thought of what a beautiful picture of redemption this has been. We were singing this amazing song and the lyrics said "I don't have time to maintain these regrets when I think about the way he loves us".

I have found a man that loves me regardless of my flaws. A man that brings me a diet coke when I say I am thirsty. A man who loves Jesus and isn't ashamed to show it. I have found a man who I am ready to spend the rest of my life with. I adore him and he adores me. At the end of the day, it's not about the ring. It's not about a wedding and it's not about all the hoopla that surrounds it. Yes, that's all well and good but what I am the most thankful for is the man who I said "YES" to.

He is all I could ever want. I love his heart and I am will remember to thank God daily for the precious gift he has given me in Mark. What's even more amazing about Mark, is he isn't the only gift I am getting. I'm getting Mitch and Julia as well. It scares me to think of the impact I will have in those precious children's lives. But, I feel overwhelmed that God has trusted me for them; to be their step-mom. It amazing how instant and deep the love is that I have for them. They bring such joy in my life and will from now on.

I was sinking before I met my Mark, but through grace I was drawn to redemption. God redeemed my sufferings by making something out of it. It hurt like hell, but oh how he love us. He turned my broken heart into joy. I know that there can be a beautiful and blessed life, even after divorce. We can never screw up enough to ruin the will of God. I am so blessed!!

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

The Veteran I Love

The Veteran I love is a man who covers his accomplishments with overralls. He has lived a life and seen things so few have seen or will ever see, but you wouldn't know it. He's lived in the same little town he was born in, yet before I was ever born, flew planes over enemy lines in Germany.

The Veteran I love is a simple man. He takes two, maybe three naps a day; loves his wife's cookin and his favorite time of day is sitting on his front porch drinking coffee in the afternoon.

The Veteran I love probably has never read Tolstoy, Aristotle or Alighieri. He's never eaten Sushi or enjoyed a movie other than "Pig Skin Parade" and "Old Yeller". He is not cultured or eloquent in his words. But, if it wasn't for him our cultural freedoms would be much different.

The Veteran I love is my grandfather, my Pop. A World Ward II hero who fought bravely for our freedom. A man who may not remeber where he placed his glasses, but remember's every friend he lost and every friend he saved.

Thank you Pop, for your brave sacrifice. For fighting for freedom and for displaying bravery. You are a Veteran I love and a Veteran I am so proud of.

This day is for you and all who have so bravely served. I love you!

Friday, November 6, 2009

The Smoke Alarm only went off once!

While the cats away, the mice will play!

Mark left his precious goods in my hands and trusted me for a night alone with the kiddies. Although there was one point where I contimplated slipping some lithium into my diet coke, the night was an over-all success.

If I could give advice to anyone that is coming into a relationship where kids are involved it would be: Show them that you love them; that you are their friend and that you aren't as boring as dry toast. Listen, I'm not stupid....happy kids = happy dad. Happy Dad= Happy Jen.

The kids and I indulged in ice cream, chicken fingers, more icecream, halloween candy and stayed up 35 minutes past bedtime! I was the cat's meow last night! The three of us and the two dogs all slept in the same bed. (I'm still recuperating from loosing my pillow and being kicked in the ovary one too many times from the kid beside me doing back flips in his sleep). I have made a mental note that this is a dog too many in the bed, nevertheless, they absolutely loved the slumber party in Dad's bed and I secretly loved it too.

This morning I woke up bright and early, got a shower before the kids woke up and realized that Mitch takes longer to get ready than I do. His grooming regime made me start to sweat as he told me repeatedly that I was doing his hair wrong. But, finally he gave me the thumbs up and made it to the school with stomachs full of donuts, hair styled correctly and all homework done. I'm actually quite proud of myself!

Thursday, November 5, 2009

A Diet Called Divorce

I've gotten back in the grove of working on my book which has left very little creative juices to stir the pot on my blog. However, I wanted to give you guys a little taste of my book, "A Diet Called Divorce". I have included the first few pages of the book below. I would love any feedback, suggestions or things you hope to read about in the book. I am currently around page 50 in the book and boy, is it juicy! Enjoy!!



Lost a Man and a Pant Size

The best thing about divorce has to be the affects it has on your physique. Sure, divorce diminishes your bank account, shrivels up your savings, pares down your number of friends, and eats away at your heart. But, it also shrinks your ass.

A year ago I stood tear-stained, grief stricken, in need of a shower and 15 pounds over weight in unfamiliar territory. I had recently left my college sweetheart turned husband of three years, the home and the new studded leather couches we bought together, a 250k life insurance plan and I found myself completely alone in a one-bedroom, yellow wallpapered apartment in the ghetto.

The new apartment was filled with all the 2nd hand furniture my husband and I had received from our parents when we were poor and just out of college, all of which we quickly replaced when we both landed above average jobs. Storing the old furniture in our garage had left the old furnishings dusty and obviously neglected. The couch was hiding it’s flaws and tears behind a newly purchased taupe slip cover but even the new pillows that accompanied it, couldn’t keep my apartment from looking like a garage sell had thrown up in it.

Cardboard boxes overflowed and filled the corners of my minuscule new dwelling with the belongings and recollections my husband didn’t want to keep and things I didn’t really want either but had fought for nail and tooth to prove a point, although I’m not sure what point I was trying to prove. The apartment was older and cheap; the furniture was mismatched and used, but it was mine.

I have to admit, my hurt pride kicked in the first few moments in my new place. The ceiling fan was out dated and had that weird mesh pattern from the 80s on it in a lovely shade of poop brown. You had to pull a rusted metal string to turn the lone bulb that served as the light in my closet and the appliances in the kitchen were closer to yellow than the advertised "cream" , But the worst part of it all was it was in the hood. The real hood, not white-people hood which means you have to shop at Wal-mart and not Target.

Sure, I had a few ghetto encounters such as the cat –call, "Hey hot cracka momma you be looking fine" from the gold-chained thug next door who I ended up buying illegal copies of newly released DVDs from for 2 bucks a pop or the kid digging in the dumpster outside my apartment for a Hustler magazine and telling me to "mind my business" when I asked him what he was doing and why he wasn’t in school. Even a white-bread girl like me made quick adjustments from my accustomed life-style.

And as I carried in the last load through the door, the new apartment tricked me into thinking I had just experienced a great taste of freedom. It made me believe that getting a divorce really wasn’t like scraping your face against a cheese grater. Sure, maybe I had to step down a few steps on the ladder of success and turn in a few of the toys you buy to prove it, but at least I wasn’t going to have someone holding me back anymore. This apartment was only temporary, after all and I was going to make sure of it.

Walking into the bathroom I squirted windex on the faded mirror and began wiping it off over and over again until I became content with the fact that I was going to have to look at myself for the next 6 months through clouded vision. It didn’t seem like that bad of a trade off to me. Crappy apartment in exchange for a fuzzy image of myself. I hated the way I looked and the less I had to stare in the mirror, the better. The prom queen who once upon a time stood in the same shoes had been exchanged for a frumpy girl in Target clothes who looked like she could be pretty if she lost a few pounds. I had become a warped version on myself, the mirror simply showed the truth.

A few hours quickly altered my naïve thinking when nightfall came creeping into my apartment, darkening my spirit even more as it darkened my walls. The first night alone in my new place and too broke to buy a television became the loneliest moment of my life. An empty and broken apartment was the equivalent of what had become of my life. I lay on my bare mattress that was desolate on the floor and cried crocodile tears until I thought I had run out.

“How had my life gotten to this?” I gently wept to myself. Shame filled my head and caused an unwillingness to cry out to God to fester itself into my soul. I didn’t speak directly to him, but I was too desperate not to try to reach him some way.

How had I gained the World and married the man of my (and many other’s) dreams, only to loose it all within a few years? This was not the existence I envisioned when I stood at an alter covered in white and pink roses, wearing the designer wedding dress that forced my father to take out a second mortgage on his house to pay for it along with the other forty grand in wedding expenses.


The memories of my husband surrounded me in the packed up boxes and piles of uselessness that I had carried from our home. Pictures that captured a happiness I allowed hurt to trump spilled out from the albums he would soon forget.



Our neighbors, who had been married for over 50 years and living in the quaint house beside us for most of their marriage, quietly watched us pack up the last hope for our marriage from their front porch. They held hands, drank a cup of coffee and rocked back in forth in their wooden porch swing observing a couple who didn’t have the grit they had to make a marriage last. They watched a couple who didn’t know what they knew; a couple who didn’t realize that marriage wasn’t suppose to be easy, nothing that was worth anything ever was. A set of young kids not giving life a chance to work things out, too immature to have ever been married, too immature to figure out how to make things work.

The wrinkles on their faces were webbed with wisdom and sadness as they watched us apologetically from the sidelines. I wiped the beads of sweat falling from my forehead with the back of my hand as I watched my neighbor bring his wife a cup of coffee. There were no words exchanged between the two of them because words were not needed. He knew exactly how she took her coffee and exactly when she wanted it. I, on the other hand, struggled to know what to buy my husband for a birthday present always settling for a gift card that he would politely thank me for with a swift kiss to my cheek. Turning my back to them, I knew I would never see them again. I was too weak and too ashamed to tell them goodbye.

He didn’t want any of our wedding pictures, “you can have them all” he said bitterly as he helped me load up the U-haul I had rented to acquire the rest of my belongings.

“Not even just one?” I whispered, hoping for any signs of remorse and change.

“No,” he said through grinded teeth, “not even one”.

“Stupid, bastard”, I thought to myself as I proudly slammed the door closed on the U-haul truck and started the engine. As I turned out of the driveway, I looked back in the rearview mirror, holding back the tears I felt swelling up and I saw him doing the same.

I almost turned around to tell him I had changed my mind. That I did love him and I wanted to be married to him and only him for the rest of my life. But, I didn’t


Hurt does not begin to explain what I put my ex-husband through. He didn’t want the divorce, so he claims, and choosing to believe him breaks my heart even more. Thousands of times I seeked forgiveness for leaving and thousands of times he has accepted, but his eyes told a different story. His heart is forever hardened and I will always be the bitch he wishes he could forget.

The divorce was a choice that seemed erratic and irrational to most of those around me, but I had my reasons—whether they seemed justified or not. Reasons I won’t expand upon out of respect for the man that I once called my Husband and a love I have for him that will never completely burn out. But the grounds that warranted my leaving was enough for me to walk out the door and leave the man I made a commitment before God to love forever. Although, regret and remorse would soon find me in this journey I was about to embark upon, at that moment, regret was one of the few emotions I was not experiencing; it was relief that was flowing through my veins and making me feel alive for the first time in a long time

Friday, October 30, 2009

Guess What I Did Today?

Stuffed envelopes. Alllllll daaaay loooong. Then I addressed those envelopes BY HAND because I couldn't remember how to format the label maker in Excel and I was too prideful to ask someone how to do this simple task because then they would think to themselves "And we trust HER to process our payroll?? What has this company come to?! Dumb Blone (NO, they do not know her that I'm a bottle blonde...I expect you to keep it a secret). So I now have black ink all over my hand, a new paper cut and 4 hours of my precious time wasted.

Word to the wise. If you are going to release your admin., do it AFTER all the the envelopes are stuffed because guess what? She probably won't want to stay and help you out after she lost her job. Instead, she will go home and curse your name and your little dog too! (Not that I know this....it's simply hypothetical).

Thursday, October 29, 2009

I Need Pet Insurance


This is what $600 will get you at the Veterinarian.

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

Don't you want us to bond?



Mark's daughter, although only 10 has a lot more in common with her daddy's girlfriend than one would think. This is something we have discovered over the past year (my one year anniversary with them in Halloween). We both love Hannah Montanna, Sour Patch kids, shopping at Justice, using puppy-dog eyes to get whatever we want out of Mark, fake crying, pulling pranks, wrapping houses and PUPPIES!

I took Julia for a little girl time on Saturday afternoon, while the boys went to play a little football and decided we would go to my favorite place, The Pet Store. I thought I was bad about dogs, but Julia is way worse.

"Call Daddy and ask him if I can have this puppy", Julia said as I rolled my eyes and thought in your dreams girlfrand but tried anyways.

"DON'T YOU DARE BRING ANOTHER SMALL DOG INTO MY HOUSE", Mark told me, then texts me, then called me back to make sure I heard him clearly the first time.

My only advice to Julia was, "Well, maybe if you pretend like you still believe in Santa, you can ask him for it and then your dad will be trapped". She's contemplating it, but if you remember be 10, it's like sooooo last year to believe in Santa!

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

Washing my Mouth out with Soap

My brother says I have a dirty mouth and because of that he can't say that he agrees with my stance on the controversy below. (He's a pastor and I guess he can't say he agrees with me when I refer to a baby's milk provider as a t*tty). So, new goal...no dirty language! Keep me accountable! Grandmother, you have to wash my mouth out with soap the next time I say something Highly (not slightly) dirty on here!

Wize yous gotta be a Playa Hata?

Woo-hoo! Another "anonymous bashing session"!! Every time I get a new person tell me how rude, crude and sociably unacceptable I am through an anonymous comment it makes me want to jump out of my desk and do the Macarena.

Come on anonymous, what are you so afraid of? I mean I'm a nice gal; I would never punch you in the baby maker or kick you in the crotch with my new (and very expensive) pointy toed boots for your mean words. I embrace all opinions and comments, so long as they the commenter shows their face. You have a big problem with ignorant, self-righteous people like ME but what about you? See, that's the problem with YOU people. You have a problem with me and my political beliefs? Fine, so be it. I don't expect us to have the same opinion nor would I want that. It would make life boring. I don't think you are an idiot because you are an Obama fan...I am sure you reasons are just and well thought out. But, YOU with your strong beliefs and opinions are lacking the courage department. You remind me of the Lion in the Wizard of OZ. You may look tough and talk a big game while your walking along your yellow brick road or sitting all alone at midnight behind your computer screen eating bon-bons. But when it's time to show your face to the wizard (yes, I'm the wizard), you begin to shake in your boots. It's funny because I highly doubt you would have made the personal (not political) bashes about me if I knew who you were. I've played this game before and the last anonymous person that became exposed went back basically on every terrible thing she said about me the moment she was caught. I was a "great girl" with a "Godly heart" only after she publicly "Shamed me" if you will, once again all alone hidden by her computer screen.

Let's have a different opinion about Politics, hair color, religion and Jon and Kate Plus 8. But, the moment you make it personal is the moment I name you a coward. Besides, I'll take this as a complement because "Only people who are in the lead get kicked in the pants".

Monday, October 19, 2009

Breaking my Heart for What Breaks His

I'm going to be honest with you (not as if I'm not always painfully honest...haven't I told you I had to take a poop one time on here?). Since going through the "Big D" and I don't mean Dallas, I've had a gut wrentching fear that God has abadoned me. That I have failed so miserably, he has pushed me aside for more important buisness like oh I don't know...ruling over the Universe? Sunday school taught me growing up that I was so important to God that he knew every hair on my head. I remember being a kid and trying to see if I could count each individual strand. 1, 2, 3,...I would give up around 46. Although I would never know the number, I believed with all my heart that God did and it was enough.

This recent doubt was very new to me and I have had a hard time handling it. I have been RSVP'ing to my own pity party each and every week, never understanding why I haven't heard some great calling from God. It drives me freaking crazy when people say "God told me to....". Are you kidding me? Did he say it through a burning bush? In a dream? Did you have to build an Ark to hear him? I figured I must be on the Jesus' "B" Team would never understand what people meant when they said they heard from God.

Now let's travel back to yesterday morning at Church. It's Missionary Festival at my church and I've never been on a mission trip. I'm nervous to travel to Mesquite, Texas let alone China or Africa. Needless to say, I highly doubted the service would be one that has and will forever change my life. I'm sure your wondering? Did God call you to the mission field...NO, THANK GOD! I love Jesus but I love me some A/C, Nordstroms, Toliet paper and westernized living. But, I did hear from God.

I experienced something so real that it didn't have to be an audible voice, it was so much more clear than that. I don't know much about India except that their food looks and smells like baby dump and lingers on your clothes wash after wash. You practically have to burn your clothes to get the curry smell out. I also know that I have been prejudice towards these people because they are Muslim and I'm a Republican. That's like trying to mix oil and water...it just DON'T mix! Of course, I've been too prejudice to not assume all were radicals due to the few who are. I've never loved India, never had a desire for anything or anyone from there. Until Sunday.

Pastor Pete tells us to close our eyes and bow our heads in prayer, "Lord, break our hearts for what breaks yours". I silently say the prayer and a rush of emmotion pours over me. My heart begins breaking. The tears fall down my face as I listen to two people from India I would normally tune out because there accent was too thick, talk about the darkness and desperation in India. And then I hear it. "Adopt a child from India". Say what? That can't be right. I stick my finger in my ear to clear out the fuzz. But, yet again. "Adopt a child from India".

So, here I am. Trying to figure out what this all means, not sure where to go from here. It's crazy because I can't tell you the first thing about any of this. But I can tell you what I heard and that I will continue to listen with both ears for God's guidance, wisdom and perfect timing.

Friday, October 9, 2009

Top Ten Reasons Why I Deserve a Nobel Peace Prize

I am so excited that President Obama was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize. "GASP! OH THE HORROR! I thought she was a Christian??? Didn't Jesus tell all Christians to hate Obama before he ascended to Heaven on the third day?"

Well, if you must know the reason behind my puzzling excitement, it is for no other reason than now I, Jennifer Porter (once Robinson and once Porter-Robinson, but now just back to Porter), have a shot a being a Nobel Peace Prize Winner. I believe Obama and I are comparable to our contributions to World Peace and actually have a lot more in common that I thought (see below).

Is there like a drawing you can put your name in? Or a Survey on Why you think you deserve the prize? Well, if there was...below is my David Letterman Style, "Top Seven Reasons Why Jennifer Porter Deserves a Nobel Peace Prize". So what that I'm not great enough to have a top ten....obviously you don't have to be THAT great..


7.)In traffic during the morning commute, I didn't jump out of my car and punch the idiot in front of me for cutting me off.
6.) I too,allow the Olympics to distract me from more important issues. There's nothing more fascinating that black men beating the white guys in every event expect Gymnastics and Swimming.
5.) Obama may have street "cred" and the ability relate to all but so do I. I'm like a mullet-business in the front; party in the back.
4.)I would say off-the record (or on for that matter) that Kanye West is a idiot.
3.) I may not show it, but deep down...I'm a narcissist.
2.) My dog is from a puppy mill but it's justified because it was a gift.
1.) Sure I'll save the environment as long as the recycle bin is no further from the trash can....it's all about convenience. And if I had my own plane, I would totally use a years work of gas for a night at the theater (drill baby, drill!)

I'm not too sure how I contributed to World Peace from our similarities above except that I, too stand by my moral belief in saving the lives of the innocent. defending the weak and honoring our brave....oh, wait that's not something Obama and I have in common.

Thursday, October 8, 2009

Blood Drive

BLOOD DRIVE-REMINDER pops into my inbox this morning and instantaneously I feel as if I may pass out. These friendly little reminders have been invading my work email for the past two weeks and although I have immediately deleted the intruder the moment I receive, it did not prevent the “for a good cause” blood drive hoopla from making its way to our company building. Today is the day.

I lean over my desk and pull back the blinds, lined with dust, and watch the sleek white Mega RV pull up precisely outside my window of the building. The blood-red cross plastered across the side even makes me woozy. Big boobed blondes in their scrubs fall in line outside of Dracula’s castle, disguised as a transportable blood center. Their cleavage may work on the DOM (dirty old men) in my building, but no boobs are big enough, firm enough or fake enough to work on me.

Okay, don’t make me feel any shoddier about my unyielding decision not to be a blood donor but frankly, I just can’t do it. I mean, shouldn’t doing the right thing feel good? Not make you pass out and plead with the RN for an extra orange juice box and a cracker? Yes, I know it saves lives and one day it could be mine blah, blah, blah yada, yada, yada, but I would rather have a colonoscopy on live on the Ellen show than give blood. It has to be the most evil form of torture for me.

My father, God love him, did this to me. Sorry Dad, but it’s true. You dragged me into the local Masonic Lodge (which was terrifying in itself…have YOU ever been in a building with ZERO windows??) at the age of seven and while you had your veins poked and prodded for your precious blood, the masons sat me down at the table covered with blood bags. The mixture of semi-cult atmosphere and the skyscraper of blood bags made blood donation my own personal real life nightmare.

Any time I have to give blood, I sweat like a hooker in church, pass out multiple times and act like an absolute idiot. Just ask my mother. She is truly embarrassed to go to the doctor with me. Do you know what I fear about having giving birth? The needle that they stick in your arm….that has to stay there! That is inconceivable!

So today when everyone in my office is released to go give blood, I will hide under my desk and use I the excuse, “I was out of the office”, to hide my amorphous ethics in regards to blood donation. I will be looked down upon, degraded and tainted as the uncaring spectator who wont help a dying child that needs my blood. Maybe I should find my own cotton ball and tape it to my arm so it looks like I gave blood….would it be COMPLETELY morally and ethically wrong to do that?

Friday, September 25, 2009

Chili Coke Roast

I did it! I am so proud of myself. So proud in fact, I THINK IT CALLS FOR ME TO BEGIN SPEAKING IN CAPITAL LETTERS. So I may be gushing at my own excellence but this is one of the rare ocassions I have EVER been able to bask in the success of a meal I have cooked. I've always had dirty hot fantasies of me sweaty in the kitchen working hard to prepare a warm meal for my man, and this week I did it and did it without burning, drying out, over cooking, under cooking, not cooking, forgetting to heat, leaving it frozen in the middle, buying it from the store and then secretly transferring it to my own pots and pans. I made a roast that (from the mouth of Mark), "may be the best roast I've ever tasted". HA! Take that Ex-wife!! This "teenie bopper" just ran circles around your roast!

Mark loved the roast so much, he insisted we eat it for left over the next night when the kids were home...and guess what? THEY LOVED IT. YES! ONCE AGAIN, THIS IS SO EXCITING IT CALLS FOR ALL CAPS. So, because I am SO nice I'm going to share the goods. The recipe is below. I've always wanted to share a receipe. This is so domestic!!

Chili Coke Roast

1 Roast
1 Can of Coca Cola
1 pkg. Onion Soup Mix
2 Cups of BBQ Sauce

Just dump it in a Crock Pot and cook for 8 hrs. Yumm Yumm

Friday, September 18, 2009

The Wrap-Up

The week has been slow, rainy, dreary and relatively boring. I apologize to my readers that my life isn’t as depressing as it use to be, causing my blog posting to be mediocre and less than amusing to those who thrived on the pleasure they derived from my pain. Happiness isn’t as interesting as a depression. This is a reality I have found evident recently. It’s amazing how many “friends” have disappeared after Blair’s wedding. Honestly, were you just my friend out of curiosity? For gossip’s sake? Did you like me better when I was bitter with baggage? Now that I'm happy and content, is it not as juicy?

Anyways, I’m over it—just had to get it out there. I did, however find out some interesting facts about myself at a job-required training that I participated in on Tuesday….

As a recovering self-centered, egomaniacal, narcissist I found it easier to remove my kidney with a butter knife than point out my personal flaws in a situation…especially a relationship situation; particularly male/female relationship situations. I have been recovering nicely from this minor personality kink, and just a week ago believed that I was fully-recovered and my flaw was diminished. Mental note, usually when you think are healed/better/smarter/cuter/ than or from something/someone/situation, science will come, bite you in the butt and prove your happy theory wrong.

Apparently this week I found out I am one giant ego that expects and demands my personal rules be followed by all, thanks to the nice little training and test we recently implemented into our company. We have a pre-employment test that reads your thinking process; what scientist believes is the root to all personality characteristics. Well, according to the “fabulous and highly reliable” test, I have found out that I am plain and simple…a bossy bitch.

At the training class as the doctor that has created this test is reviewing MY RESULTS in front of the entire class, I sink down in my chair completely embarrassed. Finally I speak up and I’m all like ARE YOU SURE THIS IS RIGHT and he’s all like OH, QUITE SURE and I’m like WAIT, ARE YOU REALLY SURE BECAUSE I DON’T THINK YOU ARE SURE and he’s like I’M A DOCTOR and I’m like YOU’RE A DOCTOR OF NOTHING, YOU BIG NOSED DORK and he’s like AS THE TEST PROVES, YOU ARE A MANIAC HOE BAG and I’m all like I’M GOING TO KICK YOUR ASS YOU FAKE DOCTOR and then we restled, my shirt was ripped off and Girls Gone Wild camera men were called. They filmed the whole thing and the fight will be featured on the "Office Girls Gone Wild" DVD that will arrive in an adult store near you, this fall. Okay, so maybe that didn’t happen...

Anyways, so the test really showed me a lot and opened my eyes to some serious relationship "No-No"s that I have been guilty of doing. What’s funny is I truly had no idea that I had been doing this UNTIL, I got the test and realized that’s exactly what I had been doing. Basically I have been expecting my partner to follow a regimen of rules and expectations that could truly never be met. Fortunately, now that I am aware of what I have the tendency to do, hopefully I will not do it, or continue to do it in the relationship I am in. I’ve loved three guys in my life—my high school sweetheart, my ex-husband and my Mark. I’m thinking the third times a charm, especially with my new found knowledge. Another, mental note—don’t make your boyfriend take the test and then lecture him about all the things HE is doing wrong in the relationship and what YOU think that HE should do about it. Yeah, that wasn’t very smart on my part….

I can’t think of anything else to tell you except, I accidentally called someone at work fat; I think I’m secretly being tape-recorded; my dog has now resorted to not only peeing on Mark but now pooping on him; I got to see my awesome girlfriends last night and had a blast chatting over pizza and wine; Mitch has his first football game of the season tomorrow;when I grow up I want to be a cake-baker; and I backed my car into a tree.

That was my week. HAVE A GREAT WEEKEND!

Wednesday, September 9, 2009

This one's dedicated to the Whales

Yesterday was a hard day. To begin with the hem went out in one leg of my pants and I walked around for a good two hours with the left pant leg to my Capri’s 4 inches longer than the other. What is it with the smiling happy people that surround you who claim to be your friends, yet fail to tell you when you have a giant tree branch stuck in your tooth, a booger hanging out of your nose, or I don’t know….one pant leg that’s longer than the other?? Did they get secret pleasure in the illusion of one of my limbs being significantly longer than the other? Thankfully, the sweet temp (yes temporary employee, who’s only known me for what, 5 minutes?!) informed me of my clothing malfunction and I was able to correct the hem with an entire roll of scotch tape before my big meeting.

Yes, I have been guilty of this travesty as well. I have sat across from a dear friend with the biggest piece of pepper smack dab in the middle of her two front teeth that made her look like a snagle-toothed hillbilly, yet I failed to say anything to her, allowing her to be victim to awkward looks from the super cute waiter that quickly decided to focus his attention all on me (what?! Purely coincidence people!). I’m sure if she would have known she would have stabbed me with her dessert fork, but instead I allowed her to get in her car after we embraced and probably find it herself in the console mirror moments later, giving me the one finger wave out her window.

And this only started my crappy day. Confidantes, no day is a good day when you have to conversate with your ex and yesterday happened to be one of those days. It’s not hate that makes it a horrible event, its memories. It’s a reminder that the person you once called your spouse, doesn’t know you anymore, doesn’t want to know you anymore and doesn’t care about your current struggles because “the bitch had it coming”. There are ramifications to being divorced, one of those being every 3-4 months (especially in the first few years) something rises to the surface that requires communication between the two former mates. That happened yesterday, no need to bore you with what it was regarding, the point is I had to communicate with the ex and for me at least, it’s an emotional thing…still. And before you go there, yes I am over him. Yes, I know he’s married and no I don’t want him back…trust me.

No emotion was in the brief exchange, but there was a one liner that brought up feeling in me. Remember, I haven’t spoken to him in months, when he said his vows I knew it was no longer my place. These three words at the end of our final email exchange may not mean anything to you but they did to me – Best of Luck. Best of Luck? I could feel the blood drain from my face as I re-read the simple words over and over again. Sure, I’m not expecting (nor wanting) a “I love you and always will” sign off, but “Best of Luck”?? How impersonal, final and eerie is seeing that from a person, once upon a time you promised forever with.

I have fully accepted the fact that I’m divorced and have come so far in the past year. I am in love with an amazing man that I hope to have a long and happy life (until he is so old, I have to stick him in a nursing home—KIDDING) with. But, I’m obligated to you (my faithful readers) to tell you when I hit a little speed bump and yesterday was definitely a speed bump. And, no this was no the end to my bad day….read on, oh faithful ones….

So Mark and I both had to deal with our exes yesterday (that’s a completely other story that I would love, love LOVE to tell you, but I have to get permission from Marky-poo first. He tends to think my stories can be just a bit melodramatic, silly mark). Anyways, we decided to go work off some steam and had a great workout.

“You pick the place, babe”, I say-after all it is your wallet we will be using. He pulls up probably to the worse place he could have picked on a day like the day I had yesterday. Stucking it up, I went in had a club sandwich and thought about the last time I was in this chain restaurant. I think about how cold and bitter I was over a year and a half ago as I sat across from the man who had hours before told me “Best of Luck”. The man who I informed I had filed for divorce as he sat grief stricken across from me and my potato soup back then. I hadn’t returned to this place, until yesterday. I could sense the tears swelling behind my eyes but I managed to keep them in check, until my lovely boyfriend told a story that catapulted me to a bloody mess of tears and snot.

I had gone home to visit the family and missed church at Bent Tree on Sunday. Mark told me of the message Pete delivered, as I threw any benefit to the exercise I had just completed, munching on the crispy bacon on my sandwich. Basically, he told me that the message was on trusting God. How we fail to trust God because we really don’t believe/trust that God loves us just as we are. Well, that did me in.

As the tears began to fall, I knew that message was exactly how I felt. I use to say I was mad at God, as a cop-out, when really I was so ashamed of who I was. The problem with God is you can’t hide anything from him. He doesn’t know me from the blog I write, from the story I have rehearsed of my divorce-he knows EVERYTHING. It’s a pretty frightening thing, especially when your everything is pretty ugly. I too often, lie in bed and think there is no way God could love such an ugly heart. It’s a battle I fight daily. Knowing God’s word, but failing to believe it for my life. I didn’t trust God to heal my marriage, so I took my own path, doing what I thought was the right thing because deep down, I didn’t believe God really loved me. You can get use to feeling numb. It all came tumbling down. All the hurt, the hurt I have caused, the nothingness I felt and the relationship with God I am so desperate to recover. In the daily routine, it so easy to push it all away and deal with jobs, dinner and TV. You can forget it for moments but they will come back.

I understand one day, this will all be a distant memory. Something I look back on and have trouble remember what I felt, how I felt and the decisions I made that forever affected my life and the lives of others. There will come a day, where I will no longer hold on to the guilt that still faintly haunts me in my moments of weakness. But, yesterday was not that day. Yesterday was a day that I hurt again. A day my sins showed up to bite me in the arse and remind me of my failure to trust in God. It wasn’t the loss of B that made me mourn yesterday, it was the loss of the hope I walked down the aisle and made a commitment to trust in at an early age. Sometimes I think the divorce has been harder due to the fact I am a Christ follower. It gives you a shame and guilt that I don’t think other’s have to experience. That has been the worst part. Yes, it was horrible that I let my spouse down, but what is so much worse is I let God down. That’s the thing I have trouble handling. Grasping- understanding how to get over.

I do know that God has his hand over me; I can see it with the immeasurable blessings he has given me. In my relationships, the mending of my heart and his unfettering love that I can amazingly still feel despite my disappointment to him. My faith will continue to grow and I will see the big picture in God’s plan for my life. I will understand his love is unchanging and I will believe for myself. I can already see it now.

And on top of it all, I watched this show on animal planet last night about whalers and I watched in shear horror a whale die. It was so disgusting; I secretly wished bodily harm to the Japanese who were malicious in their hunt. I would have liked to kicked them in the head with my cowboy boot and said “This is for Pearl Harbor and for the Whales, you commi bastards!”.

Okay, that’s enough for now….until next time.

Thursday, September 3, 2009

Are you Smarter than a 5th Grader?

The fastest way to learn things you should know but dont is to prepare your boyfriend's 5th grade daughter for her geography test. Although I act like I know the answers, I'm really learning along with her. For instance, did you know that the capital of Pennsylvania is Harrisburg? Ironcially, as I type this, the 5th grader is telling me how to spell both Pennsylvania and Harrisburg. I thought Pennsylvania was a train station in New York and that Harrisburg was a department store. What will I do when it comes to algebra, geometry or personal hygiene - subjects I know absolutely nothing about? Now I know why being a single parent is so hard: because you can't answer your child, "go ask your dad/mother" when you don't know the answer.

So, I may not be able to help her with the capital of Vermont, but I sure as heck can catch her up on the Jon&Kate plus 8 gossip. Besides, we all know that nerds don't go far in life. Whatever happened to that Screech guy anyway???

Monday, August 31, 2009

Big Brother Is Watching

No, I have not been on some luxurious vacation sipping mijitos and being fanned by a young Puerto Rican man in a speedo. It's not even necessarily writer's block that has kept me from my weekly blogging ritual. In fact, it's the dreaded day I knew eventually would come. The day my office, got smart and blocked the Internet. Oh the horror! How the heck am I suppose to get on with my daily routines and work procedures without being able to google the weird rash that has just popped up on my foot or knowing what Perez Hilton thinks about Britney Spears before I start processing people's payroll (joking).

All joking aside, yes my office has now blocked any and all decently fun Internet sites. Truly, I was not really an abuser of the Internet before this occurred. I would check my facebook once or twice daily as well as a few other things periodically throughout the day, but I actually have work to do during the day that required me to not devote my day to checking every one's facebook status to see who was eating what for lunch and why they hate their job, fifteen thousand bible verses, a few quotes from a book I probably said I read in high school and someone telling me about how much they love their husband. As riveting as every one's life and status is, I actually had work to do. Never the less, it was always nice around 2:30 in the afternoon to take a quick little 15 minute breather for mindless Internet searches. I would personally like to thank the guy who watched the entire Tiger Wood's golf tournament via his computer at work and was stupid enough to do it on the shared network which allowed all of IT and their mommas to see it. Now, dang it, people are actually having to earn the payroll I process.

I would catch you up on my life lately but it seems awfully narcissistic. As if, you really care how my casserole turned out tonight that I prepared for the kids and how sweet they were as they held their nose while they ate the side of green beans I have yet to master even though the directions are basically 1.) open the can 2.) put it in a pot 3.) heat and serve. I think I'm missing something because tonight it tasted like green rubber. Nor do you care that I had my very first cold sore in my life and I went and got a prescription filled for it and noticed the male pharmacist looking at my uncomfortably when I picked up my prescription. Unbeknown st to me at the time, (I learned this only after I googled the name of the prescription) the medicine was mainly used for Genital Herpes. Nice. My local pharmacist now thinks I'm infected with a STD--which I'm NOT people, let me just clarify that. Needless to say, the medicine did work and my cold sore went away allowing my vanity to once again sail full force.

other than that life is good. I will try to find the time to do a little more blogging and get back in the groove of playing my violins for my small audience behind the computer screen. Until next time...

Tuesday, August 11, 2009

Flossing, yet another thing I prentend to do.

Flossing sounds so sophisticated. Only performed by those few in the select club of hygiene so outstanding, mere mortals could walk up to these elect and use their slimy tissues as an anti-bacterial wipe. You probably know at least one person that falls into this category. Someone who smells like wildflowers after working out rather than an old gym sock that was deep fried then left in a toilet for a few days. Well, I'm definitely the latter in the above scenario. As a matter of fact, my hygiene isn't really all that great, period. My feet stink so bad sometimes, I notice my dog starts sniffing his own butt to take away from my lingering stench. Being guilty at least once a week of forgetting to brush my teeth at night is just the beginning. My college girlfriends, as a term of endearment of course, like to refer to my smell after a nice work-out as "man b.o.".

My mother recently came up to visit and began to tell me of my brother who had disclosed horrific news to her; he had not been to the dentist in over 6 years. Well, I'm not too far from that nightmare of my mother's as well. When our life-long family dentist decided to retire, Jake and I decided to retire our twice a year cleaning ritual as well. Although, I have gone to the dentist once in the six years, this habit of hygiene my mother attempted to instill in her children has failed.

"Mom, I think I may even have a cavity", I said after I told her I hadn't been to the dentist in two years (reality is four).

"Oh, No!", a look of horror rushes over her face, "What makes you think that?".

"Well, a big piece of my tooth fell out", I reply, "Do you think that is a sign?".

Ever have those dreams where your teeth become really loose and begin to fall out? Well, my reality isn't too far from that dream. A piece of my tooth actually fell out. That's gotta be a bad sign.

You've gotta wonder how a dog does it. You know, keeps that nasty mouth of theirs so clean. Maybe Mark should throw me a raw-hide bone every night for me to lie on the floor and chew while watching the nightly news. Or maybe their is healing powers in licking your own bum. Either way, all I know it that Huck's breath smells like a garbage truck yet, his teeth are probably healthier than mine.

Don't hound me, I'll suck it up and spend the money to go to the dentist. (After I pay for my trip to Vegas, which of course trumps my oral health). I'm scared to death that they are going to have to put a filling in every one of my teeth...my bank account certainly hopes not.

Friday, August 7, 2009

I wonder...

....if the douche bag executive with his bimbo secretary outside of my office's mirrored first floor window knows that I can see him fondling her tight rear with his gold banded left hand?

Thursday, August 6, 2009

My Mother

She arrived last night after a 5 hour drive from Houston. I was proud of her success in treking through downtown Dallas in rush hour during a severe thunderstorm warning. She smiled politely and held her tongue as she weaved around the boxes in my apartment that held the half of my possessions I decided I didn't feel like unpacking. Opening my refridgerator to see a grapefruit, strawberry yogurt, diet coke and a piece of cheese still didn't phase her positive outlook on my food, or lack there of. As she crawled into bed last night, she quickly swept off the tiny crumbs of dirty on the sheets from my dog's toenails and settled in comfortably.

Once upon a time, this would not have been my mother. The boxes would have been unloaded, sheets changed, dog washed and grocery shopping accomplished before we would have headed to bed. You see, my mom and I are quite different. She is a perfectionist; tidy is her middle name and she can do about a million things at one time. I, on the other hand, am...hmmm...what do you call it?? A MESS. I am a big fat mess that is blind to the cotton ball that missed the trash can or the diet coke can that has been sitting on my dresser for a week.

The dynamics in our relationship have slowly changed. She has evolved from care-taker to friend. Instead of fixing the mess I call my life, we enjoyed looking at our facebook pages and chatting about nothing. I love my mother and am excited for her visit and the fun we will have just spending some much needed and over due time together. All you have to do is give her a glass or two of wine and she's ready to party. Or as she says it, "Wooo, that glass of wine sure made me feel relaxed!"

Thursday, July 23, 2009

Is that a Rat or a Hair Extention?

One of my hair extensions fell out in the hallway at work today. The worst part about it was I didn't even notice the chunk of my hair missing and continued walking, leaving the evidence that I am NOT a natural beauty behind me. Lying in the middle of the hall looking like an anorexic rat or maybe the loss of some weave left behind in a mall parking lot from two black girls duking it out over their baby daddies, was my hair extension. The humiliation killed me. I actually died. They had a funeral for me and giant elaborate floral arrangements in the shape of a heart. Tears fell onto my coffin as people loudly wept, "If we had only known her hair was fake!".

Anyways, so that was my embarrassing moment of the day. Do I have any readers that can top it? If I wasn't already dead I would bet my life on it that no one can beat it.

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

What a Beautiful Mess...


"What a beautiful mess this is. It's like picking up trash in dresses"

The past year has been quite a journey for me. A year ago today I met Mark during the most vulnerable and destructive time in my life. Believing I was "damaged goods", often in the beginning of getting to know him, did not feel worthy to be with someone as strong as him. My past was shameful and my stripes were visible. Here stood a man who seemingly had it all together. A warrior during his divorce; a martyr for his family and a rock-solid example of recovery done the 'right' way.

His courteous behavior, good looks and extensive vocabulary made me say "yes" to a second date, but it was what I discovered underneath his outward bravery that made me drawn to his side. He was like me; both of our hearts were disfigured. We were broken from our divorce but it was no concern because we were wounded together.

After our first few dates, I was listening to a song that perfectly described what I was feeling: "Near to you I am healing but its taking so long. Though he's gone and you are wonderful, it's hard to move on. Yet, I'm better near to you".

I didn't know much and couldn't truly understand and dissect what I was feeling, but I knew I was better when I was with Mark. Although I would cry over missing B, I wanted to cry with Mark. Our first year together has truly been a "beautiful mess". We have been able to fall in love with each other in the most open and honest of ways. Although, I was quite reluctant at first, slowly but surely I could no longer deny who he had become to me. He has truly been my backbone during this time and I often stop to thank God over and over again for having brought him into my life. He is my biggest fan and my greatest supporter. We have mourned with each other over the destruction of our families yet celebrated each new step we take in the right direction.

Thank you Mark, for your strength and your vulnerability. Thank you for loving me despite my flaws. You know and understand my heart. You are kind when I do not deserve it. You have a servant's heart and you constantly show me Jesus' love through it. You love your kids with a passion I can't describe and love me that way, too. (And you are TRYING to love Hucky as well). I am excited to share life with you. Look at how far we have come....the wait was so worth it!

Friday, July 10, 2009

The First Time

Nervously sitting in the parking lot with my car parked and running, I rummaged through my giant Mary Poppin's purse in desperate search of some sort of wipe; no such luck. Anxiously hitting my glove compartment with my fist, it flew open spilling out a mass amount of junk; car payments, toothbrush, insurance card, dog toy, make-up,but no wipes, not even a used tissue. I grabbed the anti-bacterial hand gel I had found and my purse and used that to get the job at hand done. Silently agonizing over the sting it cause, I didn't bother to take the time to clean up the mess I had made. I turned off the car, took a deep breath and hesitantly walked towards the door.

Smiling faces and gleaming eyes greeted me as I scurried through the doorway. Walking up to the counter, I could feel the heat from my neck turning scarlet red due to embarrassment.

"I have an appointment at 3:00 p.m" I quietly told the tiny lady behind the granite counter, "My name is Jennifer Porter".

"What you here for" the little Chinese lady questions as she skimmed through her notepad, "I can't find you on here!"

Her mild hostility made me start to sweat. I could feel the perspiration under my arms in full force and the tiny beads forming on the back of my neck. I noticed a few people begin to look up from their activities to eaves drop on the conversation that had quickly turned interesting. Leaning over the counter, I motioned to her to with my hand to come closer and discreetly whispered my request into her ear.

"What kind you want?" the lady loudly and impatiently asked me as she stood eye-level with my chest.

Trying to find the words to express my request, I hesitated before I spoke, "Ummmm, I would like, ummmm, the, you know...private job?"

Tilting her head to the side, she lifted the Bic pen to her mouth and began to ponder on my request. As the light-bulb went off in her head, her eager hands shot up in the air, "OHHHH, I know, I know. You come to have your Choo-Choo waxed!" Grabbing my arm she began to lead me hastily through the busy salon, loudly chirping, "Come with me, I take to you to the back to get your wax job done. You want bikini wax or you want whole thing gone. You want whole thing gone? I only charge you 20 dollas mo. It's real nice. You so pretty, you going to love it. White men love it. You want manicure and pedicure when done? Only 30 dollas mo".

Slamming the door behind me, I took a deep breath and threw myself against the back of the door. I had been taken to a seclude room, or rather a broom closet, in the back of the salon. The room was bare except for the long massage table with disposable paper covering the top and the wax and strips of cloth that sat neatly on the small metal table beside it. Shuddering at the image of my grim surroundings, I began to question the choice I was making, "So what's wrong with a little hair slipping out of your bikini? Everyone has it. It's not that big of a deal."

Before, I could reason myself out of the room, back into my car and home simply to shave, the petite Chinese lady from the counter entered the room, gloved hands in front of her body like a surgeon about to perform a triple bi-pass.

"Okay, you ready?" she asked as she walked past me to turn up the heat on the bowl of yellow wax.

The buttons on my pants seemed to stick more and more with each attempt I made. My fingers were like jello and it seemed an eternity before my pants were on the floor. Sliding up onto the table, the wax er shook her finger to the soon to be waxee and instructed me to remove my underwear.

Panties on the floor, now I felt violated. Was it not bad enough to be forced into once a year allowing a basic stranger to poke and prod at my boobs, make me pee in a cup and stick a long Q-tip up my vagina? But now by my own admission, I exposed myself again only for pure vanity.

Following her instructions, I layed down on table and cringed and the feel and the sound of the paper crinkling beneath me. Spreading my legs, and closing my eyes, I gripped onto the side of the table for dear life. At first, she was very gentle as initially applied the warm wax. For that moment in time, it was almost soothing and I thought they should put some lavender candles in the room to ease the nerves of first timers.

Laying the strip of cloth over the hot wax, she glanced up to me and grinned. "Okay, you ready now?" she said with her innocent smile on her face, "This going to hurt reaalllll bad".

Before I knew what hit me, I was gasping for air, shocked by the pain that pulsated through my entire body, "SHIITTTTTTTTT!!" I screamed as I threw myself into a sitting position and began blowing with all my might on the red patch of hair free skin on my left inner thigh. Giant roars of laughter exploded out of the small-framed woman and I sensed the shear pleasure she was having on my inflicted pain.

Patting my leg, she told me to calm down stating eventually I would just go numb. "Only 39 mo times!" she yelled to me and she continued to torture me with every strip she ripped from me.

Dripping with sweat, I waddled out of the salon 30 minutes later looking like a plucked chicken and feeling like I spent an evening in Guantanamo Bay. I baffled at the price women will pay for beauty and was shocked that I had scummed to the temptation. Although, I swore I would never return, the benefit of not having to shave for an entire summer provided me with a worry free bikini season. The very next summer, I was back in the salon, ready for my "choo-choo" wax. It's like women who have children over and over again. Yes, the pain was unbearable, but the results make you forget.






Tuesday, July 7, 2009

Mother's Words of Wisdom

"Some people just have really big butts. They can't help it. They were just born that way"


Thank you Mother, for that insightful wisdom in yesterday's phone conversation. I now know that some people just have really big butts! :) Love you.

Monday, July 6, 2009

Independence Day

The fourth of July is one of my favorite holidays, it is a reminder to be appreciative of the gift of freedom we so often take for granted and to be thankful that we weren't attacked by Alien forces and mankind's only hope depended on Will Smith. I love this country and what we stand for....even if Obama is my president and I am constantly reading obnoxious bumper stickers such as "My President is BLACK".

Fireworks, BBQ's, Flags and Margaritas are some one the many benefits of the celebration, but just like Christmas, my favorite thing is the music. One of the things I loved most about Prestonwood was their 4Th of July celebration. They have a tribute to the troops and the music is just fantastic. Mark, who was once a member of Prestonwood as well, and I were talking about how much we enjoyed the service and decided we would go together this past Sunday.

Returning to Prestonwood was a very surreal experience. This was the church I joined, reluctantly, when I married my now ex-husband. I have had so much resentment for that church. Feeling attacked and judged, I returned the favor by judging them harshly with biase. Walking into Prestonwood, I had a mixture of emotions and thoughts running through my head. Part of me felt ashamed; afraid that people would recognize me and think I had a lot of nerve showing up at the church I so strongly wanted no part of. I sat down in the pew with a negative attitude and a "woe is me" outlook. Making eye contact with the pastor who just shy of a year ago, told Mark that God would not honor any future relationship I would ever have and that I was unrepentant and guilty of destroying my marriage, stirred up all the anger that was still festered in my heart. I felt the tears swell in my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I would not be weak, "they were the one who should pay; they are the ones who casted the stones", I thought to myself.

Settling into my seat in the pew, I prepared myself for an hour and 15 minutes of misery. I closed my eyes and pretended to pray, but all I was really doing was blocking out the images that surrounded me; the familiar faces in an all too similar setting. Looking around, I saw all the people who were once a vital part of my life and it stirred up memories of people I had long forgotten; "Thank you lady in the yellow jacket,four rows down, for my Pink Kitchen Aid Mixer you bought me at 1 of the 5wedding showers this church threw me".

The music began to play and I hesitantly stood up to join the 300 person choir in song and in that moment God pulled my heart strings. God met the one place I believed I couldn't ever find him be the one place where I did. The worship service and message was deeper and was more meaningful to me on a personal level than I had experienced in a long time.

God met me in my personal battlefield. He helped me let go and forgive people and situations I realized I hadn't let go of. As I left the service, I felt a new peace and a new appreciation for that church and the people who call it their home. Do I think that I will rejoin P-wood? No, but I do not feel ashamed to show my face there, nor do I feel a need to look down on the church for their faults. There will never be a perfect church, because there are no perfect people. Even if their outlook and perspective of me never change, it doesn't matter. I am only thankful that views have changed and that once again God has chipped away yet another buried sin in my life.

Friday, June 26, 2009

On another note.......

.....my feet are so stinky. They say everyone can handle the smell of their own odor, but that is NOT the case. My feet smell like a mixture of an old folks home, frito pie and sausage. I really don't know what to do. I have tried EVERYTHING.

I've put babypowder in my shoes, rubbed deodorant on my feet (warning don't try to use the same deodorant that you use for your arms on your feet...hindsight is 20/20), foot scrubs, masks and even sang to them....nothing works.

I have tried to hide this travesty from my boyfriend with little success. Blaming it on his kids worked for a while, but not so much when the smell still exsist and they are 5 miles away at their mom's house. He caught me red handed the other day fully dressed with my feet in the sink trying to use kandoo hand soap to quickly wash away the stentch. Needless to say, I need a solution.

Got any ideas????

Remebering

I've been thinking a lot today about the concept of remembering someone once they are out of your life. When no more memories can be created and all you have left to cling to is the past; what do you choose to remember and what do you choose to forget? Do the memories you hold onto define the person you are recollecting or do they define who you really are?

Forget turning on a radio, television or pulling up an Internet site without finding the story on Michael Jackson. I have rolled my eyes over and over again today as I've heard person after person 'honor' the memory of Michael Jackson. As I listened to the radio d.j. on my lunch break, weep about the legacy of M.J. and the tragedy of his death, I nearly threw up in my mouth.

I boiled as I thought how screwed up it is to live in a World that cries over the loss of a child molester all because we love singing "Billy Jean" at the top of our drunken lungs at wedding receptions and tacky 80's dance clubs. Do these D.J.'s and country bumpkin callers from Wylie,Texas even know the affects his selfishness and sickness will have indefinitely on those children's lives? Maybe because I've seen the results of child molestation I am more sensitive but, does it seem fair that we praise his life and yet shun a President that didn't lead a nation up to 'our standards'? How is it that society can remember only the good and forget all the terrible actions for some people and not for others? It made me sick, disgusted and left me feeling sorry for those simple-minded people who lacked intelligence. Then it hit me....I'm the one who is wrong. I am the one with the ugly heart.

Here I am, expecting you all to look at the good in me and not to remember my faults. To stand up for me and attack those who attack me......"Poor, pitiful Jennifer. Just trying to tell her story but, is constantly hounded by these hurtful people who are cruel and mean"..

How am I being any different with Michael Jackson? None of us deserve Grace from God, but guess what??? He gives it to us anyways!! Calming down, taking a breath and giving a little grace is the right thing to do, especially from a person who is constantly asking for grace to be extended. I think when we realize that we are not the judge, our lives become a lot easier.

People come in and out of our lives everyday. We lose loved ones we never thought we would lose and we gain people, we never thought we would gain. But, what we choose to remember about someone doesn't define them....it defines US.

Tuesday, June 23, 2009

Casting out Stones

Have you ever read the story of the woman caught in adultery in the bible? Although I've heard it a thousand times, I’m not sure if I ever implanted myself in that story – who would I be in this scenario? Am I the woman about to be stoned or the Pharisee about to exercise the law over someone’s choices, or am I Jesus who sees both the Pharisee and the woman as equals?

There have been plenty of times when I have been the adulterer. My inappropriate behavior(example whispering "that's what she said" repeatedly through a Sunday Sermon)has made me the the subject of public shaming. My faults in my divorce lead me to this as well.

A few months after the divorced, I started dating Mark. He made me feel giddy and I liked him almost instantly. Shortly after Mark and I started dating, I received a phone call laced with uneasyness from him. Prestonwood, a church I had once called home, had contacted Mark to warn him of the dangers of Satan's mistress a.k.a. ME. I was humilitated. They bashed me and shamed me to a man I barely knew. The pastor did not literally try to kill me, but he tried to kill my reputation and sense of worth by casting stone after stone through the phone as he spoke to my recent beau. He told all of my sin all the while failing to see the sin he was doing in that exact moment. He had become the Pharisee.

When we become the Pharisee in the story,it becomes so easy to go from questioning the adulterer's behavior to actually hating, demeaning them, throwing them out in the dust and gathering up stones to kill them. I, too have been guilty of becoming the Pharisee in past situations. I have looked down to see rocks in my own hands.

When we become the Pharisee, we look down at the adulterer and see their salvation hanging in the balance of our own determination, as if somehow we make the call. When we start to think that way, "Salvation" depends not upon Christ's perfection and obedience, but on some strange set of rules combined from your upbringing and proof-texting.

If my salvation was based on works, I would be doomed to an eternity apart from my savior. You would be too. As Christians we have freedom in Christ. No, not freedom to act like heathens and sin openly without accord. But, rather a freedom to know that when we fail (which will happen everyday) God will not throw us out like a baby with the bath water. The failure to remember that God’s pleasure in us comes outside of us (in Christ) causes the heart to forget that God sings over us because of the work He has done, not because of what we have done (Zeph. 3:15-17).

Preacher, Tim Keller said, "You are more wicked than you ever imagined and more loved and accepted than you ever hoped--that is the gospel".

Monday, June 22, 2009

I Have a Knight in Shining Armor

It's so reassuring to know you have people pulling for you. Someone who will always have your back and take your pain as their own. Mark defended me on his blog. Check it out:

http://markgardnerunplugged.myblogsite.com

Tuesday, June 16, 2009

I've Been Robbed!!!

Feminatizs broke into my apartment last night, stealing my tv, ipod, laptop and Alanis Morsette CD! No, I'm just kidding about it being a feminist, but seriously I hypothesis stands correct....I DO live in the Ghetto.

I was burglarized last night and traumatized (I'm sure my haters are thinking this is karma), however I truly thank the Lord that he protected me last night...and made me smart enough to sign up for renter's insurance last month.

Violated does not begin to describe it....add hurt, humilated, terrified and terrorized to the list. Growing up in a town where locking your front door is optional really had me dense about reality. I can't even go back to the apartment. I know I have to eventually, but it's completely ransacked.

Needless to say, I will be moving out of the apartment indefiniately at the end of the month and will be shackin up until then.

CSI came out to my place, which was stellar but it was nothing like the t.v. show. They didn't appriciate my references to the show either. Please keep me in your thoughts this week as I rummage through my remains and file claims for the insurance and police department.

Sunday, June 14, 2009

Serving my Man a Beer in my bikini whilst he watches ESPN.

In response to the annoymous comment

Why no signature on the comment? Not to say I don't understand what you are saying, but anonymity is a bit cowardly. Based upon your examples, LV purse, trips, restaurants, gift etc. you possess a real or 'perceived' view of me. My definition of chivarly does not necessarily equate with money spent. Now, am I fortunate in that area? Yes, but do I demand it? No. Do I appriciate it? Yes.

How do you make the leap from: 1.) feminism kills gender roles and chivarly (my blog's point), to 2.)I'm spoiled because I was fortunate enough to have a great home life and now have a man who has the desire and ability to treat me well? Chivarly does not equal money spent. Chivarly, in the back drop of traditional gender roles, means a man is free to express the definition as defined in the dictionary, "bravery, nobleness, courtesy and respect for women". This is what my blog was about. My point is, feminism kills that. Feminism does not allow a man to be brave in a relationship.

Listen, I have hours towards a Master's degree, a successful and very well paying job, yet when my man opens a door for me, I don't kick him in the crotch and say, "Do you know who I am? I run payroll for an entire company for goodness sake. I'll open my own damn door, thank you". I allow a man to be a man and I am grateful for those roles. According to my boyfriend (interesting side note) men are ecstatic to be allowed to be a man.

Am I spoiled...yes, good observation. My point is valid and has nothing to do with how much a man spends on a woman. Feminist are fighting a battle that shouldn't be fought. They are emasculating men and ruining it for single women everywhere.

Do I truly think all feminists are ugly? No, but if you are a regualar reader of my blog, you will know the extent of my sarcasm....and the size of my head.

In the Bible, submission to your husband does not mean weakness, nor does it mean powerlessness. In fact, it does not mean inability. Submission is God's acknowledgement that there is an order to the universe that when followed perpetuates success. Submission is a choice.

I was previously married with an attitude of independence. We all see how that turned out. I am learning that when you let a man be a man, they can do a pretty good job.

To my annoymous reader, reveal yourself and I'll take you to the next Louis Vuitton trunk show at Neimans, where we can sip on mimosas and talk about this futher...all on my man's credit card..mind you. :)

Friday, June 12, 2009

Feminist are Ugly

There I said it. I'm sure I'll have a group of irate butchish women picketing outside my house (go for it you'd last 5 minutes in my ghetto neighborhood) but it's true. 95% of feminist I have come into contact with has been completely unattractive--stringy haired, over-weight, bad skin, and border-line unacceptable hygiene. Hence, they become a feminist. My theory is women who can't get love from a man or didn't get enough from their daddy become feminist and now their screwing it up for the rest of us. (Listen, you gotta let go of the fact that you weren't nominated for homecoming court and we were).

The feminist movement is a complete disaster for the male/female relationship. The gender roles have gotten so screwed up and contorted men don't know how to act like men and women don't know how to act like women. This is why we have straight men who are 'prettier' than I am. I mean what the hell, guys--why don't you spend less time perfecting the spikes in your hair and lubing up with self-tanner and go fix a toilet or something?? And we have these women that are impossible to love due to their constant bickering over how 'pig-headed' men are and how superior women are. Honey, you will never land a good man with an attitude like that.

I got into a big discussion on facebook today on whether or not traditional dating is dying out. Well, they say chivalry is dead but I refuse to believe it. I'm a freakin pretty, pretty princess dang it! And this princess will settle for nothing less. For instance, "going dutch" is not in my vocabulary. Seriously, are you kidding me?! My personal belief is since we have to one day try to push a watermelon through a lemon-sized hole, I deserve free meals for life. Besides, it's a known fact that men make more money than women. I'm okay with that and refuse to complain because it all evens out in the end for me.
Listen, I have a good self-esteem and am told often of how "vain" I am. But what the heck is wrong with a good self-esteem? Isn't that why we tell our children how great they are? My father treated me like I was a princess and a princess I have become. I know my worth; I know I'm smart; I know I'm pretty....but I don't need to trump a man to prove it.

Men need to feel like men and women need to feel like women. Why are we trying to steal that from each other? I almost guarantee that if these 'feminist' had a good man that understood his role, they wouldn't mind being 'taken care of'. Besides, being a good wife is a very hard job. You SHOULD cook for your husband; You SHOULD put make-up on, stay in shape and keep him attracted to you; You SHOULD have his children and if being barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen is a part of that, I don't see anything wrong with it (although when I'm pregnant instead of cooking, I'll be barefoot hoovering over the sink eating left over Chinese food). This is why 50% of marriages end in divorce. People have thrown away the traditional gender roles in relationships and frankly, without them...a marriage has a hard time surviving.

Thursday, June 11, 2009

A Pictures Worth a Thousand Words

Normally when you ask someone the million dollar question, "If your house was on fire what three things would you get?", 99% of the time pictures are included in the list. Pictures are priceless. They hold all the memories and moments in life you found important enough to grab the camera and snap a shot. They help you remember how you felt at your high school graduation; the rush of adrenaline experienced during skydiving; the summer vacation to Disney World with your family. Pictures also make it hard to forget the memories you and your heart wish you could.

Oh, the tangled web we weave! Isn't it funny the hardships we bring on ourselves? Yes, I am once again guilty of this travesty. I, sucker for heartache and queen of snooping, found a way to see B's wedding pictures. (Oh come on, don't act like you haven't facebook stalked someone). Let me just say....OUCH! Now, that hurt.

I made it through the weekend quite nicely with the help from my amazing and supportive boyfriend, and a great set of friends and family who have loved me despite my evident flaws. Yes, I cried....but I had shoulder's to cry on. Yes, my heart hurt.....but it so quickly is mending with a new love which makes it impossible for my heart to break for long (yes, I'm talking about you, Mark....and Hucky of course).

Why, oh why come Monday morning did I throw a wrench into my healing? Like a true idiot, I looked at his wedding pics...him cutting the cake, dancing his first dance, saying his vows...and in that moment I couldn't help but flash back to the pictures under my bed of OUR wedding. Pictures with the same man doing those same things....except with me. It's a very weird feeling...it's almost like a different realm, too parallel to be the same person. I looked at his smile in his pictures and it looked so different from the smile he had in our pictures...I wondered which one was real or what made it different now.

Pictures can hurt. Mark had to go through and divide up a box of pictures and photo albums with his ex-wife. I hurt for him as he went through 14 years of memories trying to figure up how to divide the life he never wanted to split. I went through the pictures with him, trying to figure out the best way to be fair and for everyone to get what they wanted. But, there was no easy or fair way to do this. He had to loose memories...he had to give them away. As he hurt, I told him we could make new memories, new pictures and new photo albums, but I knew they would never replace the ones that he no longer has.

I love pictures and with each passing week, I create new memories with those I love. The same frames from years back now hold new pictures, new memories while the old picture which once held claim to the frame, now lie buried in a box beneath my bed.

Thursday, June 4, 2009

Sharing Scripture

A Sweet Friend of mine shared this scripture with me. She knew this week would be a telling and trying week. I am so thankful for wonderful friends. I love you all.


"Don't fret or worry. Instead of worrying, pray. Let petitions and praises shape your worries into prayers, letting God know your concerns. Before you know it, a sense of God's wholeness, everything coming together for good, will come and settle you down. It's wonderful what happens when Christ displaces worry at the center of your life.
Summing it all up, friends, I'd say you'll do best by filling your minds and meditating on things true, noble, reputable, authentic, compelling, gracious—the best, not the worst; the beautiful, not the ugly; things to praise, not things to curse. Put into practice what you learned from me, what you heard and saw and realized. Do that, and God, who makes everything work together, will work you into his most excellent harmonies." (Phillippians 4:6-9, The Message)

Tuesday, June 2, 2009

I Choose to be Thankful

I have been dreading this week for several months now. The unconscious time-clock in the back of my mind slowly ticking towards D-day. Scared for what or how I might feel.....How I could react. Would this week pull me in the wrong direction? Take me leaps and bounds back from how far I've come? I have been afraid of what this would make me become. Would I be bitter or re-enter the maddening world-wind of depression?

For those of you unaware of what this week holds--Blair is getting married. No, no...not to me to a NEW wife. Writing those words really makes it a reality; a reality that I am ready for. This has been a tough road, lots of up and downs with more to come, I'm sure. But, I am ready for this final icing on the cake.

Will I cry this weekend? Maybe. Will my heart break a little? I'm sure of it. Will I be okay? Without a doubt.

This is a chapter in my life that will reach its last few pages Saturday night. I will close the book, and store it away in the back of my heart and start a new one. I am thankful for the time I had with Blair. I do not regret our marriage, I never will. I loved him and I believed that he loved me and that's something you don't regret.

The hardest lessons you learn in life are the most valuable. I am thankful for the hard lessons I have endured this year. I am thankful for the hardships in our marriage and I am thankful that God forgave my weak and pathetic attempt at being good mate. Oh, how I choose to be thankful for the endless tears I have cried that has slowly but surely washed away my pain little by little, and cleansed me of the guilt I carried. I choose to be thankful that Blair will be someone elses husband in a few short days...that he is deserving of a second chance of a happy marriage and that I am deserving of it too. I am thankful for new opportunities and for lost opportunities becoming unavailable. I am thankful for blessing of Mark and a hope for the future with him.

Life keeps going. I'm not only moving on....I'm moving forward. "Life is like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance, you must keeping moving" - Albert Einstein.