I'm considering adopting a second little pup to join the Sumner family. I'm doing this for several reasons:

A) Buster needs a brother.
B) The pup is coming from an adoption/rescue agency and he needs a nice home.
C) I slowly want to become a cat lady...except with dogs, and in male form, of course.

Thoughts? If I were to get this pup, I'd name him Truman. His current name is "Zippy" and that's simply not happening on my dime. I haven't adopted/even seen the dog yet, but let me know what you think.

So, I know an incredibly insane amount of people go to Starbucks and I too find myself there on occasion. I'm not a coffee drinker at all, nor do I do any of the lattes, espressos, or whatever else they offer. I go there for food (surprise!). They have this cookie called a Toffee Almond Bar. It's SO good. I really don't have any other point to this paragraph besides the fact that I wanted to get it off my chest about how much I LOVE the toffee almond bar. Sidenote: I just looked up the nutrition info for it (because I do that to almost everything I consume) and it has 400 calories and 19 grams of fat. HOLY SHIT. Good thing I only have one once a month. Call a crane.

Actually, I try not to obsess over nutrition because what's the point in eating if we're going to nit-pick it to death? I mean, am I eating to merely sustain life? No. I'm eating because I f'in want to. F yeah! And F you, society (!), don't mess with my f'in body image! Glad I got that off my f'in chest...

At any rate, somehow I got to thinking about ice cream last night. I LOVE ice cream. I think my favorite kind of ice cream would be from Dairy Queen and it would be a banana split with chocolate, caramel, and strawberry syrup. Perfect. Or better yet a blizzard, but I can never decide what topping to get, so I always order a split because it's delicious and there isn't too much heavy decision-making involved. IF I do get a blizzard though, I really like their new waffle-cone variation. Supreme. But alas, I haven't eaten at a DQ since June. Oh, and if you ever eat at a DQ with "Hot Eats" you should try their cheeseburgers. They're really, really good for some reason. I also really like Coldstone Creamery ice cream...but, I'm sorry, the singing and the chanting? Stop it, that stuff makes me uncomfortable.

Oh, and I love cake. I borrowed some of my boss' hand lotion this morning and it was a butternut creme kind, and WOAH it smelled like cake. And that smell sent me back to like my 6th birthday party in which pictures reveal that only immediate family members were invited? I think it's because I didn't have any friends. Anyway, cake. Delicious. And don't even get me started talking about donuts. They're my all time favorite thing. I think I just talked about that not too long ago so I won't repeat myself. One would think I'm some fat blob but in reality I'm quite spectacular.

I should probably keep this blog interesting, I mean, apparently I have readers coming in from Norway, South Africa, Germany, Australia, and South America (hola, mambo, hoizit, konnichi wa, gutten tag, hei, hi--just giving an international shout-out, oh, and hey Mollz in Tampa, FL...I think 'hi' in your part of the woods would be, wassup ma hizzle nizzle grizzle bitch).

Anyway, back to the razzle dazzle, I was on the escalator today and I thought about the trauma that would ensue if I fell at any point in time. I seriously hate falling, and I hate when other people fall, too. Yes, sometimes it's funny, but in most instances it's traumatizing for me to see people fall. Not only is it humiliating, but it's also dangerous. I should form some kind of support group for people who have fallen in the public eye. If you fall at home--tough shit. Get up. But if you fall in a place where someone saw it happen, then I am here for you, pick a shoulder. One time I fell down about 7 rows of bleachers at a high school basketball game and I personally will never get over it. I mean, I had to get up and shrug it off as "stupid me, I'm perfectly A-okay, thank you, thank you, and for my next trick..." but in real life I was on the verge of tears thinking "oh.my.god how f'ing humiliating, and I think my legs are broke, how am I even going to get out of this gym?!?!?!?" I thought for sure that on my first step toward the exit my leg would snap in half and then I'd fall again.

Movie theaters make me relive the experience too because the potential of me tripping down the dimly lit stairs is SO high. Give me some light, movie people! Atleast if I fall it wouldn't be as bad because it'd be so dark that most people wouldn't see it and I could sort of crawl out the door or something. Ugh...

I really need to be on some kind of prescription drug for my anxiety in dealing with these semi-fictional situations. It's bad enough that I walk at a snail's pace everywhere I go in fear of falling, but what if there was a snake in my bed and it bit me repeatedly? Or what if a bug lunged at my face from on top of the refridgerator and it had 1,000 legs? Or what if when I close the bathroom medicine cabinet mirror I saw in the reflection someone standing behind me?

In any of those situations, I would die. My heart would stop, and I would die.

1-800-MEDS-NOW, ryansumner calling...

Daft Punk was booming in the background and I was listening to their lyrics...albeit there aren't typically many to choose from, but the lyrics to this one song in particular made me think a little. It went...

The primetime of your life
Now
Live it
The primetime of your life.

boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom

Good point. I really, really think this is the "primetime" of my life and that I am living it. BUT, that's not to say that things aren't going to keep getting interesting in my life. This isn't a scenario where if I stay in one night or one weekend then I'm WASTING my life away, or something dramatic like that. It's just, how should I say it, if opportunity arises...take it? Or, maybe I should do the things that are in the back of my head saying "do me, do me, do me."

One of those "do me's" is to quit my job and travel the world for a year. I don't know if I'm quite ready to do that just yet...but I want to. I mean, this is coming from the same kid that has never even left the country. All the more tempting...

Anyone want to come with? I think the proper motivation could prove wonders.

Seven world wonders, even.

Update: Last night I dreamt about donuts. They were everywhere. And they had sprinkles. My favorite.

I promise this blog isn't going to turn into a dream journal, because...yeah, retarded. But I just wanted to share that because donuts hold a very special place in my heart.

And hips.

I thought I would kill some time and release some things that were on my mind...

Last night I was talking in my sleep at an ALARMING rate. For anyone that might have slept with me (the possibilities here are endless) then you may or may not have witnessed this before. For some reason I've been dreaming a lot lately...and the dreams are so vivid that I start talking out loud in response to whatever was happening in my dream. Then, in mid-sentence, I would wake up yet still keep saying whatever it was that I had to say...and with conviction. Like, I was perfectly conscious, but yet I still had to get it all out. Bouncing in and out of the REM cycle was not about to stop me from speaking my peace. It was really bizarre. And in many of these outbursts, I was literally scolding someone. Like, my finger was waving around in the air and everything. It was so so weird and I'm beginning to think that I have a problem. Oh god, once a long time ago I woke up hysterically screaming and crying (and I don't remember why) and my significant other at the time woke up and goes, "What the FUCK is your problem!?!?!?!?!"

Isn't that sweet?

So anyway, for some reason unbeknownst to me, that happened a lot last night (minus the significant other because that can was kicked to the curb many moons ago).

So, here's another story that will show you what a nut-case I am. Oh, side note, every time I try to type the word "results" it comes out as "resluts." Literally...like every time I type it, that always happens, whether I want it to or not. Well, I guess I wouldn't want it to...but you get the drift.

Anyway, so I'll let you into my life a little bit. Typically, Monday thru Friday I work out. Yes, I know, hard to believe. But I work out in the gym of my apartment building, where I'll lift weights or run on the treadmill or do the elliptical and so on. But before I go to that gym, I do some stuff in my actual apartment, too. I have this stretch band thing that I use to stretch with and a weight I use to do some minor weight lifting with and etc. So, to set the stage, one side of my apartment is like all floor-to-ceiling windows, and I keep the blinds all the way open because I'm on the 15th floor and I have a beautiful view of downtown Chicago and the lake and whatnot. So when I work out, I usually face the windows and look out just to like...have a visual. What's weird is that on the next block over from my building there are two other apartment buildings that face me...and these buildings are like 30-55 floors high. So when I work out I always feel like the residents of those buildings are watching me, because I can totally see into their apartments so duh, they can obviously see into mine. And I've always had the morbid idea of getting binoculars or a telescope or something and getting a little closer look at what really is going on in these buildings. BUT, I haven't done that and I probably never will. Because...creepy.

So anyway, who's to say that other people haven't ventured OVER that line and are actually watching me? You really never know. People do weird things in the privacy of their own home all of the time. I mean, hello, look at naked, fat guy on Friends. The Friends cast were all relatively normal people who watched this naked, fat guy do stuff in his apartment. Therefore, I always assume there is a CROWD of people watching me while I work out, and really, who could blame them?

Anyway, so while I'm working out I feel 10,000 eyes on me. So when I'm done working out and am getting ready to go to the 1st floor to go to the actual gym, I typically leave my door unlocked because I really don't want to take my keys with. I'm always afraid I'll forget them or lose them and then be locked out of my apartment. And I don't want to keep them in my pocket because if I'm running then they jingle annoyingly and if I put them in the little treadmill cup holder thing or whatever, I guarantee I'll forget them in there and then there will be that awkward moment where you have to come back and interrupt the person using the treadmill after you and so on and so forth...and yes, I really think about these situations. So, the easiest thing to do is to just leave my door unlocked...I mean, I'm not leaving the building or anything, so it shouldn't be that big of a deal.

WELL, low and behold, this creates another problem because when I'm working out I go into this complete zone of just thinking about things waaaay too much. So, mid bench press of 70 lbs, thank you very much, I start thinking...what if one of the crazy stalker people from one of the neighboring buildings that watches me in my apartment is SO crazy that they watch me, via high-powered zoom telescope, see that I left my apartment and that I didn't lock the door, and then while I'm in the gym downstairs, they somehow sneak into my building and apartment and hide somewhere really clever and then try to kill me when I come back!!!!!!!!!

RYAN DO SOMETHING ABOUT THIS!!!!! URGENT URGENT URGENT

OH.MY.GOD. So this thought consumes my entire existance and completely puts my workout to an end. I mean, the idea seems so smart and ridiculously clever, it has to be real. Then I thought, Ryan, you're just being crazy again. Stop it. So I was going to brush over the idea because I was obviously just over-thinking the entire situation, but then I started thinking again. I thought, okay, I can already see this as a Dateline special with Stone Phillips reporting..."Now for a tragic story--25 year old Ryan Sumner of Chicago would have never imagined that leaving his apartment door unlocked while he was out would be dangerous, but as it turns out, it ended up costing him his life. Here's how the story unfolds..."

And you KNOW you always hear segues like that on the news.

I mean, I couldn't be one of them--I saw it coming! Never ignore your gut instinct, right?! So I raced back up to my apartment...so scared, too...and frantically started checking in every closet, behind the shower curtain, under my bed and so on, completely expecting for someone to jump out at me and start stabbing me repeatedly.

My life is exhausting.

But obviously, I lived to tell the story...and many more to come.

What is wrong with me...

I just watched a video montage of a kid lighting farts.

I hate when people fart.



Especially on purpose.

People from Texas make me seriously ill.

First it was the Dixie Chicks. Now it's Jessica Simpson. I mean, seriously, does the word bandwagon come to mind in any of this? And it's not like it's just a couple of hicks hopping in their rusty pick-up trucks, shooting off their rifles, and hootin and hollerin about all of this bullshit...it's everyday people like you and I, except with an erratically deranged ownership of Texan principles and values.

The Dixie Chicks made one comment about what a dumbass Bush is (and yes, nowadays no one would combat that opinion) and were systematically crucified as being non-American, untalented bimbo sluts who needed to suffer financially and emotionally for their non-traditional beliefs and Texan disloyalty.

Wow.

Now, Jessica Simpson goes to one football game to root on her alleged boyfriend...who just so happens to be the ad-happy QB Tony Romo...where he has a shitty game and the Cowboys end up NOT being the best team ever, and it's her fault. Not Romo's, not the Cowboys', but Jessica's. Texas, once again, is banding together and is anti-Jessica because she's such bad luck, causing Romo to be "distracted" and single-handily cursing the team from EVER playing well again. Damn that Jessica!

Riiiiiiight.

I guess I'll be positive and look at the situation as Texas sticking to their loyal, good ol'boy belief system. Or something like that. If you mess with one of their own (oh wait, both Simpson and the Chicks are from Texas, I guess that doesn't help my point) then that's when they stick together and witch hunt! All in the name that is patriotic- and spurs-n-boots-related!

It's sickening.

Just because both GWBush and the Cowboys suck, doesn't mean it's acceptable, nor comprehensible to socially isolate the supposed evil-doers.

Does anyone get me? I mean...really. It's like they're the new KKK.

Don't go to Texas. I would even go as far to say don't have a southern accent.

Birds of a feather...

That brain.

Those scrubs.

The white.

Life

And death.

In your hands.

Weak in the knees.

Whether I like it or not.

I'm sitting in bed thinking...and yes, it's 9:45 p.m. and I'm already in bed...about stuff that I want. Here it goes:

-To be around my friends more often
-To work somewhere I love, not just somewhere that pays well
-To be around my family all of the time without the strain of travel and timing
-To learn what [sic] means because it drives me crazy that I don't know yet nor have I investigated
-To travel out of the country this year
-To step outside the boundries that I set for myself
-To be in a healthy, happy relationship with myself
-To try a new hairstyle
-To buy more shoes
-To stop buying things for my apartment, even though it makes me happy, so I guess I'm torn on this issue. Nevermind.
-To start reading books that I enjoy, and maybe, just maybe...start seeing movies more regularly. I haven't seen about...ohh, 93% of the movies that are in existance
-To learn how to get what I want
-To have a TV in my room because I hate falling asleep to the still of the night
-To stop drinking loads of wine at dinner and then black out at 10 pm when the real fun starts
-To find that perfect spare change bowl--all of my change is sitting on a shelf in my closet and it literally is driving me insane and I sometimes wake up in the middle of the night and reflect upon how irritated I am about the whole situation
-To embrace fiction
-To stop reading Perez Hilton--he is the personification of unabashed, vile toxic waste
-To find the perfect pair of glasses
-To eat donuts more regularly and not feel horrible about it--if I enjoy it, then why not?
-To warm up to the idea that I'm getting older and more mature--it's scary
-To have a second dog
-To have the Will & Grace complete DVD collection--I love Karen.
-To come to terms with my average height
-To revel in the fact that I have the most amazing family and friends ever and to never, never take them for granted
-To sleeping less and enjoying the world more
-To kiss more babies--two new Sumners will be coming into the world this year
-To let go and let God
-To try new foods--so far so good
-To ask my Dad to pop popcorn more often because I know he loves the fact that I enjoy his homemade kind so much
-To ride an elephant
-To paint my own artwork and have it mean something
-To get ice cream more often
-To feel that feeling...you know the one
-To live
-To laugh
-To love
with you

and

-To be the best of me

This blog is really strange. I've had a range of people give a range of opinions about it.

My little blog-traffic-ticker tells me that, on average, my blog is visited over 172 times a day, and over 300 on the days I post something new.

I'm impressed, but also puzzled.

Sometimes people email or call me and ask what I was talking about, or whom I'm talking about, or what my point is...

This blog is for me. It's not my pulpit.

It's my window.

You come here for whatever reason, so enjoy.

Bask.

Don't fight it. And don't fight me because I'm sure to lose.

I'm a lover.

And like the great Carly Simon once said (or perhaps Janet Jackson if you're nasty)

You're so vain,
You probably think this song is about you...
Don't you?
Don't you.

It's so weird that LC and I have something in common: this is exactly what my conversations sound like after a couple glasses of cheap white wine...

I don't know how or why it happens, but it does sometimes.

You came unexpectedly, we exchanged, I saw you smile.

Like time hadn't lapsed, feelings weren't previously hurt, distance never grew.

The feelings were real. So real.

You didn't hesitate to make me feel close to you.

Because I did. Maybe too close.

If I only see you in a dream--that's okay.

It was nice.


Come back soon.