Judge not lest you want a poker table.

So.

I have this awesome basement.

My husband and I have been working tirelessly to create a movie room, bar area (calm it down, it's crammed with soda and popcorn and possibly crystal meth) and a gamer/game area. It's a beautiful place where you can watch The Notebook, have a root beer float, and play Pac-Mac all at the same time. Talk about a glass case of emotions.

We finished this awesome project....with one exception.


I wanted a poker table.


Wait, what?


Kendra, are you a poker champion?


Well sure, I throw down them hands of clubs and hearts and stuff.

Heck no! I wanted a game table...for all games. Which I don't understand why, I'm overly competitive and usually end up attempting to murder the banker in every Monopoly game or somehow the cards and game pieces all end up on the floor....

So where do I go to find it? Well why not with all of the new murder stories and 48-Hours episodes focusing on on-line purchases turn to Craigslist?

Well my husband was nice enough to tag with me along on this journey, so we searched on-line for some poker tables.


The first guy was nice enough to not even WANT money for his poker table, just a few pictures of my feet! We decided to skip that one. Still, so nice!

Second guy posted a beautiful table for $400. Wow! He said he missed a zero, so oops! $4,000. That's sweet, but I have student loans.

The third gentlemen had a warehouse FILLED with tables. I didn't see many serial numbers on the equipment and he kept talking about his connections, told us we could get some flat-screens too for real cheap! WHAT A BLESSING! But that didn't work out. Thanks anyway, Al. My uncle Vinnie will help us out with flat screens some other time.

But lo and behold! I found a beautiful, CHEAP table. A kind human named MJ e-mailed me back and forth. "Thanks, MJ! I'd love to see it in person!" "Let me send you my cell number, MJ!" "I'll see you Sunday, MJ!" Oh that MJ. Such a nice dude.


After church that morning we headed out! "Turn left there, he said, go past the vineyard." WHAT? Why are we at a vineyard? Why does this area look like the wealthy regions of Italy???? Oh here we go....past the cattle farm he said. "He said he kind of lived off the grid, sweetie. I'm sure we won't die. Just keep driving." Jeremey's knuckles were turning white and he kept mumbling something about Lifetime movies, but we pressed on, for we were on a mission. A mission of materialism.

"Ok, we go past this orchard, over this bridge, and then he said his house should be....HOLY SHNIKEYS BABE LOOK AT THIS MANSION." This house was huge! There was an inground pool overlooking a serene picturesque lake behind. Yeah, there was a boat, of course there was a boat. Why wouldn't MJ have a boat?

MJ met us at his garage area. He welcomed us in, and we were like children, staring at the wonder of the gorgeousness before us, trying not to gawk and definitely not asking who he was or who his father was or who he was married to or if he knows Obama or anything. I just assumed he had won the Powerball. He was seriously the nicest, most down-to-earth human, and that's when I knew it....MJ was going to take us to the basement and kill me and my husband.

"We'll take it!" The table was great, it was in our price range, and I wanted to buy something from this dude to have some lasting connection to Mr. MJ. (He ended up letting us live.) "Great! I'll help your husband put it in your car."

Well it didn't fit in the car. Jeremey and I attempted to Tetris the table into the backseat, it wasn't happening. What am I going to do? I can't disappoint my friend MJ. He let Jeremey and I remain alive.

"You can take my truck."

WHAT?!?!

"Here's the keys. Just bring it back when you're done."

This can't be right. This is a trick. Jeremey looked like it was a no-go...I could see where he was coming from. This was a stranger's car, we probably shouldn't be borrowing it without knowing anything about this---

"Sure! Thanks!" I grabbed the keys.

Jeremey looked right through me, basically to say, "Ain't no way I'm driving that, woman. You are."

That was fine, I'll drive. "Hey MJ, are you sure you are ok with strangers just taking your truck?"

He chuckled, "Kendra, I'm the chief district judge of southern Illinois, I don't think you'll be stealing from me."

:cue dry heaves:



I watched the blood flow directed to my husband's face stop, instead he became pale ghastly white and suddenly very sweaty.

"Yes, sir. Sure thing sir. We'll have it right back sir." Suddenly I didn't want to call him MJ.



And then we were off!


I mean it.


We were OFF.


My poor husband.


"Sweetie.....sweetie.....slow down. Slow dow---SLOW DOWN! That's a yellow light, aaaaaaaaaand now it's red aaaaaaaand you just ran through it. Babe seriously we're going to get pulled over by the police."


"NO WE ARE NOT BABE! Don't you get it?!?! What's gonna happen is they are gonna run the plates and be like, 'Oh heck no I ain't pulling this one over' SOOOOO we are INVINCIBLE, WOOHOOOOOOO!"

That was the greatest drive of my life.....and the worst drive of my husband's life. Hahaha!

I felt free. I felt awesome. I felt untouchable.


Now I didn't do anything too crazy, but because of who the truck belonged to, it changed my perception of my freedom on the road. I didn't necessarily feel reckless, but the fear of the law wasn't exactly, well....there. However Jeremey was a different story....now knowing who the truck belonged to, he wanted to protect it with everything he had in him and follow the laws anyway.


We got the truck back safe and sound, no worries, and now we have a lovely story of a date afternoon gone weird for Jeremey and I to tell people as we play on our game table.

Jeremey and I's perception of the truck ride after realizing whom the truck belonged to really made me think about our Christian life and our walk with Christ. Thinking I was invincible, I threw the law behind me and did what I wanted, assuming that because of whose truck I was in, no one would touch me. Jeremey respected the law, he didn't have to follow it, but he cared enough after realizing what we had and who it belonged to that this was a special opportunity and we shouldn't blow it.

That's a lot like Christians, huh? We realize Who we belong to and we either take it, pretend we're invincible, and believe that because we now belong to Christ nothing that we do is wrong and everything we do will be forgiven under the Creator of the law, or! We wise up, and knowing that we don't have to follow the law, respect the privilege of being in the presence of the One Who created it.

We take a lot for granted.

You're not invincible.

You're loved, though. :)

Drive on.

Ode to the sugar haven.....

The first year of marriage is the longest.

Oh my gosh.

SO. LONG.

Sometimes I just sit and stare at my Bacon Calendar 2014……2015……

HOW IS IT ONLY JANUARY?!?!

‘Kendra….what’s wrong with you?’

‘Aren’t you happily married?’

‘Didn’t you just get married at the end of the summer?’

Yeah, yeah, yeah….I can hear you judgers being all judgey now.

But you don’t get it.

Why is it the longest?

Because at the end….

There.

Is.

CAKE! 

Glorious cake!

Wondrous strawberry cake with cream cheese frosting!

I stare at it more than the calendar.

It’s in the freezer. In a cardboard box. Sealed. Ish. Well, was sealed.

I don’t want to talk about it.

Everyone knows that ridiculous tradition where you save the BEST PART OF THE WEDDING——I.E. THE CAKE—IN A STUPID BOX AND WAIT A STUPID YEAR TO EAT THE STUPID CAKE AND CELEBRATE WAITING TO EAT SOMETHING THAT’S BETTER WHEN IT ISN’T A YEAR OLD.

Cake is not a fine wine people.

Cake does not get better with age.

Cake is delicious goodness the day it’s made. AT BEST THE DAY IT IS MADE.

I didn’t get to eat my own cake at my own wedding. I barely was able to sit down at all, and the only precious bite I could’ve had was shoved IN MY NOSE by my PRECIOUS husband.

So August 16th…..maybe 11:59 p.m. on August 15th. I will get my cake.

Jeremey doesn’t even care. He sees that cardboard box as much as I do. I don’t even think he’s ever mentioned it. Unless I bring it up.

“CAN WE PLEASE PRETEND IT’S OUR ONE YEAR?!?! I WANT THAT CAKE?!?! HOW DO YOU HAVE SUCH SELF CONTROL!?!?! YOU ARE NOT THE MAN THAT I MARRIED!”

Then he sighs….closes the freezer door, and wishes to God he had not chosen to get ice from the freezer right at the moment I was walking by.

My husband is patient. He gets a letter in the mail, he slowly slices open the seal and opens said letter appropriately.

I receive a letter and it explodes in my hands as if I have a 0.4 second timer that will go off if I don’t get that stinking letter open fast enough.

He gets a gifts and he slowly unwraps the paper carefully making sure the the tape is gently removed and the wrapping paper remains unharmed.

I pretend a puppy is suffocating inside and I need to shred all evidence of the wrapping paper in order to save its life. It usually works.

If the microwave directions on the popcorn says 2 minutes and thirty seconds for perfect cook time, Jeremey puts it at 2:30 on the little timer. I put it at 2:29…because I put the popcorn in the microwave because I want popcorn. I mean, I REALLY want popcorn….ain’t nobody got time for a full 2:30.

Waiting is half the battle.  You’ve heard the phrase, I’ve heard the phrase.

I spend a lot of time hurrying time along to gain something ridiculous often so much that I miss the important moments that happen during the waiting period.

The first year of marriage should be spent breathing in the honeymoon phase, getting to know one another, building on each other’s strengths and laughing at each other’s weakness (no, we aren’t perfect….we don’t laugh the whole time, but I have to make it seem that way on social media, ya know)…..instead, sometimes I waste those precious moments waiting on year-old cake.

Waiting for the popcorn, I usually share how my day’s been with my hubs and he returns the favor by sharing with me the ups and downs of his day. Sticking my face to the microwave not only exposes me to crippling radiation but also steals away from that extra second I get to spend with someone I love.

What are you waiting for? What are you missing out on because you’re focused on the ridiculous?

Truth be told? I’ve taken bites of the cake.

There’s only 3/4 of it left.

Sometimes I think about how sad that is….hoping the cake is not completely gone by the time the one-year mark hits so my husband and I can appropriately celebrate as tradition declares we must!

Don’t ruin the best of your life because you hurry along to the ridiculous parts of it.

The best is in-between, kids.

The Core of Me.

"MOOSETRACKS! YES!!!"

 

I grabbed the very last Moosetracks tub of ice cream that existed on Edisto Island in South Carolina. We were on our honeymoon and I needed that ice cream. I love Moosetracks. It is my celebration station food. I wanted to celebrate my marriage, heretofor, I needed that ice cream, swirled with delicious peanut butter cups and fudge in one tiny tub.

 

My eyes laid hold on the safety tab. Sometime in its shipment to the island the safety tab had been popped off. Did I care? No. I've eaten dung beetles. Ain't nobody got time for sealed food. But I knew someone who cared. I tried to cover it with my hand before-

 

"Babe, the safety tab is broken."

 

I slowly raised my eyes to meet the eyes of my new husband. He cared about safety tabs. He cared about clean food.

 

:sigh: "It's fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine......" I started to put the Moosetracks into the cart. We had agreed in the grocery budget to get a tub of ice cream. That last tub of Moosetracks needed to be purchased. I would fight for it. But I don't want him to be grossed out either.....

 

"Are you going to be able to eat it?" I asked.

 

He tried to lovingly contain his grossed out expression, "Can we get the banana split ice cream instead?"

 

I begrudgingly strayed my gaze to the top shelf. There lie piles and piles of banana split ice cream.

 

DO YOU WANT TO KNOW WHY THERE WERE PILES?!?! BECAUSE IT IS DISGUSTING.

 

DO YOU WANT TO KNOW WHY THERE WAS ONE PARTIALLY OPENED TUB OF MOOSETRACKS? BECAUSE IT IS THE EIGHTH WONDER OF THE WORLD.

 

 

 

For two days I suffered through banana flavored ice cream.....TWO DAYS!

 

We finally got through that tub of goo and returned to the Bi-Lo store where lo and behold! A restocking of the Moosetracks had happened! What glory! What joy! What feasting shall be had!

 

We returned home to hang out for the afternoon. Poolside, movies, and snuggling. Gloriousness.

 

I have always had Moosetracks for myself. Always. I buy a tub of ice cream, eat the areas that I desire, and leave the remains for the trash.

 

"What does she mean, 'eat the areas that she desires'" You ask?

 

For those of you who have purchased Moosetracks, you know that during the mixing of materials at the ice cream factory, the fudge and the brunt of the peanut butter cups swirl and reside in the very middle of the ice cream tub, also known as THE CORE, leaving nothing but basic vanilla ice cream on the outer hemispheres. The core of that tub is the promised land, the Mecca, the haven of ice rest. I only eat the core. It embodies who I am inside.

 

So while my hubs ate dinner, I skipped the meal in order to devour not one, but three bowls of ice cream, all consisting of the core of my 'Tracks, I mean OUR ‘Tracks in its entirety. Then it was time for a hot shower, since my body temperature had lowered to dangerous levels due to ice cream-induced hypothermia.

“Honey, I’m gonna shower. Just to let you know, I ate the core of the ice cream.”

 

End scene.

 

Until, as I was in the shower, I hear,

 

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!?!?!!!!!!”

 

I know that sound. I make that sound when I realize the core is gone. Gone forever. I wince and take as long as possible to finish rinsing my hair.

 

Afterwards I gently step out of the bathroom, as if surrounded by mousetraps, trying not to awaken the beast.

 

Silence.

 

Silence.

 

Silence.

 

Lots of silence followed. Then bedtime.

 

Then it happened.

 

“I’m frustrated.”

 

“About what?”

“When you said you ate the core of the ice cream, I didn’t know you literally meant the whole core of the ice cream tub. You took the best part. You left me with vanilla.”

 

“I’m sorry, dear. This is who I am. This is what I do.”

 

End scene.

 

Haha! Not really. A discussion followed, with a gentle man and a disgruntled woman who didn’t want to admit her wrongdoing. HOWEVER,

 

I was convicted, man.

 

I’d been selfish, man.

 

I was a jerk, man.

 

 

 

Marriage is more than about YOU. I knew what I was doing, but I had considered my selfishness as a part of “who I was,” a “personality trait of mine,” a “lovable quirk.” What it really was, was a CHARACTER FLAW. It was a SELFISH ACT.

 

The most difficult part of marriage so far? Leaving some of the core for the love of my life.

 

Oh it’s easy you say? THAT STUFF IS LIKE CRACK. You try for yourself and THEN YOU JUDGE ME!

 

Sometimes I convince myself that a character flaw that I expose is really just a part of who I am and that people need to just deal with it.

 

That’s not the case.

 

I am flawed. Wisdom comes when one knows that they contain flaws, that they should be teachable, and that they can always be better. Marriage brings out the raw side of that, but it is also a beautiful way of shaping and molding your character into something greater.

 

I have to work on this ever day, and most of the time it deals with edible substances.

 

Let’s examine the “core” of ourselves, shall we? ;)

30-Day-Almost-Dead

Jillian Michaels.

 

I’ve been hanging out with Jillian Michaels.

 

 

 

I realized a week and a half ago that I had one month before my wedding. I also realized that basking in the glory of Thai food for the month of June and binging on comfort food during my NCLEX studies during July had all taken me from a great need- to get toned for my wedding dress. (“Get toned” is a lightly used phrase often spoke by myself to mask the growing need for my body to gain any type of muscle besides the biceps I have from carrying Southern food to guests at the Crackhouse.)

 

So I remembered someone mentioning that Jillian Michaels 30-day-shred DVD was intense and results were amazing after just a week. I checked it out online, and what do you know?! So many testimonials about Week 1 of the 4-week DVD were raving. No one seemed to mention the other weeks, but hey! If Week 1 was so great, I COULD ONLY IMAGINE WHAT THE OTHERS WERE LIKE?!?!

 

So I went to Wal-Mart, and there it was- 30-Day-Shred…..I reached for it….but wait! Right next to it, for only 16 MORE CENTs….30-Day-Shred INTENSIFIED. Well oh my Moses, let’s do this! I have motivation! I have character! She seems like a likeable person! Let us COMMENCE!

 

Week 1…..she yelled at me a lot during the workout, but it was great! I was soaked in sweat, but I felt great! I could see why the results were raving! I’m in the best shape ever! Let’s do week 2!

 

WHY.

 

WHY DID I THINK THIS WAS GOING TO BE ALL RIGHT.

 

I just finished my first day of week 2.

 

 

 

I am soaked. Soaked. Like an orca just dragged me to my death at the bottom of the killer whale exhibit at Sea World.

 

 

 

I cannot hear anything but muffled sounds right now. I don’t know if it’s the blood pumping so loudly thoughout my body or because I am deafened by the “COME ON! GET SOME! I’VE HAD 500 POUND PEOPLE DOING THIS! DO NOT TELL ME YOU CAN’T! STOP SHOWING UP FOR ONLY HALF OF YOUR LIFE! GET SOME” every four seconds of the workout.

 

By minute 27 of her “20-minute-workout” I was dry heaving, and I’m not going to lie, I was crying a bit while planking.

 

This is real life. That actually happened. I cried in my black shorts and favorite “Biker Sunday” t-shirt I frequent.

 

 

 

I still feel great, and I can’t explain why. The lactic acid overdose caused me to breathe in more oxygen I’ve had since ‘Nam and I’m seeing some tone in this here Chinese-food-loving Baptist bod.

 

Sometimes stretching your muscles to the max changes everything. It makes you better. For the first time yesterday someone at work noticed that I’d been working out and my waist seemed smaller. In an Oxford t-shirt and pleated pants, I’ll take that as a compliment any day.

 

I feel like my faith is a muscle I am constantly trying to tone. I am so easily stressed by the situations of life, and it’s as if God is saying, “Keep calm and trust God.” I dry heave and cry, but in the end, He’s shown Himself, I’m strengthened, and my spiritual health is at its best once I allow Him to work me out of my comfort zone. God stretches us beyond what we think we can accomplish and pushes us past what we think we can do because it isn’t us, it’s Him.

 

Time to move past Week 1 of your workout with God. Step out of your comfort zone and see what He can do for you! Maybe He can lift the weights you just aren’t capable of getting rid of on your own.

 

Also, I’d highly recommend the workout, but sweet maple syrup get your tissues ready.

 

 

 

 

Flush it....

I don’t poop in public places.

 

 

 

 

 

Oh, not the way you thought this was going to start off?

 

Hi. How are you? Are you having a good day? Anyway,

 

I don’t poop in public places.

 

Pooping is very human.

 

Pooping is natural.

 

I enjoy typing the word pooping. Why? Because in my latest profession, this is a very important assessment tool. Pooping.

 

 

 

 

Pooping.

 

When I was young enough to understand the birds and the bees and boys and girls and dating and smooching and what not, I understood that the first impression is vital to a dude wanting his friends to meet his lady.

 

One of our dear friends from church had gone gaga over this girl.

 

“I’m gonna marry her.”

 

Congratulations. Now stop making us think she might be a fictional character and bring her to the McBee household.

 

The date was set, dinner was in the oven, and we all awaited this lovely lady to grace our presence. I mean, we’d heard so much about her that I thought Mother Theresa was going to walk in.

 

A few minutes into our chatting the doorbell rang and in walked our friend accompanied by one of the prettiest, sweetest young ladies I have ever met. She was fun, she was funny, she seemed comfortable around his us, it was too good to be true.

 

Why is that you say? How dare I be a pessimist you say? JUST YOU WAIT AND SEE I SAY.

 

“Could I use your restroom real quick? I’ll be right back.”

 

“WHY SURE! It’s over there to your right.”

 

That girl TORE THAT PLACE UP.

 

I don’t know what happened in there. Something close to death, but there was no visual evidence of rotting flesh, just a nasal explosion of what might have been tostadas, a dead raccoon, 82 maggots, and a partridge in a tree made of feces.

 

Everyone tried to act like nothing happened, but you quickly catch on to people talking through their noses and faces turning a soft shade of indigo from trying to ignore the drive to inhale.

 

 

 

I’ll never forget that. They eventually married. Sweetest thing in the world, but I think about it the nine or ten times I’ve seen her since. It’s hard to forget. I probably look like an idiot, smiling like I have an inside joke no one understands because in fact I do have an inside joke that no one understands.

 

So, yeah, based on that day, I don’t poop in public places, because I don’t want people to remember me by my waste products. By my garbage. Because they will, given the chance.

 

Hmmmm…..I wonder how often I do that with my words? I have many opportunities these days through cell phones, social media, just socializing in general to only expose my garbage.

 

I could be the sweetest thing in the world, but people will remember just that. The garbage. It could be years from now, but given the opportunity, no matter how hard they try, people will inevitably turn back to the stinkiest memory they have of me based on what I shared in public.

 

Just a thought for the day.

 

So….do something today that isn’t waste! We have a week and a half to get some money going for the beard “To Shave or Not To Shave” fundraiser…..so click the donate button, give and put in your vote knowing every penny you put in that fund goes to something phenomenal and something life-changing. Thanks guys! Share this if you want, and get the word out!

 

 

BEARDS.

To shave or not to shave.

 

That is the question.

                              

Not for me….do you guys think I’m that gross? I’m a lady, for Pete’s sake.

 

Ha! It is a question for me at times, but let’s focus on the real deal here.

 

This is Brandon.

 

 

 

Brandon doesn’t shave.

 

He’s been growing his beard out for thirteen months.

 

Thirteen months has allowed time for the beard to become infested with birds and other nest-loving creatures.

 

 

 

 

 

Only God knows what’s in that beard.

 

The decision for whether he keeps his beard or not remains in your hands, in your donations.

 

Your money for Brandon’s razor or anti-razor fund goes towards my upcoming medical journey with Earth Mission in Chiang Mai, Thailand, as well as my mom and brother’s trip to the children in Grenada this upcoming July.

 

So what do I get out of this? You might say. Well, aside from your donation going towards something great and you being a huge part in the decision of Brandon sticking with his manliness or becoming smoother than a baby’s bottom,

 

 

 

each donation is like a raffle ticket. At the end of the donation goal date, which is May 28^th, TWO WINNERS WILL RANDOMLY BE CHOSEN. The winner will receive a souvenir (a nice one) from the place of their choice, Grenada or Chiang Mai, which will be brought back and either hand-delivered if you’re fairly local or mailed if you are not.

 

For the love of manhood, donate below! Please leave a note with your donation on whether you vote TO SHAVE OR NOT TO SHAVE! This is a question only you can answer.

 

Thanks for your help guys! And don’t keep this to yourselves….

 

SHARE THIS MESS.

 

We’ll keep you updated every six days on how the voting is going!

 

Let the donations begin! This is through Paypal (See the "Donate link above!), so you don’t have to have an account and donations are secure and processed quickly! J