It is 5am and I’m gathering all my things for the first day of pageant rehearsal and the interview with the judges.

Game on.

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Last night, we went to a couple’s dinner at a restaurant/bar downtown for the pageant contestants and their spouses. I was the only contestant wearing pants. All the other women were wearing cocktail dresses. I’m not kidding,  every woman was made up to full capacity, equipped with seven inch high heels and seven inch eyelashes. And then there is me…black slacks and a hot pink blouse. I may as well have worn jeans and crocs.

(Note to self: When competing in a pageant, it is always best to overdress than underdress. And also…buy some eyelashes.)

Thoughts of, “WHAT AM I THINKING ENTERING THIS PAGEANT?” and “Please. Just let this be over with,” ran through my head. Like a song. A really REALLY long song.

My husband and I sat at a table with another couple, Betty and Jarred. It was a good time talking with those two. The couple were a hoot to hang out with. (Yes, I said hoot.) For a few minutes, I forgot what I was doing there, and then…well, I was quickly reminded when the director stood to speak and started talking about pageantry. And then I’m all, “Pageant? Oh yeah. I’ve lost my mind.”

I was feeling okay about everything UNTIL last night. All of a sudden, a million and one insecurities have  flooded my system and I am feeling very inadequate. I haven’t practiced walking like I should. I’m not the most coordinated, which may be problematic during the production. (Oh yeah, there is a dance number. Again: WHAT AM I THINKING?)

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Last night, we picked up the kids from their babysitting destinations and the boys started talking about the pageant.

“Mom,” Eric says, “I think you’re going to make second or first place! I really think you’re going to make first place. I’m serious.”

Then Jacob says, ”I think you’ll make third. Or fourth. Because you have four kids.”

I totally could rationalize Jacob’s logic.

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 I really don’t want to end this entry, because it would mean that I need to finish packing and getting things ready…which means things will be coming a tad bit closer to the time for me to leave. (Is it normal to be so nervous about a rehearsal?)

The plan today is to be at the building at 8am. Once we get there, we begin practicing the opening number. We break for lunch, practice for a couple more hours, and then we break to get ready for the judges’ interview. Which, by the way, just typing the word: ‘interview’ sends me to a complete and utter panic attack. I’m not kidding. I’m rolling around the floor right now trying to find a corner to curl up in a fetal position and hum “We Are The World.” Don’t laugh. It’s serious.

I’m second guessing my choice in an interview suit. I picked it out last minute. It’s all black and well…it’s black. The jacket is quarter cut sleeves and reminds me a little of a Jackie Kennedy style. The shoes are…black. But guess what? The pantyhose I’ll be wearing are suntan! (Way to glamour and color it up, right?)  I’ll accessorize, of course, with my Tiffany necklace and my fake diamond CTR hoop earrings.

It has been suggested we wear our hair out of our face for the interview and it be slick and sleek. So there lies another problem for me to deal with. My hair is anything but slick and sleek.

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We were supposed to submit wedding pictures to the Pageant Director for her to display. I wasn’t too happy about this and decided to opt out. She asked me a few times and once I thought I sent one…but turns out OOPS…it was just another headshot of myself. Finally, I sent her an email and told her the truth:

“No wedding picture. Sorry. Ten years ago, I was a big fat fornicator and pregnant on our wedding day and choose not to be reminded. (Or remind anyone else.)”

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Today, is my tenth wedding anniversary.  So today, when I’m buzzing around trying to get things together and I start to freak out, I am going to remember what I was doing ten years ago today. I was marrying the love of my life who is being very patient with all this ‘pageant mess’ and allowing me to step out of my comfort zone and do something I couldn’t have imagined doing ten years ago.

Ten years. Whoa.

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 It’s now 5:45am. I have to leave my house at 7:15.

Okay. I can do this.

Right?

<insert scream here.>

I was asked to be on Movin 104.9 FM tomorrow morning (July 16th) to discuss my competing in the Mrs. Alaska America Pageant. The interview is in the 8am hour. (Noon for all of you on the East Coast.)

You can listen live online: http://www.movin1049.com/Article.asp?id=943420

Tonight, there was a meeting at a local spa downtown for the Mrs. Alaska America Contestants. The first half of the group received a  tour of the facilities and a makeup lesson.  We went over the interview portion of the pageant, shoes, makeup, hairstyles, and all things related to the pageant world. My Afro-style hair, equipped with frizz and curls, are not considered appropriate for the pageant interview.

And neither is faded lipstick.

Who knew?

Several of the contestants I saw tonight are a sure bet. One is tall and blonde…the kind of woman I usually dislike, but since she’s my  friend, I forgive her…the other a young black woman who radiates beauty with her smile and kindness. One has a beautiful olive complexion and the most stylish woman in the room…and her smile! Wow. 

I thought, well, I can’t  dismiss myself entirely… and then. Oh, then,  I caught  a glimpse of myself in the mirror…equipped with the Afro-frizz hair, a twinge of orange face from the spray tan this morning, non-waxed eyebrows and yeah, even the upper lip needed a little waxing.* I really just wanted to put a bag over my head and sneak out the door. Maybe run really fast…(as fast as one can run in high heels) back home. Perhaps under my bed where it is warm, cozy, and dark.

As I’m sitting there going over all the things that is wrong with my appearance, the Director and owner of the salon tell us there will be a giveaway. $50.00 gift certificate to the salon and a $53.00 make-up kit from Bare Minerals.

An awesome prize.

I decided I really would like to win it.

So I say to God in my head**, “Heavenly Father, I really would like to win this. Really. Seriously. You know the week I’ve had and the afro hair isn’t making it a good time for me right now. This would cheer me up. Please? Please? Can I win it? Can I? Can I?”

Perhaps in my prayer, I came off sounding like one of my kids in which sometimes I just give them whatever it is they want so they will stop asking because the next thing I knew…

I won.

Maybe there is hope for me in this pageant after all.

*No judgement.

**Because calling out to God in a public setting isn’t going to win you friends. Maybe a trip to the mental hospital…but surely not friends.

Only a week and a day left before the pageant…and my life could not be more crazy.

And when I say crazy…I mean, EVERYTHING is upside down.

Trying to sort through the multitude of emotions  has me wondering if this is just my life. Am I truly destined for one life-changing problem after another?

And if so, I’m going to have to seriously expand my collection of anti-aging beauty products and take up Yoga.

With that said, I also know this is where I have to practice what I preach and rely on my faith which is being tested to the max right now.

When things are bad, I have a tendency to withdrawal from people. I am absorbed in my own problems and become intent on not burdening others, but end up isolating myself to such a degree, friends feel rejected. This is not okay and I’m trying to work on it. I’ve decided to change my attitude with a “Fake It, Until You Make It!”  I have committed to laugh, smile, help others, and give DAILY. No matter what.

This isn’t easy, especially when I am a bit of a self-absorbed person when things in my life are out of whack.  There are times when I have to just eat the entire helping of humble pie and move forward. Maybe there is a little indigestion afterwards, but oh the relief when it fades away!

I believe God is making provisions in my life and I must trust in Him.

How can I not?

All of the pictures taken of me in 1983 were with my head cocked to one side with a sly smile.

Why? I thought it looked hot. At six years of age, I had a look for photos. It was called ‘the broken neck’.

My sister is in graduate school and is doing a paper about mixed marriages. Our father is Puerto-Rican and our mother white. She has found all of these pictures and has been sending them to me via email, basically making fun of my poses in every photo. (Sometimes it appeared I had a broken arm. Other times, I looked blind.)

Shall I point out that I had it going on with the knee socks, though?

That’s me… the blonde one in the front. The one who appears to have a  broken neck.