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.