Beauty and the Beast

I don't think Belle was that upset when she came to the realization that she was being courted (stalked and obsessed over) by two guys.  I'm sure it was flattering and exhilarating to know that a tremendously talented and successful gentleman was attracted to her, and in some fantasy-fulfilling bestiality she also found it intriguing to be pursed by a wild beast.

I'm not here to judge her or condemn her for her positions on animal/human relations.  I hear of people enjoying there livestock, household pets and dead mice all too often.  I truly can't think of a time in which I had considered having an intimate relationship with my dog Verlie, or looked at my family cat Holly and thought to myself, "I feel the tension and I have to show you how I feel."  But to each their own right?

Let me be the first to congratulate Disney on their foresight and forward thinking.  I don't think anyone was really willing to take the plunge and make a movie about this topic.  With so much attention being made to gay marriage, people have somehow forgotten about our fuzzy little friends and their fuzzy little friends.

The craziest thing (most shocking) is that at the end of the day, the beast wins out.  She picked the family dog (who's wicked rich mind you.... another topic all together) over the real dude.  This brings to attention the question of, is it better with animals than humans?  Belle's choice has brought me to a state that I don't know if I can handle.  Should I just go through with it and see if Charlie (my roommates dog) and I have something we can share.  Can his fuzzy little body really be better than a human?

I might not ever know the answer to this question, but I have seen that you can be happy slow dancing with large animals. I have seen that when you dress them up they are pretty freak'n cute.  But as a lover, can I trust my dog to still shake my hand when I tell him too, without expecting a little more than a "treat" in return?

How to Love Being Sick

I hate it!  I can't stand it, and there's no way to stop it from happening.  Getting sick is the worst!  The feeling of absolute worthlessness and being so pathetic. You groan every three seconds in anguish over just one too many coughs.  I hate not being able to smell my coffee in the morning or tasting my dinner that took an hour to make. Everyone wants the same thing, relief!

I hate being sick just as much as the next guy, but I found a way to get the most out of being sick and still keep your sanity.  A way to somehow smile and laugh while blowing your Niagara-nose all day/night long. The secret is simple: get your girlfriend sick too!

Granted, I still firmly believe that she was the reason for this lowly state (she had a soar throat first after all).  Don't get me wrong, being sick and having to share it with someone can be so depressing and horrible that it alone can debilitate the most savory and loving of people down to their core.  I lucked out.  I got to laugh and make fun of someone who felt exactly the same way I did.

However there are some rules to live by while being sick with someone else (especially a significant others).  For instance, there is no good time to remind them of how sick they look.  This would seem obvious to many, but I have a feeling a few of you might utter these words: "Wow, you look like shit babe."  Another rule to remember is to never doubt how badly the other one is feeling.  Just because you never felt that bad, doesn't mean they don't feel a million times worse.  Lastly, be as helpful as you possibly can be.  Even if you feel like crap, be sure to make it your job and responsibility to make it easier for them while trying to recover.  It's not easy being helpful when you feel worthless, but take my advise, it helps. Getting sick is no fun, but that doesn't mean you can have fun while being sick.

Like I said, I hate being sick and I don't want to be sick, but if I'm going to be, I know a great way to get through it.  Find the one you care about the most and pull them down in there with you.

The Consummation of a Tradition : Tradition Meets Fruition

It's November again. Another Autumn rolls through me like the cool breeze it brings.  I become focused on family, as many do, and let the warmth of hot cider flow over me.  It's that time of year, the time where we all  begin to think about our families, our friends and our lives.

We're a week away from the most pleasant day on the calendar.  Every body is a 'yes-man'.  Excuse me flows out of mouths like it's air, and we all practice the many different ways we'll be saying thank you. There's an attitude of compassion that supersedes any other day.  Children are cuter, people are funnier and turkey never tastes better.

This Thanksgiving brings about it a new consequence of time to my attention.  A new realization that won't be so pleasantly welcome.  I know as much as anyone, that all good things will come to an end.  I know that in time there will be difficulties and frailties that will captivate my heart, turning it into some fatigued ball.  I feel it happening again this Thanksgiving.

This will be my first Thanksgiving with out the most unbelievably funny, kind-hearted and humble man I have ever known to exist. The diehard Red Wings fan that never let anything get in the way of a quick nap. I'm talking about my Grandfather, Charles "Pop-Pop" Kittredge. A constant fixture in my Thanksgiving scheduling. 

Just about every other year my family would make a trip through the Smokey Mountains and into the foothills of good ol' Greenville, South Carolina.  That's my home.  That's where I was born.  They have Taco Casa people! I don't even eat Mexican food, but if you had their cinnamon chips you would understand.  Inevitably my Dad and I would attend the Turkey Bowl game at BJU (it's soccer so don't try to understand), where with out fail my Dad would run into a million people singing is Turkey Bowl praise. And as much as I love watching soccer with unfamiliar friends and a brother or two, there was nothing like the dinner with Graig and Sarah's family, Pop-Pop and Ginny and Steve and Laura.  There are more arguments and laughs at this dinner than any other: Easter being a close second.

The one memory I keep revisiting is the last Thanksgiving I spent down in South Carolina with my family.  After secluding ourselves to a table, my younger brothers and I began to think of ways that we were going to cut through the awkwardness that was our extended family.  There was a glimpse of hope though.  I had a brought soccer ball and I was pretty sure that off in the distance there lay a shining oval shaped something that I could only pray was a football.  Alex and I were on the same page, and Andrew lay there like a slug: it was his only defense.  We begin to kick the ball around when my cousin Clint came out and wanted the play catch.  Not too long after that came Andrew and Pop-Pop.  We played keep away and catch for about an hour, if not longer.  Pop-Pop throwing frozen ropes that left blood-colored ball marks in our hands. There was no great words or loving hugs, just goofy blonde guys looking like the barely athletic footballers we are.  This is what I will miss the most.  The normal, 'could happen at anytime' moments that in my mind seemed so perfect.. 

At the end of the day, when I'm done whining and complaining, there will be some traditions that are withheld (no matter if I want to or not): time will accomplished another minute's life-force, and I will still be thankful this Thanksgiving.  When met with the painful truths that life brings me, it is all too easy to brush them aside with the joy of memories I could only be so lucky to have experienced.  I truly can be nothing less than thankful, and gladly accept it into my heart.

Curiosity that Cured the Cat

If you're not too familiar with me, you might not know that I'm a self-proclaimed know-it-all.  I love learning and I love to know things that you don't.  I grew up in a family that exuded proficient skills in useless knowledge and told-ya-so practices. We are everyone's empty feeling of intellectual anguish (or so we think).

Over time I would learn to curb my ravenous hunger for correctness.  I would see myself blossom into somewhat of a courteous and quieted voice in conversation.  Yet, my desire for information increased and multiplied again and again and again.

As I danced through the endless corridors of intellectual possibility, there presented itself a new opportunity. A female had wandered her enchanting blue eyes into my view.  Her siren's song leading me into the rocks and shores of reality that I'm too certain I will not survive.  I keep thinking to myself, "enjoy the intrigue, enjoy the pursuit, enjoy what you can learn about her and yourself."  So I will.

Time would pass and I would become enchanted by this de rigueur vixen's every movement.  This is wear my curiosity comes back to bit me.  In the rigors of growing and knowing one another one must open themselves up and poor honesty out like water to a thirsting heart. But, there is something to be said for being too honest.

What I have learned is that honesty is by far the best policy, but it should be made clear to what limits you will take that honesty.  I had had a conversation that I more than willingly condemn and despise (that makes two of us).  I learned things I didn't want to know and I said things I really shouldn't say. No one was hurt, but everyone left with the same feeling of filth draped across  their bodies.

What I've learned is that although I will always be a curious person, there are somethings I just don't need to know.  There are things I shouldn't have to consider and there are definitely things that are better off left unsaid. You live, you learn, you regret learning, you never forget.  I just don't need to know it all.

Not So Fast

Recently I have found myself neglecting my writing.  I haven't been busy.  I've had hundreds of new moments to explore and regurgitate to all that are willing to read it.  I have been through a complex cocktail of emotion, but not one new post in way too long.

After a lot of thinking... meditating... wondering, I'm still not certain what caused this climactic disconnect. The desire has been there, but neglect found it's way in, pushing desire further and further.  Over the course of weeks, I realized a part of me needed this.  There's something about writing that makes some tiny, minuscule part of my brain feel a sense of relief. 

So what do you write about now that you've finally decided to write again?  Funny enough, it would be writing about writing.  Yes, I am aware that it is terribly redundant and disappointing, but it's happening and I'm not gonna stop now.