Sunday, January 25, 2009
Touch free until I know,
What's in it for me?
Oh yes. Haven't you heard?
I'm worth it.
And I'm lov'in it.
Because there are a thousand possibilities for me to
and it's just like they say,
I can have it my way.
A better world for you?
How about a better world for "i".
Didn't you hear?
Or couldn't you guess?
I put the me in awesome.
So cheers to yours truly,
and for all that I do,
patting myself on the back,
shouting, "this buds for you!"
(Written over course of train travels,
majority of text stemming from
following slogans throughout the city,
as well as a growing awareness of my own self-absorbed tendencies.)
Posted by Jekisa Jean at 6:46 AM
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
I have never really been able to categorize myself under the illustrious adjective awarded to all those with muscles and a competitive drive to WIN things. More simply put, the sentence: "Hey, she is quite the athlete", has never and will never be uttered about me. This information could quite easily be deduced by observing the amount of chocolate that is stashed away in my pantry or my increasing library of books on things like chess, theology, cats, and gardening.
This may be hard to believe, BUT there was, for a short time in my high school career, a window of hope for this now world-renowned-Olympian-NERD. Oh yes. For a brief yet balmy summer, I was absolutely convinced (as is evident in my diary entries) that I would be the next Lindsay Davenport.
Today I hit a tennis ball with my racket against the garage door for like...2 hours. It was so intense. I really think I could have a future in this...gotta go!
Love, Jessi P.S. This autograph will be famous next year!"
Now of course even at my young age I knew that all this raw talent would somehow need to be bridled. SO, my parents, in all their "we will support you with anything you want to do as long as it is not dumb" glory, signed me up for...dun dun dun DAH: "TENNIS LESSONS".
Talk about adding the fuel to my fast growing fire of illusions. By the time my first lesson had arrived I had already written and memorized my acceptance speech for gold medal tennis victory.
What I had not prepared for however, that bright and sunny Wednesday afternoon, was that just when I thought life could not get any better, just when I was already intoxicated by the new rubber smell of my neon green racket and the promise of Tennis Hall History fame, the instructor stepped onto the court.
Time stood still. Birds sang. My heart stopped beating. I whispered to myself the new score of my life: LOVE:LOVE... The fact that my emotions were most likely not returned at that moment didn't bother me. He was so good looking and so obviously talented, and so knowledgeable about the sport (as was evident by his K-Swiss sneaks), that all the signs in the universe seemed to resonate the same pun-intended slogan: THIS IS A MATCH MADE IN HEAVEN!
In those brief moments of course introductions, my life goal took the edit of a lifetime the revised version being: "get Todd the tennis instructor to confess his undying love ...while simultaneously declaring me the best female tennis player the world has ever seen."
To say I had high ambitions for that summer would be an understatement..
But fortunately the "inspirational" catch phrase, "Shoot for the moon and you'll always land in the stars" had recently been born, so I remained completely unaware and undeterred.
Wednesday evenings could never come quickly enough. My parents would pull up to the courts in our grey mini-van and before you could say, “Pete Sampras really needs a good eyebrow wax", I had already bolted gazelle like, out the sliding door, racket in hand, ready to gaze longingly across the net at my future husband.
I enjoyed the underhand racket hitting segments, and reveled in the tapping volley segments, but by far, the serving segment was the most divine. I don't remember much talk on form and follow through...but what I do know is that that was the time each night when he would come stand by each student, without any tennis ball, and have them practice fake serving simultaneously with him.
Even better than being in such close proximity with the man of my dreams, was the whiff of deodorant that came after each fake serve. It was his wonderful, Old Spice smelling deodorant, that enabled daydreams like these:
"Oh honey, after your match today, could you stop by the grocery store and pick up some deodorant?" to which I'd laugh and respond "Of course Toddy, I'd love to, oh and don't forget, the Williams are coming buy for a match after dinner tonight.”
This was my utopia. For 4 weeks straight I practiced taps and fake serves for the game I loved all with the man I loved- unaware that very soon, true to Dante form, this Paradise would be lost indefinitely.
That fifth Wednesday, after a usual hurried drop off, I walked through the fence gates and knew immediately that something was wrong. The evening sunlight was not as golden. The cicadas were screaming, not singing, and Todd, tennis god Todd, was nowhere to be seen. One of the students whispered something about an accident and torn ligaments. All at once, things became a blur. My mind began to reel. What about our future? Our three, tennis-sweater donning children? Panic set it. The students began to complain, asking trivial questions like who was teaching in his place?.. That is when SHE showed up, towing our impending doom behind her.
I immediately called her Miss Hannigan. In my opinion she didn't have a real name, since she wasn't Todd. She stood on the other side of the court in a white, Nike, tennis skirt and arm muscles that rippled as she crossed them and barked:
"I play professionally. I cannot serve or volley wif you at dis time. So dar is dis machine. Everyvone, step back to ze line. NOW."
Oh Good Lord.
My heaven turned hell in a matter of minutes.
“Dis machine" was the tennis pro 3000 and it had no mercy for tennis amateurs and certainly not for broken hearts or dreams.
Never in my young adult career have I played a GAME with such fear for my life.
Just when you had managed to follow through on a corner hit, it's angry unrelenting serve was chucking yet another death ball of speed, and if you missed that one, there was no time to belittle yourself because 2 inches away from your face was another neon orb of torture.
And always with every practice
was Miss Hannigan,
So many welts.
So many diary entries: "I HATE HER! I HATE MISS HANNIGAN! AND I HATE TENNIS!
It is no surprise to the reader then, how the last class of that summer, seemed to me to be the end of my sentence on death row, and was an evening met with much anticipation.
But then the strangest thing happened that took us all by surprise...
That night, Miss Hannigan didn't bring her machine.
That night she had us all line up on the side of the fence and called us to the court one by one.
And one by one, we each played a set with her. And one by one, as her intimidating professional serves would come thundering across the court...we would actually hit some back. And one by one we were actually able to keep up with her rocketing backhands.
By the time it was my turn and I stepped up to the box, I began to play and enjoy the game on a level that I had not ever arrived at in the underhanded ease of love-lorn days prior, (or in any of my "intense" garage door hitting sessions for that matter).
Un-beknownst to me at the time, the unforgiving, loathsome ways of Miss Hannigan and her teaching style, had prepared me for a much, much bigger game...
Now I still to this day, have yet to dominate a match. It is true. As was stated earlier I am extremely un-athletic and my tennis career is still struggling. But when it comes to bigger games…
When it comes to THE bigger game with it's stress and anxiety that always seems to come in waves of with no mercy,I have learned to take the welts, ride it out, and remember these three things:
1. Only when we remain steadfast with the hits that keep coming, will you find God gives you the strength to keep going.
2. If you always get things thrown to where your hitting, you'll never hit far.
It's in the reaching that you'll really travel.
And perhaps most importantly:
3. Todd is probably bald and fat somewhere on a tennis court, still teaching kids to fake serve.
Posted by Jekisa Jean at 7:33 AM
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Though the path is dark,
I will not let you fall.
Though the night is cold,
I will keep your thoughts from sleep.
Though you walk this journey alone,
I will never leave your side.
Child of the King,
Your tears may be many,
but My promises for you are more.
Posted by Jekisa Jean at 12:21 PM
Saturday, January 10, 2009
That's just the problem.
I'm guessing she can't decide whether you are awfully perfect for each other...
or just perfectly awful.
But I told her that I loved her!
Well what does that have to do with anything?
Allot I should hope.
Words mean nothing to her.
You're wrong. She's an author. Words mean everything to her.
Not those ones.
They are as easy to say as "I hate you".
and who knows.
maybe a year from now things change and...
I could never hate her! I want to marry her!
I would do anything for her!
I see. And you told her this already?
It may as well be over.
Why? Because I say marriage and say it so soon?
No. Because you say "anything" and actually believe yourself.
She isn't as cynical as you are.
Leave it to a "poet in love" to mistake wisdom for cynicism.
I come to you, asking for your help,
your guidance in winning her hand,
and all you do is scoff at my love for her.
It is not Love I laugh at.
It is your love for Love,
and what it does for you,
that is difficult to tolerate.
I just told you I would do anything for her!
And you accuse me of selfishness!
The language of love is the most intoxicating drug of all.
The more it is spoken, the higher it takes you...
But if she did as you wished, if she married you today,
and if you lived off the feelings of grandeur that you carry for her
at this very hour, I can assure you, the glow would dull and fade
and no amount of meaningless incantations or phrases could ever bring it back.
I have a different theory.
I think you are the selfish one.
You know how much you influence her.
And yet you block your own sister's happiness!
Very well then, O wise one. What would you advise.
To admit to yourself and to her that you know nothing of Love.
Absolutely nothing at all.
But that it would be your greatest honor,
to commit yourself daily,
to discovering this knowledge,
Only then would you have chance in this whole mess.
That, and a good shave wouldn't hurt your case either.
Posted by Jekisa Jean at 1:44 PM
Thursday, January 1, 2009
Tonight I had a conversation with my new bottle of certified fair trade soap and it went a little something like this:
MMM. soap, you are good, i am glad i bought you, you smell like peppermint and are made with organic oils. also, congratulations on what looks to be your 60th year of "soapmaking excellence"
Truthfully, I didn't buy you because you were fair trade, although that is nice bonus...,but because 1. i would very much like to smell like a candy cane all day,and 2. your label said "Dr. Bronner's Magic Soaps". And quite frankly,i think that there is nothing better than medical confidence mixed with a bit of magical charm. i hope you find yourself at home here.
ok. now i am going to try you out....nice... i am even tempted to put you in hot chocolate.
but wait. what's this? you have alot of small print over your packaging. interesting. well i have already read your neighboring shampoo ingredients and the labels that come on my shaving gel, so i am very much indebted to whatever new jingle you have to tell me.
i have always thought there is no greater boredom than the boredom that comes from having nothing new to read, so i will check you out through sudsy squints while my leave in conditioner sets.
WHATEVER UNITES MANKIND IS BETTER THAN WHATEVER DIVIDES US.
hm.that's different...i was expecting "start your stint with hint of peppermint" or something more up the soap slogan rhyming alley...
YET IF ABSOLUTE UNSELFISH I AM NOT FOR ME, I AM BUT CLASSLESS, RACELESS, STARVING MASSES, NEVER FREE NOR BRAVE! ONLY IF CONSTRUCTIVE SELFISH I WORK HARD PERFECT FIRST ME, LIKE ARCTIC OWLS-PENGUIN, PILOT-CAT-SWALLOW-BEAVER-BEE, CAN I TEACH THE MORAL ABC'S...
the moral abc's...? hold on. i'm going to need to sit down for this one.
my two minute rinse can wait.
ALL-ONE- GOD-FAITH, THAT LIGHTNING LIKE UNITES THE HUMAN RACE!
FOR WE'RE ALL ONE OR NONE! ALL ONE!"LISTEN CHILDREN, ETERNAL FATHER ETERNALLY ONE
EXCEPTION ETERNALLY? ABSOLUTE NONE!
hold UP. let me get this straight. i purchased you, a mere hygiene product and ended up buying a philosophy?
DON"T DESTROY GOD"S SPACESHIP EARTH!
Roger that, Houston.
We have a problem.
Peppermint soap: something stinks, and i think it's your
of universal happiness
achieved purely through self-sufficient means,
in which we all become our own diety
and live happily ever after
as beaver llama bee god's.
SMALL MINDS DECAY! AVERAGE MINDS DELAY! GREAT MINDS TEACH ALL-ONE TODAY!
stop yelling at me.
EACH DAY, LIKE A BIRD, PERFECT THYSELF FIRST!
well i am one bird not going for this worm.
i'll be honest, your sweet oils were quite seductive...
but next time, i think i'll stick with Irish Spring.
because it's cheaper.
but mostly because the only philosophy they ever tried to sell me
was that it floats.
This "small minded" woman is out.
Posted by Jekisa Jean at 7:38 PM