An OD of adorable

My nephew is SO FREAKIN' CUTE! I can hardly stand it. He sleeps like this all of the time.

Corley [kor-li] - proper noun

or,

events and such that define my being 5-10

- When I was very young I had very high fever, and because of it I had a seizure. When treatment was all over I was the youngest person in my family to have had a drug addiction. I don't remember it, but apparently withdrawal from phenobarbital is a bitch.

- Looking back at how the mind develops through childhood, I particularly like the time I had to get stitches in my forehead best of all. I was in the passenger seat of my dad's truck, I was waiting in it, parked in the driveway, while my dad had gone into the house to get something. During this time the balloon I had been playing with, made its way over to the floor boards of the driver's side of the truck. My little 4 year old brain couldn't realize that I could just move to the driver's side, reach down and grab the balloon. I had only ever been on the passenger side, through the passenger door. I had only ever seen my dad on the driver's side, and he got in through the driver's door - follow my logic? I got out and went to run around the back of the truck, only, I didn't realize the tailgate was down and I hit it hard. So hard that I fell over and gashed my head open. One way to learn to just scoot over.

- About six months later my Grandmother, Annie Tannie, died. Her funeral was the on the same day me pre-K class talked about the letter C. Can you see how this was confusing, too? I had been so excited - C! My name starts with C! There is a very nice watercolor sketch of a white cat next the the C! on the wall! I like cats! I was there for A and B, and the - D? Scarred for life. Now we all know why So-so Def (my ex's cat) and I never got along. After a few months, my parents were finally able to convince me Annie Tannie wasn't ever coming back. One weekend we went to the house where she and her husband had lived to visit him, Poppy Tom ( As the first grandchild I got to be the kid calling the shots. I like titles made up of two names.), and I was so confused! There she was - sitting in the living room! She was talking to Poppy Tom, my parents, and me - and she was NEVER coming back! ? The little wheels in my head first peeled out, and then came to a grinding halt. It was way too much for me. And then she leaned over and said in the sweetest way you can possibly tell a small child that you are not the one person that they want to see most in the universe, "Corley Ann, I am not your Annie Tannie." She wasn't. She was Tannie's sister, Sara. This is where I believe I began to cry. And if I didn't then, it is where I begin to cry every time I tell the story (even right now). I really wanted it to be her. I had been wishing on every shooting star, in every night's prayer, I still wish it had been her. That moment is vividly burned in my mind, I can see Aunt Sara's silhouette (it was kind of dark), and I can hear her Southern sing-song voice - that sounded just like Annie Tannie's - saying "Ah" instead of "I."

I have to limit it like this to keep from over burdening myself emotionally. This is not what I originally expected to write! I was think of something much more brief - oops!

Maybe next time I'll do 5-10 years, if I can take it.

"Waking up without you is like drinking from an empty cup."

Mr. A left for Michigan last Sunday. Until this week I hadn't realized how much time I spend with him, or how boring I am without him. Oh yeah, and how I turn into a sniveling baby when I get lonely. If I hadn't fallen asleep in front of CSI: Miami I was seriously considering watching Garden State and finishing off a six of Negra Modelo so that I could cry myself to sleep.

Hooray CSI: Miami and its sleep inducing powers! When I actually made it to bed though I didn't sleep so soundly, nor did I get out of bed so easily this morning. He'll be home Tuesday afternoon. Most likely after I go to work, so I won't get to see him until that night. Tuesday will SUCK because I have the whole morning off to sit and think about the fact that my man is a mere 2 1/2 hours away, as opposed to being across the country. *sigh*

Now do you understand why I am incessantly listening to melancorley Damien Rice, Samantha?

Can you see the love and admiration in my eyes?

Quoted

Who doesn't love text message love letters?

Mr. A: "I love hdtv."

The Q: "I love you, and that's kind of like hdtv."

Mr. A: "You're way better than hdtv."

secrets, secrets are no fun...

Hey, remember this horse?



Her name is Annie, or St. Anne's Fortune, if you're feeling fancy.

In June 2005, between buying the house and Janet's death, I bought her. For a year and a half she has been my secret. Ex #1 didn't find out about her until shortly before we broke up. My dad found out about a month ago. My mom doesn't know.

I kept her a secret for what I felt were good reasons. When I bought her I bound reason and financial responsibility with coarse rope and crude knots and threw them onto the tracks which my intoxicatingly compassionate heart was barreling down. No one was going to understand why I bought another one when I already exhausted myself trying to support one.



As a very young foal, before she should have been weaned, Annie was brought to the farm I was boarding at in Dallas. The people who owned her then abandoned her. The manager took over her care as soon as he realized that they really weren't coming back, but he did so cautiously. If anything happened to her because of his care the horse owners could still take legal action, if he did nothing he could have negligence charges brought against him. So he logged every feeding amount and time. After three months he posted legal notice of his intent to sell and sold her quickly to someone on the property. In the next four months she was sold two more times. The people who owned her at that point then impulsively bought another horse and needed to get rid of her fast. When in that week she didn't sell, they began talking about auction.

The thing about Annie is that she's young, so she doesn't have much training beyond ground manners; she's a rescue, so no one knows what her bloodlines are; and though she's pretty, she's not much prettier than most horses to unbiased eyes. She wasn't worth much at all. At auction she would sell to a killer. There are two slaughterhouses in North Texas that take horses.

I couldn't let that happen.

I have two horses. I've had this other wonderful, beautiful, quirky creature in my life and I haven't been able to say anything about her for fear someone would find out. Even in my daily life I had to censor myself so that I didn't slip in front of family, or someone who MIGHT know, or ever come into contact with, my family. It's almost been like I never owned her at all. I feel like keeping all of the love I have for her tucked away keeps me from being able to love her as much as I could.



Earlier this month an older horse at the farm died. He died defending himself against younger horses who were running him down. He kicked the main aggressor as hard as he could - throwing it backwards head over tail. When he kicked that other horse he used so much force that he broke his own leg. On Wednesday I got a call from his owner, "Q, this is Margy. I was told you're trying to sell Annie." And it was done. My problems were solved, I no longer have to feel guilty for the financial assistance offered by my family. I no longer have to feel guilty about the lack of time I have to spend training her, or the things I can't buy for her, myself, my other pets. I don't have to pick up every possible shift at the restaurant, and when I go to the farm I can go just to ride.

Now everyone knows, and all that stuff I had tucked away is caustic and seeping out. I am very sad. She's not leaving the farm, I have first option to purchase if she is even sold and I've been told I can ride her once she's trained; but she's not my Annie Bear any more. There will be fewer opportunities to have her check my pockets for goodies, nuzzle my hair, or willingly submit to kisses on her very, very soft muzzle.

Shortly Before The Long Arm Of Murphy's Law Caught Up With Me

My boyfriend rocks the camera, and I love this photo that he took:

Oh yeah, and - someone please get me Flickr Pro for Christmas!

Good beer (New Belgium Sunshine Wheat Beer and Pyramid Apricot)
+ Punk Rock (good with lots of beer)
+ Lots of of people
+ fireworks
+ cops

=

bitchen' party at The Metropolis - Yay!

Dinner Date

Remember how I craved curry in September?

Last night Casey and I finally made it to Bombay Bistro.

Color me impressed!

The restaurant is located in a strip center, but once you're inside you have no idea. The lighting is dim and romantic, the decor is at once striking and unobtrusive. It is a very nice place. Where you could take a date - and not break the bank. Pre-tip, our meal was $30.oo, which included a glass of wine, soup, an appetizer (which was my entree), and one entree.

Service was SUPERB - and I don't say that often. Our waiter was extremely helpful, making suggestions and offering comparisons to foods we might be more familiar with. He even suggested a really perfect Pinot Grigio to accompany my meal. As a server I have always found this difficult - despite my love for wine.

We wound up with TONS of food, and I will be having left-overs for lunch or dinner today. I look forward to it.

The only this I found disappointing was the fact that menu items did not indicate whether or not they were spicy in many instances. I don't mind. I LOVE spicy food. However, Mr. A and I have a completely different sort of tolerance for heat in a dish:

The Q: (reaching across the table to sample his side dish) "Mmm.. It is a little bit spicy, but it's really good!"
Casey: (takes a bite, coughs, and send me a good-natured, albeit dirty, look) " A little spicy??? Ha! You have a different definition of spicy!"

I was extremely pleased, and I will definitely return, and share the Bombay Bistro love. North Austin needs a place like this. So, when you're in town let me know, and I'll take you there.

Want more glowing information? Here's what the Austin Chronicle has to say. They are dead on!

Hey,
This is like a letter, to all of you.
Did M. Kennedy consider Thanksgiving when she proposed NaBloPoMo?
I'm at Casey's sister's apartment, finally able to drink - my family is dry as a bone. This is great. I'm feeling so chill - I can't even focus enough to write right now. Plus, I'm writing on a mini laptop - a Fujitsu P series Lifebook - I think, something like that. It's hard to write on because I'm drinking and the keyboard is so small.

I love you guys! A really 'full bodied' post tomorrow. Just wanted to make sure I was heard before the deadline.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Much love,

The Q

I Need Some Musical Help

1) A couple of years ago I heard about a band on a NPR show. Each of the songs starts out with a historical audio clip and then is about the event - or something like that. I remember liking it, I thinking, "I should look up _____ when I get home." Guess what? I forgot. Does anyone know who they are?

2) Love songs with no despair. I have a great book, 17 Love Poems With No Despair, by BJ Ward. I love the idea and most of the poems. Why pair love and despair so often? It brings us all down. So, not too long ago - right after my sister's wedding, actually - I was trying to think of love songs with no despair that are not mainstream country. Not too much luck. Casey gave me the first two :

- Eight Days a Week, The Beatles
- Love Me Do, The Beatles
- All That Heaven Will Allow, Bruce Springsteen
- For You, Tracy Chapman
- Wedding Song, Tracy Chapman
- The Luckiest, Ben Folds
- Your Charms, Cinerama
- Naked as We Came, Iron and Wine (maybe a tinge of despair here with the death theme and all)


Help me out! I need input! Post a comment or e-mail me (link on profile) and I'll add to the list.

So the problem with a blog?
=
Something happened last night that I would write about right now because it made my heart melt so that it resembled caramel sauce, but my man and I now have this lack of online anonymity, and it's weird to think of him reading my writing where I gush to the whole world like I would my best friend (who I need to call to tell this to).


This is all I want to talk about today.

*gush, gush, gush*

I have an incredible boyfriend, who makes everyday a good one. I am still always excited to see him and his presence makes me giddy. My family and friends like him and constantly tell me how good he is, and comment on his sweet nature when he and I interact. They can tell he loves me. I am so lucky.


(All of that hair you see on me is no more!! I look much more like this. But shorter, and with long bangs. So not the same at all.)

He says something like, "If God is love, and love is blind, then how can God see us kneeling before him in prayer?"

Last night I decided I didn't care if I felt bad. I was going to work out anyway. After all, I've been avoiding exerting myself for over a week thinking I was about to get sick - trying to stop it. Well, that worked.

So I did yoga, I jumped rope for 5 minutes, and then Emma and I went for a brisk walk for a half hour. I felt really good afterwards. I did some laundry and got to go to bed on clean sheets.

Today has been uneventful. I am back on meds, and that 'brightened' my day. It also gave me a headache.

As I got onto the bus for my 2 o'clock class I grabbed a book that has been lurking behind the seat of my truck. It was a $5.oo book at Intellectual Property back at the beginning of the semester when it first opened it's doors. Since 2pm I've read 192 pages. It's a book that mainly addresses the struggle of spirituality. I love books that address spirituality, as I feel I often lack it. Here is a little passage that caught my attention, from Page 83:

"Tell me," you continue in a gentler, more earnest tone. "Do you
believe that a fledgling Buddhist, someone who likes kids and does volunteer
work every Sunday evening and meditates pretty much every day - for the sake of argument we'll call meditation 'prayer' - so he prays every day- he's a
truth seeker- someone who aspires to a life filled with love and patience and
who tries to conduct himself by a moral code that's fairly Christian in
nature - will that person, despite his pursuit of those goals, be condemned to
hell solely because he doesn't believe that Christ is God?"

"Any person who truly loves will go to heaven."

"Who then goes to hell?"

"Someone who imposes hell on himself. Someone who says that he wants
to have no part of God, no part of love, no part of joy. It's all about the
disposition of the heart, Carter. God is, quite literally, love."

s.i.c.k.

That's me. I've got some sort of crud that is attacking me from the chest up. Which means coughing, sneezing, snot and headaches. I had been fighting it off for about a week, but it finally took over. Mr. A brought me soup and OJ last night and watched a film for class,Erotikon, which is a silent film from the 20s, with me. He is such a great boyfriend.

Speaking of his fabulousness, the template he's making for me is gorgeous. He's not happy with it yet, but the title bar is bitchen. I have an idea for another, so I might have him make two so that I can switch out at will. I tried to get him to take a snapshot of it on his computer and send it to me, but he wasn't happy with it, so he didn't.

Speaking of snapshots, here one from my day:

(at copy center on campus, picking up a class packet)
Guy in front of me: I need Hunter's packet for GOV312L.
Me: Ooh! Grab two, I need one as well.
Guy, turns to me: Reading last minute before Thursday's
quiz?
Me: Yep. You too, then?
Guy: Yeah, I didn't even read any of the stuff for the last one. I did
okay, but I thought I'd study.
Me: Well, don't worry. The next book is short with large print and
pictures.
Guy: Really? (looks at it) Man, that is short. Maybe I can just borrow
it instead of buying it before the next quiz.
Me: I'll try and finish it tonight at work. If so I'll let you borrow
it Thursday.
Guy: No rush -
Me: You're a procrastinator like me, right? What's your name? I'll get
in touch with you over Black board.
Guy: Nick. I was that guy who kept talking about the environmental
stuff.
Me: Yeah! I was the girl who talked about biodegradable soap! Well,
I'm right there with ya.

We were the only two people in class talking about the lack of Environmental movement in class.

Last night I went to a little jazz club with 'The Sam,' her man, her foreign couch-crasher, her friend Jacob and Mr. A. It was a cramped, noisy, well-worn bar and it was awesome. My favorite thing about musicians is watching how they play.

The drummer moved stiff and erratically, like a zombie.

The bassist moved his head, and his eyes fluttered with every finger stroke. My guess is by he end of a show he has a very stiff neck and a headache.

The trumpeter was long and lean like his trumpet, and he moved jut as fluidly and he played.

The guy with the sax looked like such a beatnik. He was a tall broad guy who slowly shank as he used his breath.

They were ridiculously good.

Dia de los Muertos

I will spend the next two days thinking of you, Jen. I'm building you a modest shrine - I will get you some Inari. I will drink, light candles - especially those you gave me, listen to all of the music that remind me of you, and remember what a strong, vibrant person you were. It is getting close to two years and I still miss you like hell. I wish I'd had a chance to say goodbye. I love you.
I read in an article yesterday that in the tradition of Dia de los Muertos there are three kinds of death: one when your body ceases function, a second when your body returns to the earth, and a final one when no one remembers you. You will never die your third death.