Crunchy Thoughts

It’s Christmastime, and the mistletoe is lurking about. A lot of us have fond memories of kisses under the mistletoe. Whether by a friend, a lover, a perfect stranger, or even your cat, you remember that moment. They’re different, they’re special.

The kiss that I remember most was, in fact, one that I didn’t give. And it’s the one I most regret. When I was ten, our teacher had the bright idea of hanging some mistletoe underneath the doorway into the classroom. We all avoided it like the noxious weed it was, staying away from the center of the doorway, just as you would expect typical cootie-infested children to behave.

Then the last day of class came before we were to go home for the holidays, and all of us students were lined up inside the door to leave for the buses, just waiting for the bell to ring. I was at the front of the line, near the doorway, with some of my friends. We were being silly, daring each other to get under the door where the mistletoe dangled overhead. Then, contrary to typical ‘Carrie’ fashion, I grew a pair of balls all of a sudden and moved to stand underneath it.

“Oooooh,” go the other 5th graders.

Then Scott, who I had a slight crush on at the time, proceeds to come up and stand under the mistletoe as well. I still can see the image in my mind plain as day: he’s a bit taller than me, all grins, arching back his neck to make sure he was right under the plant.

I almost did it. I just about leaned over to give a peck on that neck of his. Almost, almost, almost. But I hesitated, just one moment.

Then the bell rang, and we all forgot about that stupid green weed as we rushed to the buses. Even I was glad to be let off the hook.

A month later, Scott was dead. Killed in a plane crash. I was away for the weekend, and didn’t even know about it until after the funeral took place. I was back in class, there was an empty seat beside me, and I was one kiss short of a happy memory.

And now it’s thirteen years later, and I still find myself thinking about that moment, one of the few regrets in my life. But what can I do, that moment can’t rewrite itself. It can, however, remind me that moments like those are fleeting, you never know how such a small little thing can become so important later. At least I learned something out of it. Sneak all the little kisses you can get.

I think this’ll be the last chance I get to write something before the Milestone Weekend commences, so here I am. I have found a sliver of free time in between the music compiation task and laundry. Eureka!

Oh, if you could only see Renton right now. He is all stretched out on the Elf Bed, eyes shut and looking incredibly peaceful. At first glance you’d think he was dead, the way he is laying. Another oddity about him is his choice of sitting and sleeping positions. It makes for amusing photos.

I’ve no idea why, but I feel so . . . peaceful. One would think I was running around into walls for all the anxiety that should be on my shoulders, but no, I’m sitting calmly, listening to the reception music CDs for potential mistakes and musing over a sleeping Renton. Where are the nerves, the last-minute glitches, the lack of appetite?? Not that I’m complaining, mind. Well, it would be nice not to have an appetite for a while, but other than that, all is well. Which can make one nervous in and of itself, cause it could very well mean that I’m missing something; I’m not properly nervous enough. But then I remember the immortal words from the Matrix, who took it from some other philosopher before that: ignorance is bliss.

But why would I think that, that’s crazy, don’t I want to make sure every little insignificant detail is all worked out three times over, so I can be happy and “my day” won’t be ruined? Hmm, yeah, I don’t wanna worry about all that stuff. As long as I’m there, Steven’s there, I’m clothed, and there’s a dude there to marry us, I’m content. Flabbergasted, but content.

Aaaack, now how come this blue wrapping paper doesn’t exactly match the bridesmaid’s dresses?!?!

*I did set up an entry to post on the 23rd, though I should still be in Charleston. Oh, I am such a crafty Carrie! Don’t freak out, I was a bit melancholy when I wrote it.

I’ve mentioned it before, but Renton is an odd cat, weird beyond all reason. Where does one start with this cat? He’s just nuts. Last weekend, we discovered a new layer to his nuttiness. Renton (get ready for this one) loves oranges. Oranges! Acidic, oddly-textured, squirt-in-your-eye oranges, and he can’t get enough of them.

Cathy, who likes the juice but not the rest of the orange, sucked on one like a vampire this weekend, then offered the pulpy remnants to Renton the Curious, who immediately took a liking to them. He chewed and he chomped, licked and nuzzled; he was in orange heaven. I think he ate three oranges that weekend, and he had another last night.

The best thing about this is it keeps him busy for hours. Just lay an orange half on the floor, and he is quietly immersed for a long time. It keeps him from bouncing all over every stick of furniture in the apartment at least.

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I had a weird dream last night. I was at my parents’ house in Alabaster, getting ready for the wedding, and my grandfather, Papa, comes in. Well, we’re all a-flutter because we thought he was dead. So happy to see him. I asked him if he’ll be able to come to my wedding, and he said, “No, baby, I’ve got to tend to my lady friend. But I know you will be gorgeous, and you’re going to have a lot of fun.”

And he gave me a hug and a greeting card, then he left. I wanted to read the card, but I woke up before I could. Damn that alarm clock.

I’ve had wedding dreams before, but that was one of the more interesting. Hopefully after Saturday, those dreams will stop, and I can quit worrying about Halloween-themed weddings, forgetting to memorize my vows, and leaving the rings up in Fort Payne. Glad to say I’ve taken care of all of that.

Hard to think that in just a short week from now, Steven and I will be in Charleston, walking amongst the old buildings and smelling the sea air of the Atlantic, which I’ve never been in before. Flown over, yes, but never have run my hands through it. Excitement! I’ve got a lot to do before that next Tuesday rolls around, though. Graduations, weddings, putting young Renton in a kennel. He is going to be so mad at me. Yeah, that Atlantic seems far off.

As I was driving down to Birmingham today, I passed by some interesting roadkill. Not to say that roadkill in and of itself is unusual in Alabama; in fact, first I passed by a roadkilled deer, which is quite the norm. The interesting roadkill I saw was a chicken. Now I don’t know about other parts of the world, but down here, we’ve no Chickens of the Wild Forests roaming about the South. I’ve no idea how it got to the interstate in the first place. So the question is, why did the chicken cross the road? I don’t know, but he only made it halfway.

I’m a busy Carrie this week. That’s really all I’ve got right now. No talkie. Just busy. Busy, boring Carrie. Sorry.

Ahhh, nothing like a warm cup of spiced chai on a cold Fort Payne night. And speaking of cold Fort Payne nights, guess what’s on the weather agenda for this area on Friday night and Saturday?

SNOW ! ! !

Only a mix turning to flurries, but hot damn, I knew there was a reason why I moved all the way to the northeast corner of Alabama. However, like most other forecasted snowy days in Alabama, this Friday it will probably be near 60 degrees, and we’ll have tornadoes instead.

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About a week ago, Steven and I made our way down to ye olde DeKalb County Courthouse to do whatever it is you do to obtain a marriage license. It was an easy and amusing experience. The best part was when they dragged out this huge tome of a book that was dark red in color, and was about the size and weight of three cement blocks.

“Cool,” I said.

The Book Lady replied, “What, the book? Ha ha, it’s not so cool when you’ve gotta pick it up.”

Then she proceeded to write some stuff in it, but I couldn’t see what, because I was more preoccupied with trying to recall all my most vital information that the government just has to know. The best question was, “Are the bride and groom related?” After checking with Steven, I proudly marked “No.” I wonder if that’s a minority in this county.

Anyway, soon after we were able to leave the courthouse with the almost-official license, complete with misspellings that I will have to get corrected later. And, true to my style, I embarrassed myself with my lack of common sense in front of the security guard. Another day, another stupid.

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And after writing so many horrible things about what Renton the Devil Cat has done, I must give him some praise. He was astonishingly angelic throughout the entire Thanksgiving holiday at my parents. Renton even was calm during the house-exploding time of putting up the Christmas doo-dads.

So unlike before, when it was, “You punish him too much; you’re too hard on him,” now it’s, “You don’t punish him enough. Follow through; give him a few hard whacks.” Whack whack whack. It’s pretty hard to whack the little nutter when you’re at work, and he’s in the kitchen eating your oven mitts. I still like Steven’s idea of a cat straightjacket, but last time we hunted for one of those, we ended up on some creepy BDSM supply website. Something tells me they’re not into the business of cat discipline, at least not of the feline kind.

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Google amuses me. Especially when I go through my site statistics and see how people came to this oddity of a diary/journal/entertainment/communication type thing. The more stuff I write on this thing, the more potential there is for someone to randomly trip over it via a Google search. The search phrase winner for this week? Why, it’s gotta be, “squirrel pee on computer!” It’s true, it’s true, search that phrase and you’ll find me. And honorable mentions go out to “hot sauce on tongue discipline,” THE CASTEL OF DOCTOR BRAIN,” and “ambesol,” which apparently I have been misspelling. It’s “Anbesol.” Ohhhh.

And I’ll leave ya with a hearty WAR DAMN EAGLE! Tuberville rules; Housel, Walker, and especially Lowder drools. All over our image. Pissants.