I think my family and I are in some sort of warped government experiment. I'm actually quite certain that a number of my friends must be a part of this same experiment, but I will focus on my evidence...
The government, particularly the Air Force, are seeing just how much jerking around one small family can take before they are literally driven insane and/or apart.
Allow me to explain:
If you have read my post "Romanticizing the Military" you will know that my family have received no support from our military community. I personally have made efforts to provide support for others to only PCS (move) from the base and later find out that all the work I did went defunct the minute I left.
But I digress... The Drill Sgt. is not a basic training drill sgt by trade in the USAF. I won't go into the job he normally does, but it involves aircraft maintenance. We volunteered back in December 2002 to do a "special duty" assignment as a basic training drill sgt. Volunteering came with certain promises to us.
For our THREE YEARS of volunteer duty of 17 hr days, 7 days for stretches as long as 16 weeks at a time without any time down we were promised the following:
A) we would serve not longer than 3 years of duty
B) WE would have the option of extending that duty to a 4th, but only at our choosing
C) He would be on a non-deployable status - that means no IRAQ folks!
Slowly but surely all of those promises have been broken.
The 3 years of duty was supposed to have us moving this past fall, but the military decided that they would involuntary extend us another year to a 4th year. I know this doesn't sound bad, but please re-read the duty hours as afore mentioned.
With this involuntary 4th year - we were promised a Base of Preference for our next duty assignment. So we thought, okay, this sucks but at least we get to choose where we go next. We can handle another year. So we back in August submitted out list of bases we wanted -
DENIED!
Great!
Then we found out that the Drill Sgt. would be extended to a 5th year of duty involuntarily.
DAMNIT!
Okay, we'll roll with it. Make plans. Tell the kiddos.
I just completed my college application to return to finish my degree literally last night to start in the fall.
Hubby has duty tonight all night and calls me 2 hours ago. Here is a run-down of our conversation:
Me: "Hey hun"
Drill Sgt: "Hey" (down-trodden)
Me: "What's up?"
Drill Sgt: "Well, I've got news... it seems that something went wrong and things got messed up and... anyway... it looks like we'll be getting orders to move this summer"
Me: "WHAT?!? What the Hell!" (pissed)
Drill Sgt: "Yeah, I'll either find out at a meeting later this month or maybe before then if I get issued orders."
Me: "Fucking Air Force. I guess I shouldn't have bothered to apply to college. DAMNIT! Just when I figured out what I was going to do."
Drill Sgt: "Yeah, I know. I'm sorry Hun. They (the air force) is doing it to all of us."
Me: "I guess we'll just have to roll with it, what will be will be. Oh-the-fuck-well!"
Drill Sgt: "I'm sorry Hun. I know you had plans for the next year and you were going to be able to finish your degree. I'm so sorry."
Me: "It's okay Babe. We'll just roll with it"
Drill Sgt: "I've got to get back to work. Call me before you go to bed. I Love You Sweetie. I'm sorry"
Me: "It'll be alright Babe. It'll be okay. I'll Call you later. I Love You too. Bye"
Drill Sgt: "Bye"
Okay, so now our life is back up in the air.
No college - maybe.
Moving in 6 months - maybe.
I'm so tired of this shit...
My life has been up in the air for 8 years now. Every time my husband gets jerked around, our whole family gets jerked around. I get jerked around. Our kids get jerked around. Our finances get jerked around.
So I guess we'll just wait and see what happens and then when it happens we won't believe it until the movers show up at our front door.
I've noticed I have turned into the type of person I didn't understand when I first married my military man. I was a supportive, gung-ho military wife. I made casseroles, knew the commanders, and volunteered.
Now, well, now I'm angry and bitter. I'm tired of the shit and I don't care what rank you hold or who your husband is.
My girlfriends and I are no longer like military wives, but more like gritty, old war-hardened Sgts. We've all grown tired of the shit.
We've all grown sick of watching our families fates blown to and fro like a flag in a hurricane - whipped around out of control and without any real destination.
We are tethered to a pole - going thread bare with every gust - how long can we hold?
~Rambling Jenn~
Saturday, December 30, 2006
Monday, December 04, 2006
Romanticizing the Military
It is no secret that I am a military spouse. I married my husband almost 8 years ago after he had already been in the military for 2 years. I knew when I married him that I would be giving up a lot of myself to follow him about while he followed his career. I chose to make sacrifices to be with him. I accept those sacrifices that our family of four must make.
With that said, Why is it that Americans feel the need to romanticise military families and the many trials of faith, loving, and sanity that our families must endure?
When I was a senior in high school in 1996, I ran into a former teacher of mine from 6Th grade. She told me that her son, who is 4 years older than me, was in the Marine Corps. She went on to tell me that he was deployed to Liberia on the Western Coast of Africa (https://www.cia.gov/cia/publications/factbook/geos/li.html). She noted that he would love to receive some mail from me.
I jumped at the chance! The thought of telling my friends in high school that I was writing to a United States Marine thrilled me.
I smiled at the thought of the Marine tired and dirty opening a perfume scented letter from me. He would read and then re-read the letter I wrote him and he would gaze longingly at my picture undoubtedly falling in love with me. I just knew I would write him everyday and think of him as I drifted off to sleep at night. We would fall in love, get married and I would move out to Camp Lejeune to join my Marine. I would attend coffees and spend my time sewing and supporting other wives. When he would come home from deployment, I would run to his open arms where we would kiss for hours.
What I had pictured was straight out of a movie...
I did write that Marine everyday for months on end. I did spritz perfume on the letters (he would later say that to this day when he someone walks past with that perfume on he can't help but think of me). He did call me while on R&R (Rest and Relaxation) from the Canary Islands. We fell in "love." I sent him pictures, he called me long distance. He hung my pictures up in his locker. I wore the "I Love My Marine" t-shirt he gave me. We were living the movie. We were living the military love affair.
My family and I went during my Spring Break my freshman year of college out to visit him. He came home on leave later that summer to visit me. We were inseparable. I dreamt of him at night - my lonely Marine. I talked about him constantly during the day.
His enlistment with the Marine Corp ended early Fall of 1997, just a little over a year after that first letter. I was so excited for him to come back home and be with me. That was until he actually got home. What I quickly found out was that I was in love with being In-Love with a Marine. I was not in love with him. I realized that I had totally bought into the romanticized imagine of dating a strong American Marine. I was in love with the Hollywood version of the Marine.
In actuality, we did not know each other at all despite having known each other since I was in 5Th grade. Our relationship did not end because he left the Marine Corp. Our relationship ended because we did not know each other and quite frankly I did not like the person that I was growing to know.
Fast forward a year later when I meet a man who is in the United States Air Force on the Internet. We meet by chance, definitely not by intent. He is stationed in Fayetteville, North Carolina and I am living in the Dallas, Texas. We talk for months and get to know each other. We become best friends. We tell each other everything in a very up-front fashion. We do not expect to ever meet.
Later the young Airman buys me a plane ticket to come see him in North Carolina for a 4-day weekend. It was a complete surprise to me. I get on the plane excited to meet my best friend face to face.
I walk off the plane and he is standing there in his camouflage uniform. I walk up to him, both of us with smiles on our faces. He scoops me up in his arms in a strong embrace. He whispers, "You're even more beautiful in person." He hugs me again. Then he very quietly whispers in my ear, "I Love You." The rest is history. We fall in love in short order. We get married 4 months and 1 day after I walked off of that plane.
I at this point am not in love with being in-love with an Airman. I am in love with my best friend who just happens to be in the military.
Our first year of marriage was great. I was quickly becoming involved on the base, volunteering for the squadron and base newspaper. I took him dinners late at night. I would cook for his whole shop who were working late into the night fixing jets. We would sleep into the afternoons and stay up all night. We took leave to go back home to visit my parents.
Then the phone call that would forever change our lives came.
While at my parents' home on vacation the phone rang. I knew something was wrong. My husband and I were standing in the kitchen when the ringing began. I looked at him as my heart dropped and then I said, "Those are your orders to Korea." He shook his head and looked at me like I was crazy. I picked up the phone to hear the voice of my husband's supervisor on the line. He simply said, "Is your husband there ma'am?"
I was right. He was given short notice orders to report to the Republic of South Korea for a One year tour without me. To say I was hysterical would be a gross understatement. We had been married slightly over a year at that point. We had no money to move me back home. We were living paycheck to paycheck. We went back to N.C. and then I found out that I was expecting our first child. He left shortly after I found out I was expecting. He got to hear the baby's heartbeat just before he left me for a year.
While he was gone, any idealistic romantic views I had of the military quickly dissolved. My husband and I assumed that the military would take care of his wife back home. I almost lost the baby while he was gone early in the pregnancy. No one came to my aide.
The moment my husband got on that plane, I ceased to exist to the military. Although I lived in military housing on base I received no help. I think back to those times and recall being a high risk pregnant woman outside 8 months pregnant mowing my large lawn with a push mower as military men sat on their front porches watching me. Not one of them offered to help.
My husband came home 2 weeks before I gave birth to our daughter in late May. He was allowed to come home for a month visit during that year. We were so happy to see each other after 7 months apart, until we found out that we would be footing the $1,000 plane ticket cost for him to come home to see me. We had assumed that the military had taken him away from his new family for a year, that the least they would do was pay for his mid-tour ticket home and back to Korea.
Our daughter was born with serious medical problems. She had hydrocephalus (http://www.hydrocephalus.org/) and Agenisis of the Corpus Collosum (http://www.umaine.edu/edhd/research/accnetwork/whatisacc.htm). Although our daughter was in grave danger, my husband was sent back to Korea leaving me alone in North Carolina post-partum with a C-section to care for our 2-week-old baby. I was lost. I had to drive her back and forth to the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill (3 hr drive) a number of times a week. My world was crumbling around me as I was only 23 years old and my husband was 1/2 a world away.
During this time, no one from the military contacted us. No one offered me help. I was back to mowing my own lawn just 3 weeks after I had the c-section. I would mow a small section and then literally run inside to check the sleeping baby. Back and forth I would run all afternoon mowing the lawn as to not get written up for grass that was too tall and kicked out of base housing.
None of this was Romantic or adventurous.
I was in essence a single mom living over a 1,000 miles away from home with a husband 1/2 way around the world with a baby with severe medical problems and I was being ignored by the only group of people I thought I could depend on - the military.
Since that time we have been stationed in Utah and in Texas. It has not gotten better. In Utah, my spouse was ridiculed by his direct supervision for not going to strip clubs with the guys and for "spending too much time with his wife." My husband has always done his job. He has also always left work at work. He is a family man and prefers to spend all of his free time with his wife and children. During his free time he has also worked for 7 years to graduate from college. The dedication he has had to his family and education has only brought him disapproval among most of his military peers.
Since we have been in Texas he has worked not on aircraft, but as a basic training drill instructor. While he, he has been called a variety of names for spending time with his family. He has been yelled at for accepting a call from me while I was pregnant and thought I was going into labor. He at times has worked 17-hour days, 7 days a week, for weeks on end with no break. He is by no means the best at what he does, but he is certainly not the worst. He has been criticized and ridiculed for caring too much about his family and for the basic trainees.
Meanwhile, I have received no support. I have not had coffees and sat around akin to the wives in the movie "We Were Soldiers." I have been lucky enough to find some friends on my own. I have been blessed to have a group of women who get together for play dates and girls' nights out. We four have made our own support system. But we cannot all help but feel like we have been forgotten and that there is no longer an esprit De corp.
"We [military spouses] are reminded everyday that we are unwanted. We are reminded everyday that we are an unwelcome by-product of military men. I mean, even when we try to make a medical appointment for ourselves, we are reminded that the military member has priority and if there are no more appointments available, then we just better try again the next day."
Popular television shows like "The Unit" and movies like "We Were Soldiers" commonly portray the military lifestyle as glamorous. The strong American military men swoop in, shoot a few things up, and save the day; meanwhile back on the home front, the women sit around together drinking coffee and picking each other's children up at school. The families become like extended families and take care of each other. The women all sit around pro verbally waiting for "Johnny to come marching home again."
With that said, Why is it that Americans feel the need to romanticise military families and the many trials of faith, loving, and sanity that our families must endure?
When I was a senior in high school in 1996, I ran into a former teacher of mine from 6Th grade. She told me that her son, who is 4 years older than me, was in the Marine Corps. She went on to tell me that he was deployed to Liberia on the Western Coast of Africa (https://www.cia.gov/cia/publications/factbook/geos/li.html). She noted that he would love to receive some mail from me.
I jumped at the chance! The thought of telling my friends in high school that I was writing to a United States Marine thrilled me.
I smiled at the thought of the Marine tired and dirty opening a perfume scented letter from me. He would read and then re-read the letter I wrote him and he would gaze longingly at my picture undoubtedly falling in love with me. I just knew I would write him everyday and think of him as I drifted off to sleep at night. We would fall in love, get married and I would move out to Camp Lejeune to join my Marine. I would attend coffees and spend my time sewing and supporting other wives. When he would come home from deployment, I would run to his open arms where we would kiss for hours.
What I had pictured was straight out of a movie...
I did write that Marine everyday for months on end. I did spritz perfume on the letters (he would later say that to this day when he someone walks past with that perfume on he can't help but think of me). He did call me while on R&R (Rest and Relaxation) from the Canary Islands. We fell in "love." I sent him pictures, he called me long distance. He hung my pictures up in his locker. I wore the "I Love My Marine" t-shirt he gave me. We were living the movie. We were living the military love affair.
My family and I went during my Spring Break my freshman year of college out to visit him. He came home on leave later that summer to visit me. We were inseparable. I dreamt of him at night - my lonely Marine. I talked about him constantly during the day.
His enlistment with the Marine Corp ended early Fall of 1997, just a little over a year after that first letter. I was so excited for him to come back home and be with me. That was until he actually got home. What I quickly found out was that I was in love with being In-Love with a Marine. I was not in love with him. I realized that I had totally bought into the romanticized imagine of dating a strong American Marine. I was in love with the Hollywood version of the Marine.
In actuality, we did not know each other at all despite having known each other since I was in 5Th grade. Our relationship did not end because he left the Marine Corp. Our relationship ended because we did not know each other and quite frankly I did not like the person that I was growing to know.
Fast forward a year later when I meet a man who is in the United States Air Force on the Internet. We meet by chance, definitely not by intent. He is stationed in Fayetteville, North Carolina and I am living in the Dallas, Texas. We talk for months and get to know each other. We become best friends. We tell each other everything in a very up-front fashion. We do not expect to ever meet.
Later the young Airman buys me a plane ticket to come see him in North Carolina for a 4-day weekend. It was a complete surprise to me. I get on the plane excited to meet my best friend face to face.
I walk off the plane and he is standing there in his camouflage uniform. I walk up to him, both of us with smiles on our faces. He scoops me up in his arms in a strong embrace. He whispers, "You're even more beautiful in person." He hugs me again. Then he very quietly whispers in my ear, "I Love You." The rest is history. We fall in love in short order. We get married 4 months and 1 day after I walked off of that plane.
I at this point am not in love with being in-love with an Airman. I am in love with my best friend who just happens to be in the military.
Our first year of marriage was great. I was quickly becoming involved on the base, volunteering for the squadron and base newspaper. I took him dinners late at night. I would cook for his whole shop who were working late into the night fixing jets. We would sleep into the afternoons and stay up all night. We took leave to go back home to visit my parents.
Then the phone call that would forever change our lives came.
While at my parents' home on vacation the phone rang. I knew something was wrong. My husband and I were standing in the kitchen when the ringing began. I looked at him as my heart dropped and then I said, "Those are your orders to Korea." He shook his head and looked at me like I was crazy. I picked up the phone to hear the voice of my husband's supervisor on the line. He simply said, "Is your husband there ma'am?"
I was right. He was given short notice orders to report to the Republic of South Korea for a One year tour without me. To say I was hysterical would be a gross understatement. We had been married slightly over a year at that point. We had no money to move me back home. We were living paycheck to paycheck. We went back to N.C. and then I found out that I was expecting our first child. He left shortly after I found out I was expecting. He got to hear the baby's heartbeat just before he left me for a year.
While he was gone, any idealistic romantic views I had of the military quickly dissolved. My husband and I assumed that the military would take care of his wife back home. I almost lost the baby while he was gone early in the pregnancy. No one came to my aide.
The moment my husband got on that plane, I ceased to exist to the military. Although I lived in military housing on base I received no help. I think back to those times and recall being a high risk pregnant woman outside 8 months pregnant mowing my large lawn with a push mower as military men sat on their front porches watching me. Not one of them offered to help.
My husband came home 2 weeks before I gave birth to our daughter in late May. He was allowed to come home for a month visit during that year. We were so happy to see each other after 7 months apart, until we found out that we would be footing the $1,000 plane ticket cost for him to come home to see me. We had assumed that the military had taken him away from his new family for a year, that the least they would do was pay for his mid-tour ticket home and back to Korea.
Our daughter was born with serious medical problems. She had hydrocephalus (http://www.hydrocephalus.org/) and Agenisis of the Corpus Collosum (http://www.umaine.edu/edhd/research/accnetwork/whatisacc.htm). Although our daughter was in grave danger, my husband was sent back to Korea leaving me alone in North Carolina post-partum with a C-section to care for our 2-week-old baby. I was lost. I had to drive her back and forth to the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill (3 hr drive) a number of times a week. My world was crumbling around me as I was only 23 years old and my husband was 1/2 a world away.
During this time, no one from the military contacted us. No one offered me help. I was back to mowing my own lawn just 3 weeks after I had the c-section. I would mow a small section and then literally run inside to check the sleeping baby. Back and forth I would run all afternoon mowing the lawn as to not get written up for grass that was too tall and kicked out of base housing.
None of this was Romantic or adventurous.
I was in essence a single mom living over a 1,000 miles away from home with a husband 1/2 way around the world with a baby with severe medical problems and I was being ignored by the only group of people I thought I could depend on - the military.
Since that time we have been stationed in Utah and in Texas. It has not gotten better. In Utah, my spouse was ridiculed by his direct supervision for not going to strip clubs with the guys and for "spending too much time with his wife." My husband has always done his job. He has also always left work at work. He is a family man and prefers to spend all of his free time with his wife and children. During his free time he has also worked for 7 years to graduate from college. The dedication he has had to his family and education has only brought him disapproval among most of his military peers.Since we have been in Texas he has worked not on aircraft, but as a basic training drill instructor. While he, he has been called a variety of names for spending time with his family. He has been yelled at for accepting a call from me while I was pregnant and thought I was going into labor. He at times has worked 17-hour days, 7 days a week, for weeks on end with no break. He is by no means the best at what he does, but he is certainly not the worst. He has been criticized and ridiculed for caring too much about his family and for the basic trainees.
Meanwhile, I have received no support. I have not had coffees and sat around akin to the wives in the movie "We Were Soldiers." I have been lucky enough to find some friends on my own. I have been blessed to have a group of women who get together for play dates and girls' nights out. We four have made our own support system. But we cannot all help but feel like we have been forgotten and that there is no longer an esprit De corp.
One friend of mine, I'll call her Birdie, said today on the phone:
"We [military spouses] are reminded everyday that we are unwanted. We are reminded everyday that we are an unwelcome by-product of military men. I mean, even when we try to make a medical appointment for ourselves, we are reminded that the military member has priority and if there are no more appointments available, then we just better try again the next day."
Popular television shows like "The Unit" and movies like "We Were Soldiers" commonly portray the military lifestyle as glamorous. The strong American military men swoop in, shoot a few things up, and save the day; meanwhile back on the home front, the women sit around together drinking coffee and picking each other's children up at school. The families become like extended families and take care of each other. The women all sit around pro verbally waiting for "Johnny to come marching home again." In actuality military families live real lives with real problems. While the military member is away we do not write letters everyday - there is no time. We have children to bath and get to school. We have homework and little league to deal with. We have snotty noses to wipe and well-baby check-ups to go to. We have dance classes to shuttle our kids to and from. Many of us are in college and have our own homework to deal with. We have laundry, bills, and housework to tend to. We have to maintain our vehicles and keep up a strong front for the children. We are the mothers and the fathers. We are too busy to be romantic.
I am proud of my husband and the job he does. I support him and will continue to be his best friend. I accept these challenges for him. He appreciates what I do for him, so every minute is worth it.
But the fact remains that military families are ignored, but we persevere and go on.
But the fact remains that military families are ignored, but we persevere and go on.
Our military life has not been all bad. We have made a few great friends along the way. We have lived comfortably and had some amazing experiences. We will retire from the life in 9 1/2 years after my husband has served a little over 20 years in the USAF.
But the question that keeps resonating in my mind is:
What happens if Johnny never comes marching home again?
~Rambling Jenn~
But the question that keeps resonating in my mind is:
What happens if Johnny never comes marching home again?
~Rambling Jenn~
Footnote: please note that these experiences are my own and by no means reflect the experiences of all military families. As with everything, we all experience life differently and we all perceive it differently. This is simply my perception of the life we have lived.
Sunday, December 03, 2006
Cult of Mary Kay Personalities
Monday afternoon I was in my bedroom rearranging the furniture with my husband. Never rearrange furniture with your spouse. Why? In my case a series of events occurred that will change me forever.
When I picked up my daughter's classmate's mother was on the line. We had met briefly a couple of times. I absolutely did not remember her first name. Her friendly voice explained to me that she sold Mary Kay and had a training session to attend that night. She asked me if I would be willing to go so she could train on how to do a facial on someone. I, in my moment of weakness and need to escape my husband for the evening, agreed to go.
That afternoon my husband asked if I would changing the tire on his truck for him. He had the spare on it and needed the repaired regular tire put back on the truck. He is not a man's man. He doesn't like working on trucks. I agreed to change it for him. During the process I managed to get brake dust and road grime all over myself. Just 30 minutes before I needed to arrive at the Mary Kay function, I quickly showered and threw on a pair of jeans, black button up shirt, and a black pair of boots. I fixed my hair, but did not bother to put on make-up. I was going to get a facial after all. I definitely was not dressed up, I was just somewhat presentable.
I made it to the Mary Kay event just in time. I walked in to find myself in what I will describe as the pit of hell for me. The room was a sunny yellow with hand-painted honey bees zooming all over the walls. Between bees there were inspirational messages painted: "Expect more from yourself because you are your own best friend", "Rise to the occasion", "You can achieve your dreams..." I am immediately convinced that I am witnessing the Cult of Mary Kay complete with not-so-subliminal messages.
As the walls soak into my brain, I look around the room... I find myself in a room with 30 women who are all wearing cheap business suits and red blazers. Their hair is teased to the highest possible points. There were so many rhinestones in the room that I am considering filling suit for eye damage due to the glare. They had on their very best and BRIGHTEST Mary Kay make-up. There were hues of coral, red, and pinks that I didn't know existed in the make-up world...
I took my seat among the women who were all chattering amongst themselves, then out of nowhere the music starts, "I'm Every Woman" is blaring in my ears and the women all jump to their feet and start "whooping" at the top of their lungs. What I would describe as their queen comes in and starts talking about how great Mary Kay is. How inspiring Mary Kay is. Then she asks, "Anyone who has something to Crow about please stand up." Women stand up and start saying things like "I sold $600 this week," "I gave my great-grandmother a Mary Kay makeover and she bought $80 worth," and "I didn't sell anything this week, but I'm so happy to be a Mary Kay representative that I want to CROW." Whilst these women are making these statements the women in the room are literally crowing and whooping like some cranes on the coast of Texas. I've never heard such a noise in all of my life and, mind you, I am a mother of 2 and a substitute teacher!
Then came the make-up. I was painted with some of the brightest and most vibrant of blush, eye make up and lipstick. I
ended up looking like, well, one of them. I was a cross between an 80-year-old granny with lavender perfume and a common street walker. Mary Kay herself always tended to go a little heavy with her make-up, so it goes without saying that the cult would do the same to me. They all sported big hair, drawn on eyebrows, thick mascara, and bright lips.
Mind you, I like make-up. I love getting dressed up. I love feeling pretty and feminine. I like walking into a room and people noticing. What woman doesn't like it when she catches a man's eye? It certainly gives me something to smile about for a day or two. But I am also not a typical girly-girl. I prefer sarcastic, gritty humor to romantic comedy. I love war movies and novels. I would much rather go to the lake camping than go to ANY mall! I am just as comfortable hanging out with the guys as I am hanging out with the girls. I'm a tomboy dressed up in women's clothing.
I am asked what I like about the make-up. I tell them that all of the colors are fine, but just applied a little too heavy. Then I say, "BUT, I Hate the lipstick!" All of my fellow guinea pigs agree with me about the lipstick.
Next, they walk us back into the original room and line us up in front of the women. Then we are told, "You tell us what you like about our products and then the women will tell you what they like best about our products on you." I want to scream. I want to run and hide. I fear for my life and sanity! There is no part of me that wants to do this.
When it is my turn I say, "Umm, I don't feel like I'm wearing any make-up." The cult starts whooping and yelling "Yeah! WOOHOO! She Likes Our Make-up!" "Yeah, You look GOOOOOOD!!!" "WOO-HOO!" I
f it is at all possible, I am even more uncomfortable at that moment than I have been in my entire life. When up pipes the only testosterone in the room. He is a large black man who it completely bald. Kind of a Michael Clarke Duncan in the Green Mile. He, until this time, has remained completely silent sitting in a chair at the back of the room behind a small p.a. system and a stereo. He is the D.J. for the evening. Taking his cues from the women playing songs like "Respect", "I'm Every Woman" and so forth. He says in his baritone voice, "I Like her Lipstick!" All of the women start squawking and howling... "yeah, the man likes your lipstick!" Of course he does, it's what makes me look like a 2-bit hooker! I'm now in some sort of out of body experience and do not know what to do. So I look at him and wink while I do that "point-your-finger-and-make-it-look-like-a-gun-thing." The women cheer. He reaches up to his stereo while he smiles at me and begins playing "I'm too Sexy" by Right Said Fred. I want to die!
I took my leave as fast as humanly possible, but before I left the women gather around me and ask me if I would like to become a Mary Kay consultant. I politely decline, but then they trust a ribbon into my hand that looks like it comes from an elementary science fair project. It is a Mac-N-Cheese yellow with green metallic print that says "I'm Special - Mary Kay." I don't know what to say, so one woman pipes up and says, "You can hang this on your rear view mirror in your car - cause you are special to us here at Mary Kay!" The woman closed in like she was going to hug me, but I quickly said, "Umm, thanks, but I need to get going. Thanks you guys" and began to back away.
~Rambling Jenn~
During the day while working in our room I had grown more and more frustrated with my husband. We are both type-A personalities. We both think our way is the right and, well, best way to do things. We were both weary of each other's company nearing the end of our furniture placement conquest. Scott had retired downstairs, for what was surely a moment away from his wife, whilst I stayed upstairs to no doubt avoid him when the phone rang. It was for me.
When I picked up my daughter's classmate's mother was on the line. We had met briefly a couple of times. I absolutely did not remember her first name. Her friendly voice explained to me that she sold Mary Kay and had a training session to attend that night. She asked me if I would be willing to go so she could train on how to do a facial on someone. I, in my moment of weakness and need to escape my husband for the evening, agreed to go.
That afternoon my husband asked if I would changing the tire on his truck for him. He had the spare on it and needed the repaired regular tire put back on the truck. He is not a man's man. He doesn't like working on trucks. I agreed to change it for him. During the process I managed to get brake dust and road grime all over myself. Just 30 minutes before I needed to arrive at the Mary Kay function, I quickly showered and threw on a pair of jeans, black button up shirt, and a black pair of boots. I fixed my hair, but did not bother to put on make-up. I was going to get a facial after all. I definitely was not dressed up, I was just somewhat presentable.
I made it to the Mary Kay event just in time. I walked in to find myself in what I will describe as the pit of hell for me. The room was a sunny yellow with hand-painted honey bees zooming all over the walls. Between bees there were inspirational messages painted: "Expect more from yourself because you are your own best friend", "Rise to the occasion", "You can achieve your dreams..." I am immediately convinced that I am witnessing the Cult of Mary Kay complete with not-so-subliminal messages.
As the walls soak into my brain, I look around the room... I find myself in a room with 30 women who are all wearing cheap business suits and red blazers. Their hair is teased to the highest possible points. There were so many rhinestones in the room that I am considering filling suit for eye damage due to the glare. They had on their very best and BRIGHTEST Mary Kay make-up. There were hues of coral, red, and pinks that I didn't know existed in the make-up world...
I took my seat among the women who were all chattering amongst themselves, then out of nowhere the music starts, "I'm Every Woman" is blaring in my ears and the women all jump to their feet and start "whooping" at the top of their lungs. What I would describe as their queen comes in and starts talking about how great Mary Kay is. How inspiring Mary Kay is. Then she asks, "Anyone who has something to Crow about please stand up." Women stand up and start saying things like "I sold $600 this week," "I gave my great-grandmother a Mary Kay makeover and she bought $80 worth," and "I didn't sell anything this week, but I'm so happy to be a Mary Kay representative that I want to CROW." Whilst these women are making these statements the women in the room are literally crowing and whooping like some cranes on the coast of Texas. I've never heard such a noise in all of my life and, mind you, I am a mother of 2 and a substitute teacher!
The women like me who volunteered for the training were asked to go into the other room. At this point I'm scared. I want to run - to run far, far away from there. I do not - for fear that the gaggle of women will hunt me down, knock me out by clocking me on the back of my head with their high heel shoes, disembowel me with their tweezers and consume me ritualistically. So I stay. They give me a facial, which was, dare I admit it, nice.
Then came the make-up. I was painted with some of the brightest and most vibrant of blush, eye make up and lipstick. I
ended up looking like, well, one of them. I was a cross between an 80-year-old granny with lavender perfume and a common street walker. Mary Kay herself always tended to go a little heavy with her make-up, so it goes without saying that the cult would do the same to me. They all sported big hair, drawn on eyebrows, thick mascara, and bright lips.Mind you, I like make-up. I love getting dressed up. I love feeling pretty and feminine. I like walking into a room and people noticing. What woman doesn't like it when she catches a man's eye? It certainly gives me something to smile about for a day or two. But I am also not a typical girly-girl. I prefer sarcastic, gritty humor to romantic comedy. I love war movies and novels. I would much rather go to the lake camping than go to ANY mall! I am just as comfortable hanging out with the guys as I am hanging out with the girls. I'm a tomboy dressed up in women's clothing.
I am asked what I like about the make-up. I tell them that all of the colors are fine, but just applied a little too heavy. Then I say, "BUT, I Hate the lipstick!" All of my fellow guinea pigs agree with me about the lipstick.
Next, they walk us back into the original room and line us up in front of the women. Then we are told, "You tell us what you like about our products and then the women will tell you what they like best about our products on you." I want to scream. I want to run and hide. I fear for my life and sanity! There is no part of me that wants to do this.
When it is my turn I say, "Umm, I don't feel like I'm wearing any make-up." The cult starts whooping and yelling "Yeah! WOOHOO! She Likes Our Make-up!" "Yeah, You look GOOOOOOD!!!" "WOO-HOO!" I
f it is at all possible, I am even more uncomfortable at that moment than I have been in my entire life. When up pipes the only testosterone in the room. He is a large black man who it completely bald. Kind of a Michael Clarke Duncan in the Green Mile. He, until this time, has remained completely silent sitting in a chair at the back of the room behind a small p.a. system and a stereo. He is the D.J. for the evening. Taking his cues from the women playing songs like "Respect", "I'm Every Woman" and so forth. He says in his baritone voice, "I Like her Lipstick!" All of the women start squawking and howling... "yeah, the man likes your lipstick!" Of course he does, it's what makes me look like a 2-bit hooker! I'm now in some sort of out of body experience and do not know what to do. So I look at him and wink while I do that "point-your-finger-and-make-it-look-like-a-gun-thing." The women cheer. He reaches up to his stereo while he smiles at me and begins playing "I'm too Sexy" by Right Said Fred. I want to die!I took my leave as fast as humanly possible, but before I left the women gather around me and ask me if I would like to become a Mary Kay consultant. I politely decline, but then they trust a ribbon into my hand that looks like it comes from an elementary science fair project. It is a Mac-N-Cheese yellow with green metallic print that says "I'm Special - Mary Kay." I don't know what to say, so one woman pipes up and says, "You can hang this on your rear view mirror in your car - cause you are special to us here at Mary Kay!" The woman closed in like she was going to hug me, but I quickly said, "Umm, thanks, but I need to get going. Thanks you guys" and began to back away.
I did finally make my way out of the hell hole and away from the Cult of Mary Kay Personalities without any bodily harm.
I called my husband on my way home and recounted my brush with death and the occult. Then I said, "Honey, I need to come home, watch a football game, scratch myself and fart to decompress...." I ended up watching a basketball game on TV instead. And yes, I farted and Scratched... I still have my mind intact, but I will never be the same - Thanks Mary Kay!
~Rambling Jenn~
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
