Kiss My Lotus

My little chunky monkey!!!

2009-06-08T07:39:00.000-07:00

This kid cracks me up. She's so much like her mother but looks just like her daddy; it's a great mix.

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

2007-07-22T19:26:00.000-07:00

If one is inclined to say so, and one most definitely is, the six hours spent with Harry Potter were the ideal way to spend a Sunday afternoon. I woke up this morning (or rather around noon) in another tizzy: I had to have Harry Potter in my hands before the sunset. I faced the challenge head on by calling Wally World.
“Umm… Harry Potter was supposed to be here yesterday. It did not show up. Thoughts?”
“Well ‘mam, as I’m sure you aware, the demand is high and the order is still processing.”
“Hmmm…. Perhaps you don’t hear me: I don’t have my Potter. I need my Potter.”
“Since the order is still processing you could potentially cancel the order.”
“Score. Let’s do that.”
I cancelled the order, got on my broomstick, and took off to Diagon Alley to find a copy. For the sweet price of $17.99, I had my own Harry. It was about 2pm when we got back to the house. I should mention that I began reading the book on the way back. For once, I praised the many stoplights on Cary Parkway. I read for three hours, took an hour-long break, and then read for the final three hours. I suggest you back slowly away from the blog if you do not want to know any of the book’s secrets.

Minus the neat little, slightly unrealistic, tie-up at the end, this was a fantastic book. It was the sort that I dreaded nearing its conclusion. I want 700 pages more. 7,000 pages more. I simply just want more. But what I do not want, what I hope never happens, is the story of Rose and Scorpius. From my lips to Rowling’s ears – please no “offspring” stories. And with Teddy,while it may be tempting, she has to realize that the story would be useless: the orphaned son of Tonks and Lupin would claim a story much like another orphaned boy.

The one thing that continually surprises me about Rowling’s novels is how for all the wizardry and witchcraft afoot, the bare bones are much simpler, much more real. The Hogwarts series is about family, love, belonging and how the human desire for all three propels our actions.

Consider Hermione, whose love for Ron and Harry constantly have her doing what she knows to be “against the rules.” But look beyond that childhood affection, beyond the happy threesome – in the final installment Hermione puts her parents under a spell so that they forget they have a daughter. She does this for their safety, as she knows that, as her parents, they will be questioned. She also does this to spare them in the event she dies. I realize that this is questionable, is erasing all memory of her really sparing their hearts?, but she’s doing what she thinks is best.

And what of Percy, who comes rushing to be by his family’s side when the battle cries sound? Or Mrs. Weasley who commands the floor when taking on Bellatrix with a “NOT MY DAUGHTER, YOU BITCH!” Or even Snape, whose entire adulthood has revolved around keeping Harry Potter safe because of an intense love that he could never have. He risked so much, indeed his very life, for Lily Evans and by bestowing his memories upon Harry he insured his own immortality. Albus Severus, the only son of Harry with Lily’s eyes, has large shoes to fill.

And let’s consider the Dursley’s when they leave, Diddykins in particular. We all know that Harry is insistent that they leave for their safety, but it is so touching when Dudsley wants to know why Harry isn’t coming with him. He doesn’t want Harry to be in danger. It’s a sweet moment.

And the Malfoys -- the things Lucius and Narcissa do and risk for Malfoy. It's love. A twisted kind of love but in their quest for glory, they do not abandon their son. I was quite touched when Narcissa asked the supposedly dead Harry if Draco was alive. I had written the whole family off as a lot of cowards. In telling good ole Voldy that the Boy Who Lived no longer lived, she risked her life just for a the news that her son had not perished in the struggle. It is something we should all strive to remember -- everyone has a mother, or someone, who loves them.

I would love to spend more time on the role of love, family, and belonging and perhaps I shall another day. Now on to the sex. (You got excited for a minute there – thought that there was some hot sex in the novel did you? Maybe you, like me, wondered what color Tonks’ hair turns when she is sleeping with that hot werewolf. My apologies. Nothing so overt. Though, I did fear briefly that Hermione would be raped.) The physicality of sex is also something apparent but not glaring. The way Ginny kisses Harry as she’s never kissed him before. How Hermione launches herself into Ron’s arms with the kiss that has been coming for seven years. The crude remarks Hermione draws on more than one occasion. There is a part, a mere few lines, when Harry is watching Bellatrix, who has a very sexual aura around her. It would appear that she is, or wants to be, all up in good ole Voldy’s pants. (His scream at her death also would suggest that there was a little Dark Arts going on under the sheets but it would also suggest that Voldemort had feelings, which, as we all know, is what separated him from Harry.) But there is a part in the book where Bellatrix is excited and breathing heavily, very aroused, and looking at her heaving chest, Harry is reminded of Ginny. This is not a “look evil in the face and remember why you want to live” kind of moment; it is sexually charged, animalistic, and raw. I liked it, Rowling. I liked it even better that Harry did not know why Ginny would cross his mind at such a moment.

The deaths in this novel are tragic, but it is a war. The two that hit hardest for me were Hedwig and Dobby, especially Dobby. I only hope that they do not write out the scene where Harry insists on digging the grave the “muggle” way when they script the final movie. Fred was quite the surprise as well. I didn’t expect her to halve the hilarious twins who so often appear as just one person. Percy would have been a better choice if you ask me.

In short, the book was good—quite possibly my favorite of the seven. I love Harry Potter even more now. Even more. Curse you, Rowling; I never intended to care.

Sweet 'Arry Pottah

2007-07-21T15:48:00.000-07:00

I ordered the book. I'm a card carrying member of the Harry Potter fan club. The book was supposed to be delivered to my door today. I had all intentions of spending my night reading the final installment of my Hogwart's crack. The book DID NOT come. There, I said it -- it IS NOT here. Now I have to wait for Monday. I'll be so out of the loop -- they'll have to take my card back. Curse you, mail system, curse you. If only I weren't a muggle, I'd have my way.

I went online and sought out the true story. I was pleased to see that the spoilers I'd read previously are apparently not true -- Ron does not die. I never realized how impatient I am. Knowing what happens won't ruin the book for me. I will probably cry just as much reading the details of two particular deaths knowing that they are to occur than if it came as a surprise. I won't tell you who or what dies, but I will say I loved that owl...

Don't get all angry -- that happens early on. I'll save the juicy details until after I've actually read the book. I can say that I don't see this being a kid's movie.

Speaking of not being muggle - oh, the things I'd do if I was a witch. I'd be the most brilliant witch ever.

Mama took my eyebrows

2007-07-19T17:37:00.000-07:00
A tragic tale of waxing gone awry

I woke up this morning and said “NO” to the sesame street eyebrows that I have abandoned for far too long. Well beyond the tweezing stage, I knew it would require shaping and skill to tame the little face caterpillars. I went to work with a mission. Noon rolled around quickly enough and I headed out to attend to the matter at hand. Did I go to Aveda? Sadly, no. How about Ulta? They do a good job. Again, no. The tightwad in me went to a nail salon. (That was my second mistake; my first was getting out of bed this morning.) I walked in and let the smell of acrylic tickle my nostrils. I went to a darkened room, a rose-colored sheet over the fluorescent light. An unidentified stain brightened the otherwise dull white pillow. The woman whose hands my facial expression would later be in flipped the pillow quickly, a mumbled apology on her lips. The other side had a larger, angry, red stain. She flipped it back with a shrug. Her tiny hands pulled me down. I resisted, it is true, but her insistent urging lulled me into a false sense of security. It is but an eyebrow waxing, not brain surgery, I said to myself. Note to self, never listen to self. She blew the wax in soft quick bursts of air. She seemed nervous, not like the ones I have had before (and oh, there have been many). Quickly, she smeared the sticky substance on my eye, pulling the skin taunt. The strip of fabric, smoothed over quickly by her fingers, and then the most searing pain imaginable. Frantically, I reached for my poor eyebrow, fingers seeking to find even one strand of hair remaining. Sigh. There was, at least, something left above my right eye. She forgot to blow on the wax for the left eye. Silently, I wept. She surveyed her handiwork before going at me with tweezers. My tears made her work difficult and she was forced to wipe the evidence of my pain away, laughing her apology. I fled the room, eyes down, only to be accosted by another woman at the desk. This woman yelled unintelligibly to the woman who had created my new, apparently quite uneven, facial expression. I was forced back into the room where an attempt to make my eyebrows symmetrical failed again. Now, I carry a constant look of surprise, shock, and awe. Eyebrows do grow back, correct?

Kudos to all who caught the Grey’s reference.

Old blue eyes....

2007-02-19T17:46:00.000-08:00

My sister and her connections rock. I love photoshop. I see lots of fun in my future when I figure it out!!

"I sing for the animals"

2007-02-11T11:16:00.000-08:00
Below is the text of a recent article and a link to the actual article with reader's comments. I have been following this story for a bit now and my anger has not diminished with the "justice" found in this sad little sentence. To be indifferent about a case like this is to be no friend of mine.

Brothers who baked puppy get 10 years

By D.L. BENNETT
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution

Published on: 02/09/07

The brothers who admitted baking a puppy to death in a gas oven have been sentenced to 10 years in prison and 10 years probation.

Joshua and Justin Moulder were sentenced Friday afternoon to 10 years for burglary and five years for animal cruelty, but the sentences will be served concurrently, not consecutively.

Rich Addicks/Staff
(ENLARGE)
Prosecutor Laura Janssen (foreground) and veterinarian Melinda Merck use a dog for a demonstration during the December trial in Fulton County of two brothers who later pleaded guilty to killing a puppy.

The Moulders, 17 and 19, faced up to 85 years if sentenced to the maximum on all nine charges to which they pleaded guilty to last month.

Prosecutors had offered a plea deal that would have meant a minimum of 10 years of jail time for each of the two young men. Defense lawyers balked. Instead, the Moulders pleaded guilty with no plea agreement hoping that Fulton Superior Court Judge Thelma Wyatt Cummings Moore would not be so harsh, but they received the same sentence.

Thee case has touched a nerve with animal lovers all over the world.

Fulton County judicial officials say they've gotten more than 5,000 cards, letters and e-mails from all over the United States as well as numerous other countries.

Similarly, two online petitions started after the first trial of the Moulders now have about 25,000 signatures with more coming every day. The petitions boast names from Brazil, the Netherlands, Germany, Israel and Australia. Linda Zotter of Syracuse, N.Y., while enduring cancer treatment, took time out to knock on doors and gather signatures for her own personal petition.

"I do believe they should be put away for life," Zotter said. "I would not want them living next to me. I would like to make sure they don't just get a slap on the wrist."

The case has had a life of its own on the Internet, with links from numerous animal advocacy sites to news and public interest sites such as the Drudge Report.

Mark Lisella of Charleston, S.C., found the story on the Drudge Report. He said he was moved to write District Attorney Paul Howard because the dog's treatment was so horrible.

People, he said, have become somewhat desensitized to sensational, grisly murders. But this victim, a tiny puppy, was so purely sympathetic.

"I just thought it was really disgusting," Lisella said.

http://www.ajc.com/metro/content/metro/stories/2007/02/08/0209metpuppy.html

I Sing for the Animals (Teton Sioux)
Out of the earth
I sing for them,
A Horse nation
I sing for them.
Out of the earth
I sing for them,
The animals
I sing for them.

The icky love holiday is almost here...

2007-02-08T20:17:00.000-08:00
What do I want for Valentine's Day this year? Flowers at work, sushi for dinner, and an evening viewing of Music & Lyrics.

But if I can't have those, I'll settle for JT's dick in a box...

I'm finding myself easily annoyed.

2007-01-26T20:46:00.000-08:00
that is all.

2007-01-06T15:45:00.000-08:00
“It’s been a long December and there’s reason to believe that maybe this year will be better than the last”

I’m a wee bit late on New Year’s wishes and resolutions and all that jazz. Oops. I had a blast New Year’s with my Kara and her -liciousness and her Pete. The Long Branch was jumping and I felt old because I was yawning long before midnight. Sad. AND we never went to visit Jeremy; what have we become??? My proudest moment was when I skillfully stole a cab. No, I didn’t show my boobs; I wooed with words. The guy had picked up a bunch of kids and returned with them a few minutes later because, aghast, the guy had lost his girlfriend. (We snickered as we sat safe in his nice little ride that girlfriend had found another guy.) He asked cabbie to wait and cabbie was obliging him. A group of guys walks up to cabbie and offers more $$$ and says if he decides not to wait, he’s got them. Then I move in for the kill. Within seconds we were in the ride, out of the rain, and heading home. Oh yes, that’s how we roll. Oh, and I offered him nothing-not even extra cash. I rock.

Work is causing some discomfort due in part to not be completely satisfied. Hopefully that changes; I’m a patient person so I’ll wait it out a bit longer.

As for New Year’s resolutions, I actually have several. We’ll see if they last.

1) Grow my hair out at least a few inches. *sigh* such a battle with me
2) Work out
3) Drink more water
4) Eat breakfast EVERY day
5) Take my vitamins
6) Give blood around every two months again
7) Read at least 50 pages a day
8) Write something creative at least once a week (starting out slow – it’s be a while)
9) Take Scout to the dog park more
10) Get organized (HAH!)
11) Watch less TV
12) Pay off credit cards
13) Start planning my next big adventure
14) Make someone fall in love with me (not holding my breath for this one)

I’m sure there’s more but I think 14 is a good number, especially since at least one won’t ever happen. Oh… add “don’t be so damn pessimistic and down on myself” to the list.

So I've been yelling at the TV again...

2006-12-28T17:22:00.000-08:00

I am brilliant. We know this. But some times my own brilliance astounds me. (Don’t rain on my brilliance parade, aight?) I’m watching Criminal Minds. I don’t watch it often but when I catch it, I tend to enjoy it (due in large to Greg from Dharma and Greg but I digress). The killer provided the team with several clues from which they deduced that the killer was referencing a book published in 1963. As I surveyed the clues, including a Chaucer poem, a butterfly, a key, and clues indicating a British author – I couldn’t help but scream to the poor nerdy guy trying to figure it out “John Fowles!! The Collector!!!” I shouted this several times before the nerdy guy figured it out. Sadly, he had never read the chilling tale of love and obsession; it’s a personal fave from high school days. Apparently I need to put myself on some call list for obscure literary references provided by serial killers. I would rock that job out.

Speaking of Fowles: The Collector, his first novel, is truly amazing and more than slightly creepy. This creepiness is even more chilling and well-worth devouring in The Magus, my favorite Fowles novel. And this is the book nerd signing off.

Wrapped up like a douche

2006-12-17T17:00:00.000-08:00
I sing a long with the radio; and while I don’t think that a music producer who happens to be at a stoplight beside while I do my rendition of Paint it Black will ever sign me, I don’t let my lack of talent hold me back. Perhaps my most favorite songs are those with lyrics that I don’t understand or that are easily altered. I really love the ones that I have to google to figure out exactly what’s being sung, as was the case this weekend. My lyrical knowledge, once acquired, does not change the lyrics I create. This weekend’s gem would be the wonderful Blinded by the Light, which, for me and Ashley, has always mentioned being wrapped up like douche and has nothing to do with being revved up like a deuce. Good times. Oh so good.

And that was just one of the many classic Tommi & Ash times of the weekend (or, as I like to call it, T&A time). The weekend was over much too fast for me and it was a bit unsettling when he left as it seemed he’d never really been here. (Then I discovered the stuff he’d left behind—which I’ve since hocked on ebay.) I don’t really remember when the last time I actually saw him was. Unfortunately, I want to say it was this time last year but I can’t wrap my mind around not seeing for that long so I’m sure there’s been a more recent time I’ve just forgotten about. Anywho, he drove up from ATL on Friday and got here around 2:30ish. I’d taken half a personal day off from work and fun times ensued. From listening to a waitress go into full out screaming mode with a coworker about religion and what the Bible does and does not say to being asked by a woman as we stood in front of the Old Well where the famous well was on campus, it was so typical of what life with Ash is. Boy, do I love this kid.

Plans were made that weren’t actually ever realized but the great thing is that with him, plans falling through aren’t really a problem. Doesn’t really matter what we do when I’m with him, just that we’re doing it together. I mean just sitting in the Red Roof Inn parking lot could be a barrel of monkey fun. I was oh-so close to busting my hockey cherry, but once we got there and haggled for free parking (Ash showed his boobs and the $8 fee was waived), we discovered that the only tickets were over $50 a pop so that cherry is still quite intact. Another day, another game, perchance. He still owes me one from sophomore year. We went to Crazy Fire (YAY!) and then the Flying Saucer (Double YAY!), caught some of the hockey game on TV, I had a Guinness and some Duck Rabbit so my night was pretty complete and fulfilling. I’m really not a hard gal to please. A late night viewing of the 40 yr old Virgin made for two very tired campers the next day. And I was none to pleased to have to wake up to my mechanic telling me exactly how much it would cost to fix my truck, which I’d dropped off at the Ford place the night before. $450 is not what I want to be spending on my sweet ride at Christmas. But even that, nor my pounding headache, could keep me down. We went to Chinese 35s, just like old times, though neither one of us really ate as much as once did. My reasons revolved around my pounding head, not sure what slowed Ash’s appetite. Then we hit the campus. Quite literally. I was floored. I haven’t been on campus in around a year, I guess, and the changes are astounding. There are some parts where, if you took me there blindfolded and then let me see my surroundings, I wouldn’t be able to find my bearings. It’s growing up. Boy is it growing up. Still just as beautiful as ever. And nothing does my heart than being on UNC’s campus with my all time favorite Tarheel. Time passed quickly and before too long I had to go pick up my truck before they closed at 6. At this point, the head was so bad that all I wanted was some drugs and to go to sleep, which is what I did after getting the truck. The nap (and drugs) did me well, but we still didn’t get to the company Christmas party. One thing after another, due mostly to my lack of motivation in going. I guess I was being selfish – I didn’t want to rub shoulders with the big dogs and kiss ass; I just wanted to hang out with Ashley. And the night ended up being pretty perfect just the way it went, with no party – just me and him riding around, like old days. It felt so good. I’d forgotten how happy I can be. Giddy even. I’m pretty darn sure his presence releases endorphins in my brain.

So the weekend was a success. His visit was a success. And even though we didn’t get to the hockey game or the company party, I don’t think I’d have changed anything other than how early he had to leave this morning to get to his church’s Christmas function and surprise his family. He is so good.

I love Ashley and that adoration now has its very own blog and a table at Jack Astor’s devoted to expressing it. However, I’d like to take this opportunity to blame Ashley for the cold I’m coming down with. If I remember correctly, he complained of a scratchy throat on Friday, which he attributed to screaming Aerosmith songs for six hours. My throat is pretty bad today and I’m going to blame him so this blog isn’t filled with nothing but admiration and love speak for the boy. But cold aside, I do love him and hope another visit can be arranged before he heads back to Atlanta. How I do like being happy.

Early Farewell to 2006

2006-12-10T16:04:00.000-08:00
As the year winds down, I find myself excited that it’s coming to a close. 2006 was not a good year for the roses. Officially my most stressful year in a long time, it has taken a toll on me both physically and mentally and while I am recovering, it’s been a wee bit difficult picking myself up and dusting me off.

The year started on a bad note – with tensions high over PhD applications. Then in February, my thesis director passed away. As I struggled with my thesis committee and my thesis in general, I toyed with abandoning it completely. I didn’t want to do Gordimer without Gay. So much of my research revolved around Gay and her own postcolonial work that it was painful to do it without her. I couldn’t focus on the task at hand. Months later, I’ll say that I’m glad I went through with my Gordimer research – but it was certainly difficult rediscovering my passion for South African literature without Gay. As the year rolled along and the seasons began to change, I was forced to deal with the actually writing and defending of the thesis. I never realized, or had never been in a situation, where so much was riding on something I was doing solo. While the defense was in many ways liberating, the build up was enough to tear me down. Toss PhD rejections into the mix, and I was not at my best during those times.

And then it came. The infamous acceptance letter. To stay or go – that was the question. In the end, after much personal debating, I turned Georgia and my PhD down. Maybe I’ll rekindle the PhD dream on another day. You’d think after defending my thesis and making plans to move to the Triangle and find a job, I’d be happy. But May brought about a close. Graduation means change. Friends moved. And a life for so long spent in school, became quite empty outside of it. I’ve never been the best with change, and my own moving and trying to find a job kept me in a constant state of disarray. Months were spent job searching and then, finally, SUCCESS. I thought the year had turned. But before the dust had settled, my grandmother passed away. And then, less than a month later, my grandfather became extremely ill and almost died. And now, a month after that – I’m waiting for the close of the year in hopes that everything remains stable and constant between now and the start of ’07.

I still question my decision to turn down Atlanta. I’m not sure my reasons were pure. I still wonder about my current employment situation – is it really what I should be doing? And I’m still petrified that something will happen to any of the three remaining grandparents. I don’t like stress. I don’t like this constant worry and self-doubt. My face keeps breaking out and my stomach is daily in knots and let’s not mention that the headaches are back in full force. That must change. That is not me. I’m supposed to be a happy gal.

I’m trying to end the year on a good note in hopes that it rings in ’07 in the best of notes. A very much loved friend is visiting this coming weekend and it has the makings of being one really fantastical weekend. Kara and Adrienne will both be around during the holidays at some point in time and when all of us kids get together, it truly brightens my day. On a good note, this year will end. On a good note.

2006-11-15T16:25:00.000-08:00
Seven years later and I miss you just as much. I love you.

Always,
Baby Duck

Out with the Bunting in with the Butch

2006-11-14T15:01:00.000-08:00

Goodbye, dear friend.

Hello new coach... I've got my eye on you.

I realize I am a bit behind with this post, but I assure it is due to my extreme agony over Bunting's oh-so-unpleasant outing. Let's get one thing straight - I positively adore Bunting and I feel with all my heart that he got shafted. That said, there's a good chance, a very good one, that Davis will usher in a new era of Carolina football and it's always good to have multiple reasons to be passionately fanatic over Carolina. But tonight, and for many nights to come, I will salute you, John Bunting, with a glass of frothy beer and a tearful "hark the sound of tarheel voices" because you know the things that bind us to this place aren't decided by wins and losses, but something much deeper, stronger, and lasting and I hope Butch takes a couple of pages from your book.

Call off the funeral

2006-11-05T12:37:00.000-08:00

I’ve dealt with death before, more times than I’d like to recount, but never have I dealt with the dying. I avoided the bedside of my paternal grandmother in early October and as the weather and the leaves turned, I breathed a sigh of relief that death would leave me be for a bit longer. Then came the phone call the Friday before Halloween: a dying grandfather, a request for the family to be at his side. And so I went. He didn’t look like the dying but the looks of the nurses and the special treatment provided in ICU screamed otherwise. With a gravely voice and eyes that couldn’t quite seem to focus, my maternal grandfather made sure his loved ones were at his side. He called us, one by one, and by name, to tell us that he loved us and to look after my grandmother. He talked about death and heaven and the beauty that awaited him. He talked about what he’d missed and what and who he’d loved. He flirted with the pretty nurses whose eyes welled up when they talked about how his body was shutting down. He made arrangements with the preachers he wanted to send him off. He discussed funeral arrangements and composed his obituary. He bragged about the seven pound sweet potato he’d grown and the farm he’d grown up on. And at this bedside were tears, laughter, prayers, food talk, memories, and hope. Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, we gathered by his side as a familym - a blending of voices rising up in caressing tones, seeking favors were favors could sought and accepting what the doctors deemed inevitable. Our October miracle occurred the day before the celebration of the dead. My grandfather met his wife as she walked into his ICU room with the following statement. “I think I can swallow; call off the funeral.” Sometimes it happens, the doctors say. Sometimes the answer to our prayers is the one we seek.

Today my grandfather is no longer in ICU but still in the hospital. He is eating and improving and still flirting with the pretty nurses; that beautiful place will just have to wait.

Eri Lyn's bridal shower

2006-10-15T10:18:00.000-07:00
Yesterday I headed up to Chapel Hill for Eri's bridal shower. I hadn't met Noz's family yet and it was really nice to get to meet his mom, brother, sister-in-law and oh-so-precious niece and nephew -- the twins Sasha and Alex. I wanted to take Alex home. He was THAT cute. Almost on the verge of walking alone, he clung to Noz's fingers and toddled around kicking a soccer ball. It was almost TOO much cuteness. Noz handed him over to me, and that little boy just gooed and grinned and smirked. AUGH. I want one or two or may six... I wish I'd remembered my camera!!

Back to Eri. She's getting married in Hawaii on December 18th. Unfortunately, I doubt I will be able to attend the wedding as I don't get vacation days until after I've been with the company for 6 months. I'm going to see if I can swing something though--it's going to be a beautiful ceremony and I love both Erica and Noz so I would love to share the moment with them.

The bridal shower was a nice intimate gathering with some really yummy food and a champagne/citrus drink that was super yummy to my tummy. I enjoy such low-key, sophisticated if one will hanging out. Can't wait to hit up the 'tini bar or Goldies -- just the Hill in general -- with her again. Hanging out with Erica and Noz is but another perk of moving back to the Triangle. I heart those kids.As soon as I settle down with work et al, stop being sick, and get my stuff together--the tommi is reclaiming her old haunts and making some new ones because that's how I roll.

by and by

2006-10-05T19:39:00.000-07:00

I’d forgotten the strength of family. This strength is not found in words but in brief glances, hand-holding, the barest brush of a hand against another, a bone crushing squeeze, a pinch, a smile, a goofy grin, laughter, a hug, a presence… This power is unequalled and unconquerable. Let the circle stay unbroken.

DEATH be not proud, though some have called thee

2006-10-02T17:45:00.000-07:00
Again, I write of things beyond my control. My grandmother passed away this morning. I know in my heart of hearts that she is whole and new, happily seated with those who went before. But my heart still aches. They've consoled Willa by telling her that Grandma's with Jesus and my father, a man Willa never knew but whose face and name is one created from the memories of others. While I'm not sure that Willa realizes Grandma is never coming back, her childlike faith and ready acceptance of Jesus and a heaven where my father waits with open arms for his mother mark her as a role model for us others, more jaded ones. It's the very image depicted to Willa that I've embraced and etched into my image of heaven, a place full of colors and wonders not yet named.

The last time I saw my grandmother was September 11; her birthday and anniversary. I did not want to visit her in the hospital because I did not want my last memory of her to be what she became after her body failed her. Fault me if you will, but I will forever remember my grandmother the way she looked as she opened presents, picked on my grandfather, and showed pictures sent to her as a present from an old friend. These pictures were of her before she was a grandmother, a mother, and a wife. Young & beautiful, she'd joked about how one could never tell they were the same person. But you could. In the glint of her eyes, a glint that black & white photography couldn't conceal. And so the last memory of my grandmother will be of her standing at the carport, blowing kisses and waving as we drove home after our birthday/anniversary visit.

"For what is it to die, but to stand in the sun and melt into the wind? And when the Earth has claimed our limbs, then we shall truly dance." - Kahil Gibran
Dance, Grandma, Dance.

Working Girl....

2006-09-16T11:03:00.000-07:00

What is this rumor you've been hearing, you ask? Something about someone being employed? Or perhaps it was something about being barefoot and preggers... You really don't remember but that stops you not from gossip. Well, it's true. The employed part. I'm totally wearing shoes. And oh yeah, no bun in this oven. Not even a biscuit. Or toast. Your dear friend, lover, stranger, nemesis, comic relief - whatever I may be to you - has joined the rest of the working class world. As Robley says, I can now get off my ass. (Robley's rather fond of my ass.) I am the new Companion Events Representative for the American Kennel Club. Who'da thunk it? Combining my love of pups with my schooling resulted in a job. Scout, even though a mongrel, a mix, a mutt, a heinz 57 dog, paved the way for the position. Kudos to her and for her assistance, she has the option of attending work with me. She's still discussing her salary though and is being rather a hard ass about it. Can't you tell? Anywho--I start Monday and will share more then.

STINKY, STINKY, STINKY

2006-08-30T13:54:00.000-07:00

So Scout has killer gas and I can't even take her to the dog park to let her fart around out there because it's all rainy and nasty.

But she's still oh-so-precious!! Even when sniffing her own smelly rear.

When Philly and Memphis meet in Cary...

2006-08-26T16:17:00.000-07:00

This post is late coming and I have no *real* excuses. The Metro D. gals went out and painted the town various shades of red. We drank at various establishments, we (well, some of us) teased many a boy at the very same establishments, we harassed rather tall bouncers... I love these kids. Love, love, love them. COME BACK ALREADY!!

Crazy Tommi Spotted Doing Her Crazy Dance

2006-08-04T14:20:00.000-07:00
So I've been unpacking still (both from being home and boxes I've neglected to unpack since moving). I've talked to both Adrienne & Kara and I'm uber excited about seeing them both (and Jessica) tomorrow! It's going to be awesome to get the Metro D. crew back together. Sadly, the longbranch is closed this weekend for renovations. But do not fear, we shall find another location to raise our own brand of hell. We're big town painters--the whole lot of us. Anywho, due to my excitement I found myself cutting a rug in my livingroom to commercial music. No, I do not remember the commercial or even know what was being advertised. What I do know is that I was going all out--we're talking I could have been in an Ipod commercial all out. Hair flapping all around, some shimming and shaking, skirt flipping, high leg kicks, butt shakes, hands up, mini-white girl dancing combo. And then I glance out of one of my many many windows and see a man, a young man, hand over eyes blocking the sun and looking up at my apt. I can only hope he was interested in the finches at my feeder...

But, my dears, that very same dance may be out on public display tomorrow if I can choreograph it more properly! So, as Jessica would say, hold on to your balls! It's going to be one heck of a weekend!!!

Saying Goodbye

2006-08-02T12:32:00.000-07:00
On July 26th, I lost a friend. Not just any regular type of friend and not a friend I talked to on a weekly basis--he was the type of friend who had such a hold on my heart that we could go for weeks without talking but when we'd get together again, it was as if there was never an absence. I met Eric back in 2004, before moving to Greenville. Jessica will agree with me when I say that I positively adored the kid. I believe I expressed my love for him that very night. :) He never met a stranger and I remember hours spent in restuarants with him getting to know the waiter/waitress. I loved him and even when his uber-conservative side would spill some vile comment about women and he'd get me fuming, he could still make me laugh. He knew my buttons & he never pushed too far. I'll miss my Thursday night "Guess who is drunk and dailing again" phone calls. I'll miss making fun of turtle logs. He was a rather physical guy, and I'll miss his massive hugs. There's a lot about him that I'll miss and I'd just rather like to believe that he has gone on a very long vacation, freezing the image of him in his "I've got the body of a god, buddha" shirt in my head. It's why I couldn't go to the wake or funeral. I can't do it anymore. I'm sick of people I adore dying. His loss has been particularily difficult because I feel like I took our relationship for granted. I wish I'd spent more time with him when we lived just down the street from each other.

So, goodbye Eric Turner. I'm sorry I wasn't a better friend but I hope you know how much I love you. I know a lot of people up there, so I'm sure you'll find a good group to tell Tommi jokes with.

Doctor! Doctor!

2006-07-24T13:15:00.000-07:00
I went to Urgent Care today. They made me pee in a cup. Little did I know this pee was to make sure I wasn't pregnant. Geesh, I could have told them that! But I guess when someone falls down a flight of stairs they can't be too careful.
What? you say. A flight of stairs?
Yeppers, the tommi took a rather not-so-little tumble and is currently on 3 types of drugs. Apparently these drugs make the tommi refer to herself as "the tommi." A bit unsettling, don't you think?

I could use a little "clumsy tommi! I still love you!"

Dog Days of Summer

2006-07-19T12:15:00.000-07:00

Where oh where should I begin? Perhaps with Vacation Bible School and annoying snot-nosed, devil-kids who KILLED Charlie, the church lizard? Or maybe my sister's softball game or her fish tank and its colorous new additions? Perhaps my LACK OF A JOB is a suitable opener? Or maybe, dare I start here, my recent LACK OF AC!!??!!?!?!?!?! Oh yes, let us start with that...
So I went home the Saturday after July 4th to help my mother with Bible school. Me being the crafty individual I am and my mother being short of help, I was soon enlisted as the craft teacher. The Friday before I went home, my AC was on the fritz yet again. I called and politely informed them that it wasn't working AGAIN!! And then muttered horrible things under my breath in my usual passive way. Some young guy came, checked it out, told me I had a leak but that he would charge it up and it'd be good until Monday when a real AC guy would come fix it. Fine with me. When they charge it, it lasts a few days so I had no real worries. On Saturday, I called my mother and found out she needed me so I packed somethings (ie. two suitcases full of dirty clothes) and headed to the lovely county of Gates. I rested easy during my wee little "vacation" because I was assured my AC would be in tip top shape when I returned. I got back to the apartment around 3:30 yesterday, in blistering mid-90ish weather. I stood for a moment at my door, Scout anxious at my side, before slipping the key in the lock and turning. It was like opening the door to a furnace. Hot air billowed out and covered me. Livid, I turned the fans on, gave Scout a bowl of ice, and marched myself over to the main office.
"Yeah, I just got back to my apartment after being gone for over a week and my AC is STILL broken" (emphasis on still, emphasis which included a raised eyebrow and the crossing of arms) I asked if the AC man had intend come the Monday after the holiday but they had no idea. They told me the head huncho maintenance guy would be at the apartment shortly. Shortly translated into a hot, but mere 30 minutes. "It's not the same problem" he assured me. "We fixed the leak last Monday. This is something new." He shook his head and smiled like I was about kick him in the stones. The rest of the conversation involved a lot of me nodding, him apologizing and mumbo jumbo about what was actually wrong with my AC. Whatever it was, they had to let something "cool" so that they could fix it. I waited in my blistering hot apartment until 6 and it was apparently still "cooling" as they had yet to return to it. I began to wonder if they even would return so I called the office and talked to the manager, so much a Major Major character that I almost pissed my pants when she answered. She talked of the "cooling" and told me it'd be about another hour before they could start working on it but they might need a part to fix it, in which case, it'd be the next day.
"You do realize my apartment is oh... about 95 degrees, right? Are you telling me that I might not have AC tonight? Is that what you're saying?" I ended up getting a hotel room and found one just down the street that would let Scout come for an additional $25. Made a deal with the manager that I could deduct the price of the hotel from August's rent. So I went to Day's Inn and cooled off, in more ways than one. This morning, I get here around 10:30 and still, no AC. No sweat, I think. I put Scout in her crate, give her another bowl of ice and turn the fan on her before heading out with my list of errands. On that list, at the very bottom, in very small handwriting read "punch someone in the ovaries if my AC isn't working." Luckily for the manager's future children, my AC was working when I returned around 12:30. They had replaced the whole shebang so now I have a pretty AC unit amidst a bunch of not so pretty units. *sigh* Tommi is happy.
Let's see... VBS... So I did VBS this year and the theme was the Artic Edge or something like that. All about the artic so I was able to *help my mother* (ie. do it myself) create a log cabin like space at the front of the church. It was fun. My sister's DU woodburning stove, sleeping bags, Caribou antlers from my father's stint in Alaska, my tinsel tree and other such items actually worked well together. I was rather pleased. The kids, however, are satan spawn. Not all of them--just about 2-3. But that small handful is more than enough. One of these wee demons decided that Charlie would look better squashed. He stomped the lizard. Stomped. the. lizard. He's quite lucky that I did not witness said event. I have no qualms stomping on small children.
GOOD NEWS. GREAT NEWS. KARA IS COMING HOME FOR A WEEK!! I GET TO SEE MY KARA-LICIOUS and possibly go to the LONGBRANCH with my girls!! YAY. YAY. YAY.
My sister rocks at softball. She rules and makes me miss playing. That team would be nothing without her. Can't wait till she has kids that play, they'll be hella good. Her tank is expanding. She recently added two starfish (one looks like a snake... yucky and the other is red and spikey), some mushroom coral (which is doing phenomenal) and something that starts with a Z (She has two, a blue and a green one.. they're polypy things... Zoos... something or other) and something that starts with a R (it's green and pretty) overall the tank is gorgeous. The colors are simply stunning.
In other news, my mother has decided to keep Gus. I feel need to mention this for several reasons. Let me first make it very clear that she is in no way keeping him at my request. In fact, I had all intentions of bringing the sweet little guy back with me. But she's been hinting for weeks that she wants to keep him. He reminds her of our golden retriever that died a few years ago. Which makes sense because an aussie is supposed to just like a golden minus the friendliness to strangers trait. It was quite hard for me to agree to leave him with her but I know she's lonely in that house and with Gus and Maggie she has company and two different personalities. They're like two little kids and she needs that. So the sweet little Gus, all grown up at a whopping 36 pounds, is staying in Eure.

Beer & Love

2006-07-12T05:50:00.000-07:00
I recently read a book by my favorite non-Gordimer South African—J.M. Coetzee. Slowman is about an older man who loses his leg after a bicycle accident. Refusing a prosthetic, he relies on a daily nurse to assist him with his needs. As many patients do, he falls in love with this much younger (and already married) woman. Our hero, married and divorced sans children, falls into a slump as he faces his own mortality and his lack of children. He wants his nurse to be his and her children to be his. Another character from another Coetzee novel, Elizabeth Costello, appears as a godlike puppeteer. She challenges his love for his day nurse and pushes other women at him, other “wounded” sorts. She eventually propositions herself out to him, a proposition he refuses. Their relationship is hot and cold. He doesn’t like her, doesn’t want her there, but having shunned all his other friends and frightened his nurse away with his tidings of love and adoration; he begins to rely on her friendship and conversation. Near the end of the novel, he explains his love to Elizabeth and tells her that even if the nurse does not love him back that he has enough love for both of them. This general expression is carried on for a few pages. When I read this, I thought, “wow. Story of my life. Poor guy.” Well Elizabeth sets him straight when she states something similar to the following (I don’t have my book so it’s not a perfect quote): Do you think love is like a case of beer? That if you bring enough of it the other party can show up empty handed, empty-hearted?.... Are you really that dumb?

This Costello woman obviously knows her stuff. But reading that I realized that I did/do/probably will think that if you do bring enough, then that’s all you need. That I can love enough for two. Let’s adjust this beer and love idea and say that they ARE alike (elevating beer to a higher position, not downgrading love). I’ve been toting around this case every where I go. Apparently, I really am that dumb. But maybe it’s time I put the case down, pick up a couple of bottles and make my way to the gathering with just enough beer (and love) for one just to see if you bring enough to complete the case.

2006-07-04T13:25:00.000-07:00
I hate swimsuit season.

That is all.

Oh. Happy Fourth.

Sweating to Saved by the Bell...

2006-06-21T05:40:00.000-07:00
So I've officially moved in and I love the floorplan of this apartment but I've already had several maintaince issues-the latest being an AC that does not work!! Last night my apt. got to a cool 85 degrees... I've sent in a request for someone to fix it ASAP so hopefully it'll soon be nice and icy in here. I really hope this place isn't the death of me-I've already had so much drama with it and I'm hoping everything will quickly smooth over. I mean the actually apartment rocks.

I've decided that moving sans job was probably not the best idea for me. I feel rather dependant on others right now and I don't like that feeling. Hopefully something falls in to place like today. I don't like being unemployed.

I am glad I went home for a bit because I was able to enjoy my family. I played softball with my sister & her husband (even Mom played for a lil' bit), we set off fireworks, took the dogs to the river, and to the Millpond. It was good times. Last Sunday was Father's Day and I actively ignored the day. Thankfully my mom and I were in Cary unpacking boxes. Unfortunately she asked me to go with her to the grave yesterday to get the flowers off. Maybe it's stupid but there's something about his grave, with remnants left by visitors (arrowheads, turkey feathers, etc...), that puts me in a panic. Perhaps it has something to do with this childish notion I have that he is simply on a very long vacation and he'll be home shortly. A headstone kills such notions.

While I've been home, I've had to face more mortality. I am fortunate to have all four of my grandparents and my father's parents are in relatively excellent health. They seem years younger than they actually are. My mother's parents however are a different story. Her father had several strokes a few years back and is confined to a wheelchair. Up until recently he could walk a few steps with a walker and assistance which made it easy to move him from wheelchair to recliner or wheelchair to bed. Now he has injured his foot and cannot stand at all. My grandmother has been taking care of him but recently she's started to have more problems with her back and hips and cannot stand for long periods of time or lift heavy items. Thus, it has fallen on any family members close by to help move my grandfather. My grandmother goes to the hospital for surgery this Friday and I'm expected to return home to assist in taking care of my grandfather.I hate doing this. It's not that I don't love him and want to help him, but I don't like seeing him so dependent on others for everything--so vulnerable. And then I feel like a horrible grandaughter. *sigh*

this sucks....

2006-05-29T14:25:00.000-07:00

So I packed a gazillion liquor boxes with my books today and took them to the storage unit. I wish I had a lighter addiciton...

Sadly, you can't hardly tell that I moved two truck loads to storage and my mother took a Escape-load home...

I don't know what I'm going to do with all of my stuff... In my desperation I've decided to sell my washer & dryer. As is, I'm already having nightmares about moving my couch into my new second floor apartment. Which I'm assuming I'll still get... Rumor has it the woman is NOT getting evicting so not sure what that means and my agent had the weekend off. Geesh. I can def. say I'm not a fan of loading a storage unit for a month and then moving again... I hate moving. Unpacking is ok. Moving is icky.

to recap the past couple of weeks...

2006-05-26T19:34:00.000-07:00
I was hooded on May 5 by my favorite Gregg.

I had a lovely birthday bash with several of my favorites... (though only Beth, Lark, Jen, and Chris are pictured...)

I had a similar fun bash at home with my family.

I signed a contract to move into an apartment in Cary at the beginning of July.

I have packed a total of 5 boxes for my fast approaching move home to Gates Co. for the limbo month after this lease ends and before the other one starts.

I bought my sister a rock and 5 snails.

I met with the dean (finally) and after much BS-ing on his part (I mean really, be in your office when you say you'll be there. geesh) my thesis has finally been signed off on by all parties and is currently in the printing and binding process. In 6-8 weeks I shall have a beautiful blue bound thesis with white lettering.

I went and saw Over the Hedge AND X-Men III: The Last Stand (which, if the end is any indication, is not the last stand at all). Both were simply wonderful. I love movies on the big screen.

I had sushi.

I had a few drinks and thoroughly enjoyed my time with friends that are all about to go seperate ways. Tomorrow is the "farewell" party.

I stopped to smell the roses.

And danced in the rain.

It's true--I DO rock...

2006-05-04T16:16:00.000-07:00
So life has been interesting as of late. I realized that I rock and should be treated accordingly--by everyone, from my thesis committee to the Pope. That's right--I rock so very much that the Pope himself needs to acknowledge the rockdom. And since I've already convinced my committee of my extreme ROCKING-self, it's on to the Pope and then THE WORLD!! Muahahhahaahaha.

Wait, you say, Tommi managed to convince her thesis committee that she rocks? Why that means that she... did she... why I think she must have... passed her defense!! Should I seem to be blasé about the whole ordeal now it's because it happened a few moons ago. And by moons, I mean blue ones. And by blue ones I mean, why yes, beer. In all seriousness, I defended on Monday at high noon, took 12 paces and blew them away with my extreme wit and intelligence. I haven't blogged before now because I kind of forgot... It's cool, though. You're getting it now. Get off my back already. Geesh. So back to the defense. Noon. I go into the conference room with all my little notes and my beautiful, beautiful thesis *sigh* Gregg soon walks in and he is *ohmigod face* without front teeth. Yes, the beautiful, wonderful, glorious, intelligent super nerd-hot professor that I adore was missing quite a few teeth. As much as I'd love to attribute his new dental work to his lovely wife, he was in the process of getting work done. I wish I'd taken my camera... *sigh* So, I was quite a bit distracted by the lack of teeth at my defense. Will was... well Will. I'd just celebrated his birthday with him the Friday before and I know he adores me and my oh-so-bitch-why-you-steppin' careless attitude. But I also knew that Will wanted to make me sweat. I was ready for his challenge. I'd doubly applied the Secret that morning. Finally Deena came in. Good ole reliable Deena... *crickets* (So long story short, Deena never once commented on my thesis prior to the defense. In fact, I may very well be the only person in the history of master theses to not have her/his director provide any useful information for revision prior to defense...) I thanked them for the work, I called on the name of Gay, and expressed my teetering-on-obsession love for Gordimer and then defense time. Will rolled up his sleeves, cracked his knuckles and smiled out of the corner of his mouth.

"You state in your first chapter that there is currently not a feminism around that is capable of addressing Gordimer's work as being "feminist" writing. You then proceed to explain that a new feminism needs to be created in order to understand Gordimer's female characters. What are the components of this "new" feminism you propose and what makes it better than any of the other feminisms already in existence?" He leaned back in seat, raised his eyebrow, and the challenge was on.

I attacked the question like a starving dog on a meaty bone. Thinking to myself all the while "you're going to have to do better than this, Will." It was my turn to raise my eyebrow and flash the one-sided "bring it on" grin I'm ever so famous for, from academic circles to the ghetto streets of downtown.

For the next hour, I artfully articulated my thesis as well as the outlined the book I'd like to do on Gordimer. I did splendidly well. They sent me out. Conferred. Brought me back in and hugs all around. That's right. I got a hug from Deena. He attributes his lack of commenting to my general amazingness. I can live with that.

But my story does not end there. How else could Tommi possibly rock, you ask? Well, let me tell you. I get hooded tomorrow. My title officially becomes Master Powell... Yeah, I know... It just doesn't have the right ring to it. But it does mean that my signature to all my emails and letters can change to
Tommi E. Powell, M.A

Which, you have to admit, rocks.

To top this list of reasons why I rock, my birthday is COMING!!! On May 12th the world shall celebrate la naissance de Tommi.

And then... sadness...
We're leaving.
All of us.
To different places.
It's sad.

Doctorate or no?

2006-04-25T20:31:00.000-07:00
So it happened. I was accepted to GSU's PhD program. Now, what do I do? Do I move to Atlanta and do 4 more years of schooling to get that oh-so-precious doctorate? Or do I find a job in the Triangle and start to make the rest of my life happen? Someone tell me what to do. It'll make it hella easier.

No dragons...

2006-03-30T07:53:00.000-08:00
So my egg housed a teacup...

Not exactly what I had in mind.

Deep Thoughts by...

2006-03-26T20:00:00.000-08:00
Carolina is out. (*sob*) Duke is out. (*yay*) George Mason is in. (*huh?*) So March is really mad, eh? I'm not really as interested in the tourney any longer, but I do hope George Mason takes it. Go GMU!!

My thesis is, well, slowly coming. Emphasis on "slowly." I'm finding it difficult to compose my thoughts on exploitation and repression of sexuality for the public good. Oy. Hopefully within the next week and by next Wednesday, (why Wednesday, I have no idea) I'll have something remarkable out.

My egg still hasn't hatched. I'm still holding out for a dragon. Some people hold for a hero, I hold out for a dragon. Go figure. Speaking of dragons, ABC family has been showing back-to-back airings of the first Harry Potter. It makes me feel a little dirty to look at young Harry and know my complete obsession for him is still there. I almost feel sorry for Daniel. I imagine all his lovers will call him "Harry, love." I know I would.

And in household corner...

Buy this now. It is amazing. Genius, really. It cleans EVERYTHING. Walls, showers, countertops... You know that swifter commercial where the woman is cleaning everything in the bloody house, well that was me with this wonderful little thing.

And in hygiene corner...

It's like brushing your teeth with a lemon drop. Honest. Slightly odd. But I think I like it.

Kiss me I'm Irish (and Welsh..)

2006-03-22T11:41:00.000-08:00

Since St. Patrick was most likely Welsh, or at least lived in a Welsh speaking area and had a Welsh name, I insist that I am related to him and therefore deserve a kiss at least once a year. Due to my Irish heritage I also demand another kiss on the same day. If only there was a holiday where Scottish, French, Cherokee, Meherrin, etc... demanded kisses. *sigh*
(I adore this picture of me & Lark, namely because we look hardcore... .... .... errr...)

These are my kids. Sometimes I question my decision to move to Greenville, but then I think about my loves here and I know I made the right decision. Tilan, Lark, Robley, and Beth (though noticeably absent in photo) have made it entirely worthwhile. They rock my socks.

Half full? Half empty? Who cares, it's green beer!!! OK, so I'm not the biggest fan of green beer. I'd much rather be drinking my sweet, sweet guinness but green beer is insanely cheap and after many a pitcher of the glorious guinness, we switched to the green.

It was a good night, St. Paddy's day. As for things on my front, they aren't really falling into place. Graduate schools are all of the same opinion that I suck. Those hiring also apparently agree. My thesis is, well... it's something. I just hope I can get it out before the deadline. Oy. But it's all gravy. Really. Things always seem to fall into place. It just seems to be taking a little longer this time.

In other news, I have puddin' pops & they make me happy. Also, I think my egg is going to hatch soon. YAY!! I hope it's a dragon...

My Egg...

2006-03-09T14:57:00.000-08:00

warning: long, boring blog entry...

2006-03-08T09:46:00.000-08:00
You know the story of the old lady who never gets married and lives with like 40 million cats? Her house reeks of urine and that nasty "cat" smell as well as the nasty "old-lady" smell? Well, I'm afraid that is what I have to look forward to. Minus the cats and the nasty smells, I think I'm well on my way to becoming the cat lady. It's dogs, you see, that I can't get enough of. I want to open my own rescue and adoption facilities. And I want a home that can house as many as I want to have. I can't say no when it comes to dogs, especially certain breeds--like goldens and pitts. I like adopting dogs from the pound and "saving" them. I know I have this "saving" complex, even when it comes to the men I'm attracted to, but at least I can actually save and train my dogs. Now, why is this a problem, you may find yourself asking? Because my dogs aren't just dogs, they're like little people, my children really. If you've ever met Scout, you know she's my kid. And what guy wants a ready made family? I'm tempted to get a bumper sticker that reads "love me, love my dogs..." -- (not really. I thoroughly hate the idea of bumper stickers and don't like anything on my truck that doesn't easily come off, but I transgress). So I've decided to give a shout out to all the dogs I've loved before...

Growing up, my dad had hunting dogs. Blue ticks, blanketbacks, walkers... you name it, we had it. At one time, we had 17 dogs. And I loved it. There is nothing like growing up surrounded by dogs. These dogs had a function and during deer season (and later, a few during rabbit season), these dogs lived and breathed for the hunt. If you got in the truck and rolled away without loading them up, they'd wail. Girlie Anne, a beautiful blanketback, was their leader and often, their mother. I remember several of her litters, especially playing with roly-poly pups in the yard. One year, I was allowed to choose one for myself. Again, this was not a dog I was allowed to "play" with, I could pet and coddle her all I wanted, but she wasn't the type of "family" dog I would come to love later. She was a gorgeous blue tick and I named her Dottie. (I was young and boring, she had dots... the name came easy). Oddly enough, I don't really remember when she died. (I remember when Girlie died because it was one of the few times I ever saw my father cry.) Boss man, a blacklab/bluetick mix, came later in life. He was given to me and my sister but with the purpose of being a hunting dog. He sucked at hunting and become a lovely little pet that was strong as an ox... Loving guy, he recently passed away after well outliving his life expectancy. The year before I started high school I devised a plan: I would have a puppy that was not a hunting dog. I knew this puppy would not be allowed to live solely inside so I didn't push for such lofty aspirations. I slowly began to beg, plead, and make promises of responsibility. My grandparents bred rat terriers at this time and, just as I had planned it, would let me have the pick of the litter. After much begging and hard labor (I agreed to help build the pen), my dad agreed and I choose Boomer. Now Boomer rocked. This dog was insanely smart, trained entirely by me of course, and could climb trees & ladders. He was a squirrel dog (which later resulted in the death of my pet squirrel, but that is another story...) and was very agile. We did not use him to hunt as my father did not hunt squirrels. My dad fell in love with Boomer and began to take him every where, especially to Greene's Gun & Tackle, where all my dad's friends gathered. I think my father was surprised that he really liked a dog that didn't really have an express purpose, like hunting. Boomer died not long after my father did. He stopped eating and just wasted away, many vet bills later and no-one could find a cause. Boomer was my first "real" dog.

Dixie was, quite possibly, the best dog in the world. The Christmas after my father died, my sister and I decided that my mother needed an in-house companion. At the time, I was a senior in high school and would soon be leaving for Chapel Hill. My sister was already at NCSU, so my mother would be alone. A friend of the family happened to have a litter of golden retriever pups, pups off Catfish Hunter's stock (she was my old softball coach and related to the great baseball player). We were put on a waitlist and just weeks before Christmas word came that a man had backed out of getting his pup because his wife has just discovered she was pregnant. Score. Dixie was a Christmas present. Basket. Red bow. It was perfect and my mother could not have been more surprised. Dixie was soon the pride of the family. Another brilliant dog, trained in some respects by me, others by my sister, she could count, knew her toys by name, and was an excellent duck dog. Dixie was my first experience with a golden and by all means, I can see why they are America's favorite dog.

My sophomore year at UNC, I was making plans to move into an apartment. I knew I wanted a dog and looked only at apartments that would allow one. Just prior to exams, and more than a week before getting the keys to the apt., I went to the animal shelter to just "look." In the very first cage sat a beautiful boxer/mix puppy, all feet and skin and bones. She'd been an owner surrender who had been dropped off in the dead of night. She looked at me with those sad brown eyes and I signed my life away. I was able to take her home a few days later and she lived with me in the dorms until I got the keys to the apt. My suitemates watched her while I took my exams. She's my first real dog, and unlike Dottie, I was able to be a bit more original with her name. She's Scout, from To Kill a Mockingbird. She's mine, mine, mine, mine, mine. And the 30 pound puppy I took home with me that May, is now a whooping 90 pound hunk of burning love.

After I returned from overseas, the summer before my senior year, it was brought to my attention that Dixie was really sick. She had a tumor in her mouth that was complicating her breathing. We'd contacted State's vet school about chemo, but the chances of them accepting her for treatment were slim. My mother was fit to be tied. We all were. I talked it over with my mom and decided to go ahead and start looking for another pup. It had been my plan to get another for mom, someone for Dixie to play with (Scout had lived there the 8 months I was abroad and she missed the constant companionship). I returned to the pound and there, in the exact same cage, and bearing the name Dixie, sat a little pointer mix puppy. 13 pounds and the last of a litter that had been born in the pound. Even her mother had been adopted. I filled out the forms and picked her up a few days later. She lived with me for a bit, getting a wee bit trained, before I took her home to Mom. I worried that Dixie, who knew she was dying, would feel replaced. But she didn't and she loved Maggie (she just looked like a Mags). On her better days, they'd have a grand ole time. Dixie died in October. And where Dixie had really been everybody's dog (mom, me, Sara & Jeff), Maggie is entirely my mom's dog.

And here is where my addiction becomes evident. My first year of graduate school I went to the pound and came back with a golden mix, about a year old, who was about to be put down because nobody wanted him. I named him Mr. Bojangles and took him home. He lives outside, in the fence around the house, and the plan originally was for me to take him with me when I moved away from Greenville. My mother has since informed me that Mr. Bojangles will not be leaving. He's still my dog and my responsibility. Basically I pay child-support for him. He's my death-row baby.

And now, my dirty little secret, I've got another puppy. An Australian Shepherd/border collie mix--blue merle with blue eyes. He is my little crazy baby. I named him Gus after Augustus McRae from Lonesome Dove and he fits his namesake. He currently resides with my mother while I complete my thesis and is the reason I go home quite often. By mid-April I hope that he will be back with me and his training can seriously begin. He is a smart guy, but mother doesn't have the training touch that I have. I love training dogs, especially smart dogs, and I'd love to get Gus into agility training.

Dogs for me are like Pringles... I can't have just one. And I'm serious about the rescue... I know I can't save them all, but there's a certain feeling I get when I see a puppy/dog that I have to have. It doesn't happen everytime and I've been to the pound several times without so much as batting an eye, but every so often I know I have to step in. I figure books and dogs are cheap addictions to have when one considers the alternatives like coke--sure I'd be thin, but I'd be broke and prone to constant nosebleeds and who wants that? This addicition just labels me the crazy cat lady, minus the cats and nasty smells. It might ensure my spinster hood... I'll cross that bridge when I get there.

The lighter shade of blue...

2006-03-05T10:07:00.000-08:00

( Please note the horrified Duke bench...)
Carolina 83 Duke 76

Save Hannah! Save Hannah!

2006-03-02T19:13:00.000-08:00

(My name is Forrest Gump. People call me Forrest Gump.)

Last week I loaded up the truck and headed south to Savannah for the 15th annual British Commonwealth and Postcolonial Studies conference. I took my mommy with me. The drive wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it would be (I’ve never driven 6+ straight hours before) and we arrived in Savannah around 4 in the afternoon. And that’s counting every rest stop Mother Dearest insisted we stop at. (She claims that when you get older, stopping is more of a necessity. Personally I think she just wanted the free travel pamphlets.) Back to Savannah—gorgeous. Stunning really. But I didn’t notice that the first night. I was exhausted when we arrived. You wouldn’t think sitting for so long would be tiring, but I was beat. Our hotel was more in the 15-501 part of Savannah. Businesses, shops, restaurants, etc… The next morning was the conference and I was up at a yawn inducing 6am. I left my mom half snoring, half watching the weather channel, grabbed my map and headed towards the Coastal Georgia Center. Straight on Abercorn. Suddenly I was in glorious homes and Spanish moss laden live oaks heaven. The street was breathtaking. Trees bent so low over the road that warning signs were posted for trucks to stay in the left lanes. I adore these massive trees. Oddly, at least for me, among these ancient beauties stood palm trees, which seemed a bit pompous and arrogant next the majestic oaks. I arrived at the Center, managed to get in a line for a plumbing convention (picture beer bellies, tool belts and me…), found the RIGHT line, signed in, bought a book, looked over my paper, went in lecture hall, met my other panelists, was surprised by Dr. Deena who came in to hear me present, presented my paper, and diddy bopped out of there back to the hotel. Tour time!! Tour time was also the start of rain time. It bloody poured all of Saturday—my only full day in Savannah. I was a little upset, but I survived. Mother, who has a slightly different idea of the perfect way to tour a city, wanted to do a trolley tour. It was raining and she was real excited so I agreed. I didn’t know there’d be stickers to wear… I refused to wear the sticker and joked on my mom so much that she eventually removed her’s. The trolley wasn’t bad and, though it pains me to say so, probably the best way to see the city on a very rainy day. Sunday morning I insisted we go back. The sun was shining and I wanted to take pictures. I got to do Savannah, at least for a couple of hours, the way I wanted to. I was back in Gates County in time to see Grey’s Anatomy because that’s how I roll.

"Secret's in the sauce"

**the title of this entry comes from a myth on the origin of the name Savannah. A woman named Hannah jumped in the river and started swimming after the ship her beloved was on. She couldn’t really swim and townspeople stood on the banks screaming “Save Hannah, Savannah” Totally untrue. The city was named because Oglethorpe (a wonderful guy who outlawed alcohol, slavery, lawyers, and catholics and went back to England after about a decade because the colony was thought a failure. He never returned. Sad story, really) called it what it was, a savanna.

(Sorry, no white feathers falling when I took this picture)

2006-02-27T13:34:00.000-08:00
I don’t like Sasha Cohen. Does that make me un-American? There is just something about her that screams “I eat little Japanese girls for breakfast” but this year, FINALLY, a little Japanese girl (a rather gorgeous Japanese girl) watched with what I would call GLEE as Cohen tumbled, loosing all chances of a gold. MUHAHAHAHAHAHA. Shizuka Arakawa, can I shake your hand? (I do hope I’m not considered part of the axis of evil due to this confession.)

Never been the type...

2006-02-18T17:56:00.000-08:00

I've never been the type to let the butt-end of life crap all over me. I roll with the punches. I go with the flow. I make silly faces. I laugh for no bloody reason. I giggle uncontrollably and often find it difficult to explain the source of the glee that is me. The joi de vivre (my french is rusty, but me thinks that is close to correct). The joy of life. I'm not a down and out type of gal and it's really been grating my nerves lately. I don't stress. Why do I feel the need to stress now? There is simply no good reason. Not for me. Thesis shemesis. Gordimer flordimer. Sleep weep.. yes, I do miss my sleep. I waxed my mother's floor last night because I couldn't sleep. Oy. Sleep aside -- I'm sucking it up, putting on my big girl britches and moving on. If I don't get accepted into a program, it'll be ok. If I do get accepted, it'll be ok. Whatever happens, it will be ok. Tommi was never meant to be a nailbiting, sleepless, jumble of a mess. She was meant to soar--that's what her wings are for. There is a reason my daddy called me Baby Duck (yes, it had something to do with the whole flat-footed, pitter-pattering--but it's also about flying) The whole pearl, oyster, sand story? I'm totally making my pearl so bring on the sand. The whole shoot for the moon, hit a star? I'm aiming big, baby.
While looking for pictures to express this very sentiment, I came across two very different shots. (I'm limited. I'm at home.) While I seem to be hiding behind the obvious "center of attention" that was my older sister, and even Grandaddy is set on outshining us, what with those bows on his head (stuck lovingly by yours truly), I am no wallflower and the possibilities of life, of my life, are captured in a still frame. (My father seems well aware of the possibility that I may be armed with bows or other such remnants of a Father's Day.) Oh to be young and carefree... (Hallmark. Cheesy. Perhaps a stretch. Let me be. I do what I need to.)

The other picture is from the spread I did for the thai playboy.

I kid. I kid. It's actually from Paris and the garden tub that was bigger than my entire room... And it fully embodies the carefree Tommi who was hellbent on taking on the world and who was in the throws of doing just that. Bangkok, Paris, London -- (Bangkok is totally the new Rome...) Life then was making sure there were enough bubbles to hide the naughty parts and the only bad thing, as Budge always said, was when they changed garbage day to Friday.

I'm working on it, guys. I'm almost back. Bubbles, Dreams, Bows, Smiles, and Love, that's what MY life is about and that's what I'm about to get back to.

Watch me unravel, I'll soon be naked...

2006-02-11T10:07:00.000-08:00

Maybe I need Zoloft. It just seems like everything is going wrong and I simply don't know if I should be laughing or crying. Last night I went typical tommi-style and laughed until it hurt and then I laughed harder because I realized it wasn't funny at all. I mentioned at dinner that I feel like I'm slowly unraveling, and I do... That's the best way to describe my current state. It's not funny at all, but when I consider my current state, laughter really seems to be the best response. Whatever could have happy-go-lucky, roll-with-the-punches, my give-a-damns-busted tommi losing sleep, wigging out, laying guilt trips on people for not being there when there's no "good" reason for them to be there, and for laughing so hard she cries and then not remembering whether she was crying before she was laughing or vice versa? No, it's not another episode of Grey's Anatomy--though ask me tomorrow after this "best show ever" episode airs. In short it's everything. I'm second guessing myself, my decisions, my general direction in life, and people. Frankly, I don't like second guessing myself-doubting myself even-but I've reached that point.

In a nutshell--

Gay's dead.
I don't know if this thesis can happen without her.
I don't know that I want it to.
My thesis is due April 17th.

I should be hearing from grad. schools in the next few weeks. I'm terrified that I won't get in. I'm more terrified that I will but that I don't want to go.

My lease is up May 31st. I don't know where I'm going or what I'm doing and while I'm not a person who plans in advance, limbo-land is keeping me from sleeping.

He chose her. It's still funny and I never really wanted him, but he chose her.

My migraines are back.

I haven't written anything in months and that dream is haunting my sleepless nights as well.

The one person I can count on (for the most part) to put things in perspective was't available to me when I needed it and, left to my own devices, I found no solace.

I just need somebody to put me back together again and steady things. A thesis director would help. A career planner might assist. Zoloft could work wonders, but my fear of Tom Cruise will keep me away from such solutions. I just don't know what to do or where to start to get things back on track. I want things to happen for me. Good things. In my life. To chase my demons away.

And for tonight... tommi is clumsy with a side of giggles...

2006-02-09T19:38:00.000-08:00
Last night I met some friends at Chefs for wine and smiles. It was a good evening and I thoroughly enjoyed my time there. I didn't drink much at all. One pint of guiness and one glass of wine and that was all. So I drive home and pull up before midnight and all I'm thinking about is how good my bed is going to feel. As I turned off the truck, I planned to go in and take a bubblebath and slip into my sheets. Sounds wonderful, right? So, I go to slide out of the truck, a smile a my face, and my bloody heel gets caught in my seatbelt. I fall from such great heights... into the car that parks beside me and finally skinning my poor lil' knees against that mean mean asphalt....

ouchy...

in other news, VDay is coming up and no one wants to be my valentines....

2006-02-07T19:10:00.000-08:00

SEA
the sea is so heavy inside us
and i won’t sleep tonight.
i have buckets of memory in a jar
that i keep for days and nights like these.
--Mxolisi Nyezwa

Late last night I received an email explaining that Gay passed away while in Belize. We’ve known that she’d been battling ASL for awhile, but it still came, comes even, as a shock. I received an email from her less than a week ago and there was nothing in it to indicate how rapidly the disease was consuming her. She tried to hide it, and succeeded for so long, from those who loved her. I am glad that she was in Belize, the land that held her heart will hold her body. It’s fitting and, as we all know, exactly as she would have wanted.

Gay had a way, even after losing her voice, to let you know that everything would be OK. It was there in her eyes, or in the touch of her hand, and even in her laugh. I don’t know how many times I went to her with things that seem so trivial now only to have her complete assurance that everything would be fine. That’s something that few people can give. The belief she had in my abilities not only as a student and scholar, but as a person, has completely altered my perception of who I am and what I can do and for that, I am eternally grateful. I am not alone; the number of lives Gay’s touched is simply infinite.

There’s so much more I want to say about her, but words fail me at the moment. As most of you know, Gay was my thesis director and worked closely with me on my Nadine Gordimer work—so it’s fitting that I can use Gordimer’s words to help express the impact this beautiful, remarkable person had on me.

“People give one another things that can’t be gift-wrapped.”

pUnK vs. PrEp

2006-01-24T16:22:00.000-08:00

The mohawk didn’t happen. :( And the pink didn’t really show up (not the REAL pink anyway). The front was sprayed pink last minute. The dye turned it a plumy-purple that you can’t really see. But, all that aside, it was a good night. I was sick but Zicam helped a bit. However, honey-lemon cough drops give beer a slightly odd yet entirely enjoyable flavor. Good times. We went to Beth’s and got dressed and headed downtown in the town car. We rocked, you know it. We get to Café Caribe and the dining crowd is still there. We appear to be the only 80s people. *sweet* We enjoy the stares. Finally an older woman comes up to me in the bathroom:

“Is it 80s night or something tonight?”
I was tempted to say “No, why?” but she was being nice so I nodded and said, “indeed.”
“You look great. Seriously. I know you weren’t really around in the 80s, but you’re outfit takes me back to high school.” She smiles, wide-mouthed, “It’s great.”
“Thanks.”

Slowly, the 80s crowd emerge in various hues of blues and blacks and pinks. We sang, we danced, we got beer and other such liquids spilled on us by those who shall remain nameless. Will came on Ilene, again. *sigh* can’t take him anywhere.

After much fun and the finale of “thriller” we headed to, where else, pita pit. Oh the looks. Oh the fun. The best part of the evening occurred as we waited for our taxi. Beth was hiding inside uppercrust and Lark and I were on the sidewalk. A man passes, “It’s not Halloween!!” he says quite rudely.
“It’s 80s night, jackass”
“Do you even HAVE a home?” Lark can be mean when she’s been drinking and/or eating pitas. I almost wet myself.

Good times. Good times.

I'm stupid....

2006-01-16T20:47:00.000-08:00

therefore I do stupid things. Sounds logical. Mountain out of mole-hill -- no one does it better than me. Sometimes I wish I could just shut my mind off and then my mouth would shut itself and I wouldn't say or do anything stupid. I do not think before I speak and I've learned again why I need to work on that. But what do you do when you just feel like something isn't right and while you're trying to put your finger on what it is that's wrong, you poke at something that was fine to begin with? Stupid, tommi. Bad, tommi.

In other news, I'm taking the freak show on the road. 80's night. pUnK vs. PrEp. I'll be sporting a pink and black mohawk, pink fishnets under my ripped jeans and huge earrings. Hopefully by now you've realized that I'm obviously going prep.... I keed... I keed.... It'll be fun times. I'm thinking of taking the show down to lucky's but I don't know that I'll meet their dress requirements...

'T'was beauty killed the beast

2006-01-12T16:22:00.000-08:00

Christmas was fantastic. It was good to spend time with my family. Harry Potter wasn't under my tree but there was $$$ earmarked for such a treat. I read three books in one day and went into Harry overload. I've decided to take a break from my wizard love; I don't want the relationship to grow stale so early on.

Movies… I saw Syriana, which I thought to be an excellent political thriller. The final scene isn’t one I would have opted for but I don’t get paid to make those kind of decisions so I guess it doesn’t matter what I’d opt for. I really enjoyed the writing and the cinematography, which is surprising because I was extremely disappointed by Traffic when I saw it. I’m strange I guess. Maybe Ashley’s right, it’s because I’m more interested in the topic covered by Syriana. I also saw King Kong. I’ve never cried so hard because a monkey died in my life. I loved that overgrown guy. His big brown eyes were like Scout’s. That said, movie is hella long. And, thank you, Peter Jackson, for freaking me out with your bloody spiders and creepy crawlies. Massive creepy crawlies. I got the willies right there in the theatre and about crawled out of my skin. *Shudders* I had some issues with the movie – some parts that didn’t connect, some acting concerns… Jack Black was great, unfortunately he plays the “bad” guy and I really didn’t like him at all and Black deserves to be adored in all his roles.

I had a really odd day the day I went to see King Kong. I ended up running into people I never expected to see and each encounter was a bit stranger than the last. It was nuts. Ask Beth.

I’ve given up dark beer. *sobs* Guinness is no longer part of my life. We’re currently separated. It’s a sad day at Christie’s when such a relationship ends. I’m trying to turn over a new leaf. No beer. Working out. The working out part isn’t a problem and is actually quite a bit of fun. I laugh at myself constantly and I thoroughly enjoy taking the tommi-show on the road. The beer part… It should be easy. I didn’t drink beer for the longest time. Unfortunately I’ve become somewhat of the beer snob and find them quite the pleasant lil’ treat. I can do it. I’ve done it before. *coughmormonscough* I’m actually going to put myself in a slightly awkward situation Friday and see how I handle it sans drink in hand.

In other news, I’ve just spent too many hours building my engagement ring on bluenile. *sigh* With all the other engagements, I felt a little left out so… a girl can dream, I suppose.

Trip to the Hill

2005-12-21T15:24:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I drove up to the Hill with my favorite Ash Clint. The day was all about my favorite things--including 35s and visiting campus. If only there had been a basketball game for which we had tickets... *sigh* Next year perhaps. Going back up there I realized how insanely much I want to be back. I could spend the rest of my life in Chapel Hill or any of the surrounding areas and be forever content. I wonder where I'll be decorating my tree next year.

It was good to spend the day with Ash. The amount of fun we can get ourselves into shouldn't be allowed. I told him I can't hang out with him anymore though, because everytime I see him, I get a phone call from a friend who has just gotten engaged. I went to Atlanta to see him and Erica called with her good news. As we walked into REI to do a little christmas shopping last night, Heather called with her engagement announcement. I wonder how many weddings I'll attend before I get hitched.

Tidings of comfort and joy

2005-12-17T09:19:00.000-08:00

It's over!! The grades have been turned in and my grades have been received. I hope my students find their grade as much of a joke as they found my attendance policy. But I do wish them the happiest of holidays. They were a good bunch for my first time.

Wednesday night I went to Gay's house to present my paper, briefly, and indulge in a little party. 'Twas quite interesting and I couldn't help but become sad when I remembered what it had been like to go to her house this time last year. She is such a remarkable woman and it breaks my heart to witness what is happening to her.

Thursday, our very own desperate housewife,

Beth, had us over for a wonderful party filled with holiday cheer. I attempted to be bartender and decided to make two signature shots: pineapple upside down cake, and a white christmas. I knew how the pineapple ones tastes, ever so yummy, but I was curious to give the white christmas a shot. Get it: give the shot a shot. You know you laughed. The white christmas was quite nasty. But the pineapple saved this bartenders short-lived career. I also made mini-muffins to add to the spread that consisted of yummy cheeses (St. Andre's I do believe was the best), popcorn balls, brownies, sugar things Lark and I attempted to make (we lacked proper equipment, ok?), and sugar cookies. For the wine lovers out there, plenty a bottle was uncorked. It was a good party.

Though the photo is larkless, she was indeed there.

Last night I drove up to Chapel Hill to see my Metro Deluxe people, minus Kara-licious. Finally finding a job in her field has prevented her long Christmas break home so she was noticeable absent from the festivities. And due to traffic back-ups (argh) I didn't get to see Eri either. But Adrienne, Jessica, Stephanie and I enjoyed our MD reunion. Kenya and Kristin joined in on the dinner which was quite delicious. I LOVE greek food. I even allowed myself a small glass of wine, because I now enjoy a good Shiraz every now and again. Our waiter was over the top and too touchy feely: see the "family" picture of him pulling me in and Adrienne making her "dear lord, if you don't make this man stop touching me now..." face. No.. He was NOT precious.

My Adrienne is moving to Philly in a few weeks. I shall miss her. She makes me laugh and she is the only one who can call me Tommi pixs. (Short of course, for tommi pickles). She is such a beautiful person. But they say the good ones are the first to go, and Kara left first and now Adrienne is gone. *Sigh* At least I have cool places to visit now. Philly and Whiteville... err... let's just say Memphis for Kara.

And here we are: Jessica, Tommi, Adrienne and Stephanie. I left MD in August '04, Jessica has left about a billion times but she keeps coming back. Indeed, she even worked on black friday. Adrienne has but a few days left and Stephanie... she's still there, but she's destined to do great things. She is an amazing photographer, designer, and general Martha Stewart. And Kara... we miss you!!!

So to my rather small readership out there, I wish you a very merry christmas. I'm hoping that Harry Potter books are nestled under my tree at home with my name on them so that my holidays can be filled with wizardry goodness. I hope Santa brings all you desire and for those traveling, be safe.

"I don't care how nicely you ask, you cannot jump my antlers"

2005-12-11T15:05:00.000-08:00

Where to start with what turned out to be a rather fantastic week? After learning that Harry Potter is indeed the love of my life, I enjoyed the pleasures of an English staff party where the general rule of thumb was to stay one drink behind your professors. That rule somehow got twisted into you HAVE to stay at least one drink behind your professors so the night became a drink off. That’s right. I said it. A drink off. Not a moment passed when one of these beloved English figures did not have a beverage in their Shakespeare loving hands. They made us look like novice drinkers. I’ll say it – all of my professors can and most likely did drink me under the table that night. It was a great time; lots of drinks, food, and Christmas cheer. Unless, of course, you were Jewish, then it was a little bit of Hanukah cheer. For some reason, even though papers needed to be written and portfolios graded, we migrated over to Beth’s with the leftover cheesecake and beer, and Will. We soul searched and laughed at the expense of others until Beth and Will succumbed to Mr. Sandman. I went with Lark to Wafflehouse because it was the only way to end a night of such revelry.

The Greatest NCLR staff

My Belizian Love

(Emily, moi, Tabby, Lark)

Friday was my last day teaching. Exams are Monday and Wednesday but Friday was the last day of classes. It was bittersweet. I am really going to miss some of those kids. They make me laugh. They also make me yell, but you take the good, you take the bad, you take them both and there you have… sing with me now… the facts of life, the facts of life. Speaking about the facts of life, one of my former students who dropped the class because she was with child, brought her baby by to see me during class time. I thought it was sweet and the baby is absolutely precious. She let me hold that teeny tiny 8 pound bundle of joy for a good 15 minutes. I got the glazed over “I want to get married and start a family” look in my eyes. My students pointed it out and a couple asked why I was not hitched with a bun in my oven. Ah, to not know the answer when someone asks you why you don’t have what you obviously want and can get. If I wanted to settle, I’d have it. If I didn’t want this million dollar education, I’d have it. If I’d never left Gates County, I probably would have it. And oh, if I had converted over to join my sweet Mormons, I’d have it. I guess the main point I have to make is the first one I made: If I wanted to settle, I’d have it. Obviously I am holding out for Daniel Radcliffe and in no mood to settle. It’s just seeing young families so insanely happy and then looking at my family unit of me and Scout. Don’t get me wrong, I love my babydog, but sometimes this rambling apartment can get a little lonely.

“And now write me a song
One that makes all the girls cry
And the old women swoon
At the sound of my tune
And the hearts of the lonely will fly”

Saturday night I met Marti, Beth and Lark for some yummy food and then we left Lark to go write her papers while we went to see Edwin McCain’s Christmas concert. After hearing horrible things about the opening act, we were pleased to see a bar, beckoning to us with shiny green Heineken bottles. We were well prepared when the opening act appeared. They weren’t good. That’s really all I can say. Quite often, they carried the wrong tune if they carried a tune at all. And they sang a song about fruitcake. “Don’t forget the cinnamon” haunted my dreams all last night. But they did have something magical: they had Mrs. Claus. That’s right, she was there in the flesh. She didn’t know it, but she WAS everything Mrs. Claus is supposed to be. She looked like she would smell like Christmas cookies and peppermint and she had the perfect lap for holding a small child while reading a Christmas story. We loved her. And she could sing, as Mrs. Claus obviously can. Did I mention that we loved her? Finally, Edwin came out. Good ole Edwin. It’s been awhile since I’ve seen you. Anything new in your life? He looks the same. His gorgeous voice is the same. I got some nice pictures and was able to walk up to the stage. I only used that opportunity once after I realized he sings with his eyes closed most of the time. I didn’t want to stand there waiting for the opportunity to catch him looking at me when he doesn’t look at ANYTHING. But he did see me. After the concert, I had to pee. We’re talking pee really bad. We’re “talking skip to the bathroom and please don’t be a line or I will pee on the floor” bad. We get there and what to my wondering eyes should appear, but Mr. McCain himself. He stared confusedly at my antlers and my distraught face as I struggled with my options. Have my picture taking with Edwin McCain and risk the warm trickle running down my leg or nod my antlers at him and go potty. I opted for the can. Sorry McCain, as much as I love you, and contrary to Billy Madison, peeing your pants is NOT cool.

(Open your bloody eyes, Edwin)

We left the convention center, my antlers still raising eyebrows (I decided I should be called Vixen), and headed to AJs for some more good times. We called Lark, and just like the bat signal, the beer signal had our hero joining us within minutes. I ordered a big mug for Beth and myself. I didn’t know how big it would be. I didn’t know that it would be a glass mug. The thing weighed more than that small baby from Friday. We wrapped our grubby little hands around it and drank it like hot cocoa. It honestly required both hands. We drank insanely fast simply to lighten our load. In retrospect, we probably should have just sat the mugs on the table…

(Don't blame your gas on the reindeer!)

So that, in a nutshell, has been my excitement for the past few days. This week I have exams to give and papers to present. One of those papers is finally written, but the other has not even been started. *sigh* Hurry up and get here Christmas… Or Thursday. Thursday is going to be a good day.

I KNEW IT!!!

2005-12-09T15:06:00.000-08:00

Harry Potter

You crave your own knight in shining armour: the
guy who will swoop in and save you, and manage
to be a sweet lover and good dad all at the
same time. You are the girl he's fighting for!

Who is your Harry Potter love match? (for girls)
brought to you by

Oh how true it is. Now that an online quiz, a matchmaker of sorts, has confirmed that Harry Potter should be my one and only, I must begin developing a plan to make this wizard mine. There's nothing hotter than a guy who really knows how to work his wand. And from what I can gather, Harry has mastered using his wand.

Lessons Learned from Dogs

2005-12-06T10:59:00.000-08:00

When loved ones come home, always run to greet them.

Never pass up the opportunity to go for a joyride.

Allow the experience of fresh air and the wind in your face to be pure ecstasy.

When it's in your best interest, practice obedience.

Let others know when they've invaded your territory.

Take naps and stretch before rising.

Run, romp, and play daily.

Thrive on attention and let people touch you.

Avoid biting when a simple growl will do.

On warm days, stop to lie on your back on the grass.

On hot days, drink lots of water and lay under a shady tree.

When you're happy, dance around and wag your entire body.

No matter how often you're scolded, don't buy into the guilt thing and pout... run right back and make friends.

Delight in the simple joy of a long walk.

Eat with gusto and enthusiasm.

Stop when you have had enough.

Be loyal.

Never pretend to be something you're not.

If what you want lies buried, dig until you find it.

And MOST of all...When someone is having a bad day, be silent, sit close by and nuzzle them gently.

Author Unknown

**I thought it was cute.

Ho! Ho! Ho!

2005-12-01T16:46:00.000-08:00

Merry Christmas!!!

Born & Bred

2005-11-30T06:59:00.000-08:00

You better get accustomed to that net-cutting, Roy. You'll be doing it again quite soon. Maybe not this year. But it's coming. These boys may be gone, but you've got a bunch of loveable freshies.

Something very strange happened when the final seconds elapsed Tuesday night: fans stood and cheered. It wasn't a polite sound of clapping as the final buzzer sounded. It was a loud, resounding ovation that followed the Tar Heels off the floor, into the tunnel, and down the hallway to their locker room.
It was unlike almost any sound you've ever heard in the Smith Center after a loss.
It was the sound of a fan base falling in love.

--Adam Lucas http://tarheelblue.collegesports.com/sports/m-baskbl/spec-rel/113005aab.html

2005-11-28T12:01:00.000-08:00

Thanksgiving was lovely. I adore my family. Holidays are always going to be sad, especially when we go celebrate with my dad’s side of the family, but I’m ever so thankful for the Powell side of my family tree because they like to share the memories as much as I do. I ate entirely way too much. We had lunch on Thanksgiving with the Powells (isn’t my littlest cousin oh so precious--pumpkin on her face and all?) and dinner that night with my mother’s parents. My mom cooked a big meal on Friday in honor of my sister’s 2 year anniversary and then on Sunday we had Thanksgiving with my mother’s side of the family. There was quite a lot of food involved in my week in Gates County.

While I was home, I graded my in-class essays. I hate that assignment and I hated grading it. I have a feeling that quite a few of my students hate me after seeing their grades. But I did have one student invite me to a Christmas party. He made sure to let me know that it will be after I submit my grades so I won’t be his teacher anymore. He’s a sweet guy and seems to have a swell bunch of friends. I told him if I’m around, I’ll go.

So Emory’s application is in, which is good because it’s due December 1. I’m slightly nervous. More than slightly. I want it. I want it bad. Real bad. And they only let in about 10 people. Please, oh please, let me be one of those 10. The only problem with Emory other than the whole not getting in factor, is if by some chance I do get in, I have a feeling that it could screw with one of my friendships. Everybody already thinks I do everything because of this person anyway, heaven forbid I move to the same state to further my degree because obviously I’m only going for him. Idiots. My moves may be calculated and purposeful, but they are not associated with him. But again, it won’t matter if they don’t let me in. That’s merely a small bridge I’ll have to cross when and if it happens. If I never mention it again it means I was not one of the great and I don’t have to worry about screwing up a friendship. Do not ask me about Emory if I don’t mention it again because I’d rather not dwell on my failures.

**in other news, I am slightly ticked off because the books I ordered came today and I realized that one of the books is not a book at all, but rather a book on tape. Argh. I hate books on tape.

Sweet Harry Potter

2005-11-20T18:14:00.000-08:00

For years I refused to be one of the Harry Potter followers. I laughed at Rowling’s fame and fortune, while inwardly longing to be her. I simply would not allow myself to fall in with the masses and worship the little Hogwart’s wizard. Then something happened. A couple of years ago, I suppose, I randomly stumbled across the first Harry Potter movie on TV. It was addictive, kind of like coke, but without the massive weight-loss and numbing qualities. Harry became a dirty secret. I’m still denying myself the books. While I was at St. Edmund’s Hall at Oxford University, I discovered that good ole Teddy Hall had given Rowling an honorary degree. Bullocks. I swore up and down that woman didn’t deserve it. Surely she wasn’t that fantastic. Perhaps I’m merely holding on to my past disdain for this woman who made a fortune in the world I long to find entry to. I think I’ve forgiven her, though jealousy still clouds my thoughts sometimes. When time allows, Harry Potter will be my heroin. A straight shot of that adorable little wizard right in the blood stream. Back to the movies… I’ve seen the first two. The third has remained elusive because my fetish with this wizard has remained a dirty little secret. I exposed my secret this weekend when I ventured out and saw Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire in the light of day. The theater was packed and I was forced to sit in the second to the front row where all could see that I, Tommi Powell, had indeed paid to see a Harry Potter movie. Oh sweet moses, was it worth it. I’m in love with Harry, or perhaps I’m more in love with Daniel Radcliff. I wouldn’t mind having babies with that sweet lad, even if they turned out to be muggles. This was a fantastic movie. I laughed, I silently screamed, and I cried. Oh yes, I shed a tear along with young Potter. (And I really want a sweatshirt that says ‘Potter’ like the one he wore in the tournament. *hint*hint* I request a little dragon like the one he pulled out of the sack, but somehow I don’t fancy any of you could give me one, even if you loved me bunches.) So back to how adorable Harry Potter is… I think an obsession may be forming… As Beth stated as we were leaving the theater “I want to see the next movie NOW!!!” And I do. As you know, Ralph Fiennes plays the lovely evil “he who must not be named” and let me state for the record that this was not the adorable Fiennes who smiles for me and only for me. I’m looking at the picture right now of him smiling at me from my London days, and I see no evil. But boy did he freak me out. Maybe I should never watch Red Dragon if he freaks me out in the Harry Potter movie… *sigh* He DOES smile at me. Just ask. I should mention, while on the subject of Harry Potter, that my extreme disdain for Rowling and her wizard world had nothing to do with my religion or my traditional upbringing. I say shame on those who would deny a child a book, especially a book whose story, while fantastical, contains so many universal elements. Oh you fanatical religious groups who condemn Potter and Rowling and then sing the praises of Lewis and his witch and lion and wardrobe. Shame on you. Let the children read.

In other news, I decided, after much contemplation, to attend DMFN’s 80’s prom night. It was much fun. How can drinking with some of my favorite people while listening to excellent 80s music not be fun?

2005-11-15T15:30:00.000-08:00

Christmas music makes everything better.
I'm ready for December to get here...

ferret love

2005-11-14T18:37:00.000-08:00

Saturday's dinner was simply delicious. We had a wonderful time at Lark's, but Boo, sweet ferret that is she, was the main event and the star. She's also something of the camera whore. But isn't she adorable? The meal started with a pecan-encrusted goat cheese and baby spinach salad with strawberry vinaigrette. This was followed by a beautifully presented spinach and cheese stuffed chicken breast covered in a red pepper cream sauce.

(YUMMY) For dessert we had poach pears with a vanilla glaze and creme freche, again beautifully presented. See picture.

The night truly was a lot of fun. I adore my girls and Tilan. I have tons more pictures, including a picture of Boo taking a ride in Tilan's overalls and of Robley drinking out of the butt mug. There's also a fantastic video of Beth dancing but that is for neither here nor there.

In other news, isn't this the most adorable picture of me and my favorite pupdog in the whole wide world?

Today I had to speak at a tribute to Gay. It was actually a lot of fun and I'm really glad I did it, but I'm just kind of bummed out. I'm trying not to be, but I can't help but remember what time of year it is and tomorrow is going to be a very bad day. I know this and I can't do anything about it. I wish I could just go to sleep and not wake up for a couple of weeks. From about the 15th until Thanksgiving I'm just not myself.

self-destruct mode

2005-11-12T03:21:00.000-08:00

So, for whatever inappropriate reason, I decided to go out last night. I have a huge test in a couple of hours that I should have studied for but I opted for "Purple Alaskan Thunder Fucks" (I think that's right) and a lil' PBR instead. While I am neither Asian nor dressed like a bee, I look like this little guy about right now. In fact, I had a very similar picture taken. There were grapes anyway. Right? And to top it off, I had someone trying to pimp me out, just like our little bee friend. Non es frio. Not cool.

Back to the test. It's on the English Canon, ie. dead white men. I figure if all else fails, the answer is Shakespeare or maybe Sidney if we're doing poetry. Or maybe Chaucer. Or Spenser. Or Petrarch. Or... Or... Ok, so the English Canon is insanely large and my concentration is South African Literature. I'm going to bet cash money that NO south african questions appear. And they call that fair. *sigh* (Now watch my little 2 hour test be littered with South African questions and I get them ALL wrong. That totally would rain on my "oh, I'm a south african lit. genius person" parade.)

I'm doing dinner with my girls tonight. Lark is cooking what, at least in words, appears to be a fabulous meal. There will be wine, which tommi will not touch. wine = angry/sleepy girl. There will, quite likely, be a wee bit of "guys are jerks" talk. Only a wee. After all, we all have our stories. Oh, and Tilan will be there. Since Boo is a girl (I think... How do you tell if a ferret is a boy or girl? Is it noticeable? Should I have already noticed? Or perhaps, if male, Boo simply is hung like a fruit bat? I knew a guy like that once. Sad.) anywho, as I was saying, since Boo is most likely female, Tilan will be the only male present. But we love him so we'll call it a girls night and pretend not to notice that he's not.

In other news, I still have mono and Scout still has gas.

Hey kettle, this is pot. You're black.

2005-11-07T06:39:00.000-08:00

Don’t beep your horn at 5 am when you’re waiting for someone who just so happens to live in the same apartment complex as me. It makes tommi a very unhappy girl to have to listen to your incessant beeping. And word to the wise, if you’ve been beeping nonstop for 5 minutes and s/he still hasn’t shown up, why don’t you go bloody KNOCK on the door?

I’m still sick. And grouchy. Can’t forget the grouchy part. My kids start their in-class essay assignment today. I feel obligated to say I resent the fact that this is required and worth so much of their final grade. I don’t think it’s a good indicator of their writing ability and I really don’t want to grade 67 hand-written essays… But alas, my voice has been silenced by the department heads who made the decision long before the decision to hire me was made. And since I’m a sheep, I follow the crowd and do as I’m told. Sorry, kids. But I’m bringing em’ chocolate and other sugary briberies to do good so I don’t have to fail them.

I went to court on Friday. The cute little cop who pulled me was there. He’s adorable so I couldn’t stay mad at him for long. Precious cops… Anywhores, I got there a tad late but I was able to see the DA who looked at the ticket, asked me when I got my last ticket, laughed when I said it’s my first, and reduced it to 64 in a 55. Life is good again, but my wallet is $120 lighter… How much was the actual ticket, you ask? $10. That’s right. $110 in court costs. Be it jail time or court fines, hertford county will apparently rape you either way. Have I mentioned I’m grouchy?

So I’ve been doing my graduate school applications (or making a half-hearted attempt, anyway) and I have decided that I still don’t know what I want to do. PhD (if they’ll have me) or publishing (if they’ll have me). But somebody has got to want me, right? I had an interesting conversation with a friend the other day who, upon my request, provided me with 3 reasons for which he thinks I am an adult.
1) I have my priorities “roughly” in the right order.
2) I take responsibility for my actions.
3) I could successfully raise a child.

Score. It’s totally baby time.

I kid.

Honestly.

2005-11-03T15:00:00.000-08:00

My comps are OVER!! After an hour of being grilled about sex & politics in the works of Nadine Gordimer, they sent me out of the room to confer. About 10 or so minutes later, they came out to tell me that I had passed!! YAY!! I could have talked about Gordimer for much longer, but they only let you have an hour so... And my nerves were shot. Between mono, preparing for a presentation on apartheid, the upcoming subject test, court, and my comps, I think I'm coming pretty close to losing my mind. I still have mono, the subject test and court to deal with. Oy. *Nadine Gordimer*

NERD ALERT

(the running list of Gordimer books I can stand behind)

July's People

A Sport of Nature

Burger's Daughter

My Son's Story

The Essential Gesture

The Pickup

COMPS!!!!!!

2005-11-03T06:42:00.000-08:00

My comps are today at 2. The room is booked, the books are read (some of them anyway) and the paper long sent to the committee. I ran into a committee member last night. He'd forgotten. Now I'm scared. Really scared.

I'm semi-late for work because, of course, I had to work today. I've got to go to Panera because you've GOT to feed your committee. It's close to bribery, but whatever works...

Halloween musings...

2005-10-31T11:56:00.000-08:00

BOO!!! Happy Hauntings!!!

So it’s Halloween. It doesn’t much feel like Halloween, even though I’ve already had my costume party and I am currently eating chocolate… Something just doesn’t seem right. I’m going out again tonight—hitting the downtown scene with Heather. I’ll be the scantily clad girl holding a ruler. I’m going as a teacher. My students didn’t find the idea original, but they haven’t seen the costume. However, the professor who ‘trained’ me to be a teacher thoroughly enjoyed it on Saturday night. Lark and I both went as teachers. It was fun. Since I can’t afford many different costumes, I’m wearing the same thing tonight. I don’t intend to stay out long.

I think Scout is just prashus in her costume. She doesn’t like it much and I have to literally hide it from her because she’s inclined to chew it up. Once upon a time, it lit up; she fixed that. If you look closely, you can see where the stuffing is coming out. She also has gas, but I don’t think that comes across in the picture.

It started out with a kiss, how did it end up like this? It was only a kiss...

2005-10-28T11:49:00.000-07:00

I’ve been teaching all morning and home-girl is beat. This mono thing—no es frio. For something called the “kissing disease,” you’d think it’d be maybe a little bit fun. My bed has never looked so good—not even when it was occupied by someone tall, dark, and handsome. I’m going to sprawl out and crash until… why until I wake up to go out, of course. *Scout’s already crashing.*

I realized something quite startling today while I was lecturing. I’m white. I know, I couldn’t believe it either, but apparently I am and therefore my lecture on affirmative action really didn’t have the desired effect. Obviously I am a woman so that should matter for something, but no, it became, quite quickly, a very white and black issue. And of course, I had quite a few of the white males who have apparently lost out in life because they are not minorities. I did not pick this topic. I was too tired to deal with this topic today. Why, oh why? Monday’s class shall be loads of fun.

I talked with the kid. Not really a talk I relish having again, but not what I expected either. I really suck at first impressions because I most certainly can’t figure people out. Maybe I just doubt the ability of others to love, respect & appreciate me, and then I act accordingly. Maybe if I stopped that, things would turn around. I’ll write that on my list of things to do.

Good Morning, Mono...

2005-10-27T09:52:00.000-07:00

So, as fate would have it, I have mono. I've been sleeping for days and days and days and I haven't been scooping Scout's poop when I walk her. Shhh... don't tell anyone. So when Beth sent me this lovely picture, I knew I'd been spotted leaving the doo behind. *sigh* I suppose I need to change my ways.

My mom called today. It turns out that I am NOT covered by her prepaid legal services and that I have to cover my own butt for this ticket. Drat. It means I'll have to cancel class next Friday to head down to Winton and plead my case. Anybody want to tag along?

Tommi va al doctor....

2005-10-26T04:15:00.000-07:00

So I went to the doctor. I hate doctors with their clean-smelling rooms, cold hands and instruments. Oh, and let's not forget the crinkly paper you get to sit on while you say "ah" and stick out your tongue. So I wake up Monday morning with a sore throat. Upon further investigation, I notice that one of my tonsils has suddenly doubled in size and become a very nasty shade of red (with that oh-so-icky white junk decorating it). Uh-oh. I know that shade of red; it's tonsillitis. Thank you, students, for bringing me your various ailments. What happened to apples? Anyway, I decide to go ahead and get the doctor visit over with. Surely they can give me something. I'd be willing to have her cut my tonsils out with a rusty knife. I kid not. I head to urgent care, because, try as I may, I can't bring myself to trust ECU's student health. She looks in my mouth, clicking her tongue and shaking her head.
"It could be mono."
I laugh. "Very funny, doctor lady."
Only she wasn't being funny. "It's just too early to tell. I'll do a strep test, maybe that's what it is."
Oh boy, how do I love it when a doctor says "maybe"?
She prescribes some antibiotics even though the strep test is negative. "Just because you've been exposed to so much as a teacher."
That's it. I'm changing my career path.
That was all Monday. I've been taking my medicine like a good girl since then. It's done nothing (and it cost $25 for 4 pills--thank goodness she gave me 6 pills as free samples). My tonsils are currently trying to out swell each other. The right side has taken a commanding lead. It's quite difficult to swallow. *sigh* Have I mentioned how inconveniencing my being sick is? I have a paper and a presentation due today. The paper is done, and I'm begging for an extension on the presentation. Me being the procrastinator that I am, I held off on going to the library. Screw class today. I'll email the paper. My students will love me. I cancelled my classes. I can't talk, let alone lecture. My comps are next week. Am I prepared? NO!!! Then, the next week I have my gre subject test. Maybe after that, I'll find the light at the end of this "seriously no-fun" tunnel I've found myself in.
I watched (listened) to hours and hours of nick jr. yesterday. I crawled out of bed for about an hour and caught an episode of Dora the Explorer. It's a rather hypnotic show. I sat on the couch and became entirely captivated. And then, it happened. She spoke to me. Yes, I know it wasn't to me, but she asked a question and then stared right at me, blinking those overly large brown eyes in my direction. It made me nervous so I answered her. And once I started, I couldn't stop. Scout thinks I've lost my mind. She obviously doesn't remember her puppy-hood reaction to one Tom Hanks. So Dora taught me Spanish. Apparently, Winnie the Pooh speaks Spanish. Disneyland, you were correct with your suggestion that "it's a small world after all."

I'm giving it another day and if nothing improves, I'm heading back to the doctor. After all, they get paid to make me feel better, so hurry up and make me feel better!! I don't want to have to sit uncomfortably on that squeaky table with its crinkly paper. I always wonder if they actually did change the paper before they let me in. What if they didn't? I could be sitting on USED crinkly white (or not so white anymore) paper. *shudders* I'm not looking forward to a possible second trip. Visiting the doctor is in no way fun, Winnie the Pooh. Wipe that honey eatin' grin off your face.