Yes, this is the world we live in, thanks to a butch otter:

"Federal Government lifts ban on hunting once nearly extinct gray wolf"

BOISE, Idaho - Good news for gray wolves in the northern Rocky Mountains: They no longer need federal protection. The bad news for the animals? Plans are already in the works to hunt them.

On Friday, Idaho Gov. C.L. "Butch" Otter signed a bill to allow ranchers, outfitters and pet owners to kill wolves harassing livestock. The law gives owners up to 72 hours to report wolves they've killed after catching them annoying, disturbing or stalking animals or livestock.

If a gray wolf starts annoying you, just kill it. Butch Otter said so.

Newest craze alert:

I'm sort of obsessed with People.com's "They Said What?" video clips. I especially enjoy the daytime shizz. I mean, it's not a particularly new idea since it's practically The Soup without any kind of annoying host...but trust me, it can waste hours of your precious time.

Plus, it provides that kind of laughter that keeps looping within my mind, keeping a constant chuckle and that's always a good thing.

And yes, I realize I've now plugged two different sites with my personal recommendation. It won't become a normal thing, trust me, I'm waaaaay too easily amused to keep up with a job like that.

For one reason or another, I stumbled across John Mayer's blog tonight. While I found it to be somewhat interesting, I also found his writing style...or should I say thinking style to be quite similar to my own. Well, in my opinion at least.

Everyone's a critic, and trust me, I have many of my own, which weirdly are mostly my "friends," but I enjoyed his blog and greatly recommend reading his latest entry From the Heart. Now, I hate it when crazy people say stuff like "your CD really helped me get through a tough time in my life! *sob* *sniffle*" But on some level, I have to admit that John's blog entry actually spoke to me and reaffirmed that it's okay to look at life, to look at yourself, and to figure out what's wrong and what's right...and at the same time embrace the fact that you took the time to notice it all.

It makes sense to me, at least.

Anyway, I give credit to anyone that exposes their inner thoughts via blog...as weird as their thoughts may be or as incoherent as they come across. While others take joy in ripping it apart, I take greater joy in seeing it, in feeling it, and in writing it all down.

I still look back and smile. It's the equivolence of those old pencil markings on the hallway wall...showing my growth year by year, to which my parents took such great joy in doing and seeing.

This blog serves the same purpose.

So, I'm sitting on the bus yesterday going home from work and the 146 bus is as crowded as it always is, but luckily I found a seat. I was riding one of those double buses...you know where they're extended by this accordion-looking thing in the middle? Anyway, on this particular bus there is this bench-type-seating thing where it seats 4 people vertically instead of the typical horizontal two-seaters. SO, the bus goes express down Lakeshore Drive from Michigan Avenue and then we go local starting at Belmont. Well, quite a few people got off the bus at Belmont, so a few seats opened up here and there throughout the bus. Well the row of seats I was sitting at had one seat open up. So, of the four seats, one was made available right next to the lady that was sitting next to me, even though there was another lady on the other side of the open seat. Confused yet? Anyway, so the lady next to me quickly SCOOTS over to the other seat, leaving an open seat between her and I.

UM, WHAT?

I had to break this down because really...what happened to cause this sudden, unexplainable move?

I mean, she didn't spare herself any room by moving over a seat because even though she moved over a seat there was still someone else she had to sit next to. SO WAS IT ME? What did I do? I'm a very clean, respectable looking man...I don't smell, I dress appropriately, I have manners, I wasn't talking on my cell phone or doing anything out of the ordinary.

Did she move because I was a male and the person on the other side was a female, and therefore less threatening? Had to be. My size and gender must have scared her off.

Ugh.

Anyway, I was SO embarrassed. And I felt like everyone on the bus thought I was the smelly kid in class or something. I could literally feel my body temperature rise about 10 degrees. I wanted to get off of the bus and pretend like I didn't want to sit next to her anyway. But I couldn't. My stop was a good 5 minutes away.

Ugh again.

What's your problem, lady? If you ask me, you should have wanted to stay exactly where you were to begin with. Ahuh ahuh.

Don't worry, I will be losing sleep over this.

SoundOff:

I don't know what has happened to my blog within the last few weeks, but its been ugly. For some reason, "anonymous" individuals take the time to challenge my thoughts, leave shitty comments, and constantly debate my blog as if it was an opinion piece.

Sorry to inform you, it's not an opinion--this is myself on paper. Sort of.

I don't get it. This is my blog. This is a tool that I use to express my feelings, to get things out of my head and onto something far more concrete and distant...but more importantly this is a tool that I use to do what I like to do--to write.

My blog isn't a Letter-to-the-Editor column nor is it a platform to grow and learn alternative perspectives. I'm also not here to argue my point or validate my thoughts.

It is what it is. If you, as the reader, don't like what I have to say or if you highly disagree, so what?

It's very irritating, and quite possibly masochistic when "anonymous" individuals take the time to

A: Type in sumnersays.blogspot.com, an address that cannot be confused with any other, and then, with purpose, read my blog from beginning to end
and B: to then fill my comment section with contrast, negativity, or adverse personal opinion

I just have to ask, why? For reasons beyond my comprehension, readers take the time to tell me that they don't like my writing or that they disagree with something I said (as well as why they disagree, at length), or that they simply don't like my tone.

My response is: I don't care. Let's get one thing straight: I'm not a paid columnist. And surprisingly, I'm not being paid serious dough for selling ads on my blog, i.e. every time you visit my blog, nothing happens. No major online ad conglomerate is paying me millions of dollars in hopes of making a buck or two off my enormous, unending site traffic.

Surprising, I know.

I'm also not here to provide suitable, non-offensive, or entertaining reading material to "my readers." Yes, that's right, my blog has nothing to do with you. This blog is completely and admittedly self-obsessed. I'm not here for your reading pleasure. As far as I'm concerned, I don't have readers. I'm not trying to razzle-dazzle you and I'm certainly not trying argue with you. If you disagree with what I write, then you can. Disagree with me on your own blog, or disagree with me within the walls of your own mind. But seriously, you should question your own motives if you repeatedly come back to my blog, consistently exposing yourself to my toxic writing style and grotesque viewpoint. If it's so offensive and painstaking, or simply so unreadable, why are you reading it? Obviously it's not because I'm asking you to. If you think I need you as a reader, reread this entire post.

Just go away and never come back. It's okay, really...it is.

But if you insist on coming back, please, do not leave sarcastic, snarky, anonymous comments on my blog. It's rude, it's completely unnecessary, and it's really quite frustrating. But most importantly, it takes away from the reason I even have a blog. This blog is for me. My writing is for me. My content is for me. If you think my entries are "whiney," so what? They will continue to be whiney until I no longer feel whiney. I'll stop "whining" because I chose to, not because someone asked me to. And if you still feel compelled to speak your mind with some clever, bitchy little quip, at least attach your real name to it. Nothing is more offensive or ridiculous than a strong opinion from an anonymous reader.

Like I've said a hundred times, this is my blog. I do not encourage you to read it. In fact, don't read it. I am perfectly fine with that. I won't even know. So really, don't read it. Move on with your life, find something else online to oppose vehemently or to mock incessantly. I, for one, can do without it.

Thank you.

PS. I do appreciate comments that are NOT rude. Trust me, I realize that I can "undo" the comment option, but in reality, I typically enjoy comments, except for those which are mentioned above. It's just like life...thousands of people breeze by you daily, but it only takes one rude, obnoxious person to ruin your day.

It was exactly what the doctored ordered. My trip home was incredibly busy, but incredibly wonderful. It was the first time since last September that my entire family was together. Both brothers, my sister, my nephews, my parents, my sister-in-law, even my brother's girlfriend were all at the same place at the same time. Very nice. Sometimes I forget how close our family really is. It takes a reunion of sorts to remember. There isn't any drama, there aren't any unpaid loans, there isn't any awkward or avoided "past." My family is a tremendously fantastic family and I'm so, so thankful for that. I really am.

Although it slightly depresses me, too. I'm a mover. I'm not really known to be stagnant within an area, let alone an apartment, for long periods of time. I want to explore the world, I want to live in different areas of the country, I want to do and see it all. But when I was riding the Amtrak last night coming back to Chicago from home...it hit me that I hated leaving them. I hated coming back to my empty, quiet apartment. Don't get me wrong, I love my situation, I love having my own life, but I like that my family can be a part of it--every month, or so. I guess my parents are at the root of it all. It's hard imagining being a flight away from them. I've done it before, and it made me sick. Yes, granted, I'm a huge Momma's boy so most of it is due to my seperation anxiety, however that's all it takes. We'll see how it goes. I'll be in Chicago for another year at the least.

Just far enough, just close enough.

I was thinking.

I was thinking that there are things in life that define both myself and the qualities I seek in others, be it through friendship or more. Here's where I start:

Intelligence is by far the most attractive feature a person can possess. Unless it becomes a duel--that's not attractive. I hate those who try to outsmart others.

I think a lot of class goes an extra long way...a little class just doesn't cut it, nor does it go far enough.

I want to move to Italy and live in some quaint, peaceful Tuscan village where I'll bake and cook for fun and not because I'm hungry. Oh, and wine. Lots of wine.

I think old women make the best friends.

If there's one thing I can't stand, it's hypocrisy. And world hunger. Donut venues could probably feed every third world country with the amount of day old donuts they toss out every day.

Feeling safe is sometimes more important than feeling loved.

I can make awesome homemade chili. Why I'm still single, I have no idea.

I think Madonna sucks and I don't understand why the world is obsessed with her. Like a Prayer was her only saving grace. The rest...not necessary.

I don't do drugs. Ever. Regardless of your fascination or viewpoint. I'm not a goody, I'm not an advocate for a drug-free America. I simply have no desire and little tolerance.

I have a high appreciation for high design.

I hate egos. Someone once described me as the most approachable person they've ever met. I take pride in that.

Clean. Everything must be clean. If it's not, I'll clean it.

Faces are far more important than bodies. A good soul ups both.

I love kitchen everything--kitchen appliances make me hard. Sorry for the gratuitous reference but I just really like kitchen stuff. Yes, I never use my blender, yes I never use my spice rack, yes I have no need for a panini-maker, but the mere existence of these items makes my palms sweat.

Chivalry is not dead. Or is it? A part of me dies every time I sneeze and no one says god bless you. I feel like I'm the person saying god bless you two milliseconds before a person is even finished sneezing, friend or otherwise...and then if they sneeze multiple times? I'm totally on it.

Be funny. I think I am sometimes, but I guess that depends on who you ask.

I recently started thinking about what it takes to be a friend to somebody. I feel like I have to consistently better both myself and my true friendships in order to make them work. I see it as a good thing. I don't think friendships are golden, I don't think that they are self-maintained, and I don't think it's smart to think otherwise. If you think that you can say rude things to me or that you can put me down...because, you know, we're friends so don't take it personally... or that you can pick and choose your arguments with me because you think you're smarter or more cultured or whatever superiority you think you possess--well, you're wrong. Don't do that to me. I certainly would never do it to you.

It's one of my highest priorities to ensure that the real friendships I maintain are flawlessly maintained or at least supported through pure conscious effort. If you're not into that, lose me and get a cat.

But I hope that cat scratches you.

Update:
Some things every American should know:

1) I came dangerously close to stubbing my toe on my bed frame this evening. In fact, it was such a close call that I even made a cringe face in anticipation of the worst pain known to mankind, however there was no actual stubbing of the toe therefore no excruciating pain. Phew...

2) I almost vomit every time I hear Ryan Seacrest say "THIS...is A-meri-Can Idol." How many times do you think he rehearsed that in the bathroom mirror? STOP SAYING IT LIKE THAT. Can America vote on eliminating him from the show? oh please oh please...

3) I accidentally stepped on an old lady's toe on the overly-crowded 148 bus on my way home from work this evening. I knew she felt it, she knew she felt it, but no words were ever exchanged between the two of us. I wanted to say I'm sorry but she didn't acknowledge that she felt it because she was too busy reading a book, even though I knew she was just ignoring the whole ordeal because she was probably in a bad mood since the bus was so crowded, so it would have been weird if I went "Ooops, I'm so sorry, pardon me." And if she didn't feel it then she would have thought I was some weirdo talking to her for no reason or perhaps she might have thought that I was talking to someone else and then wouldn't have even acknowledged my apology, making me feel like an even bigger fool, therefore it was all too risky.

That's all you need to know.

Here's what I don't get: The Jonas Brothers

Who are they? Where did they come from? Why are they popular? Is their popularity based on tween sales or are they actually talented? I haven't listened to their music yet, only because I never remember to. For some reason it isn't high on my priority list.

Here's what I do get: American Idol

So, my picks this year are David Archuleta (obviously) and then I hold a small place in my heart for Carly Smithson. Both are extremely talented and I expect good things to come. On the sad side, I'm not CRAZY FANATICAL about a particular contestant. I really liked Archuleta in the beginning, but nowadays I'm slightly annoyed with his personality. His over-the-top humbleness and "I'm so shy" laugh get under my skin a little. You know he's a big old diva behind the scenes--total Clay Gayken in the making.

And I almost already know that I'm going to like whatever Brooke White puts out after she gets cut from Idol. She reminds me of a mix between Feist and Natasha Bedingfield. I can dig that. She won't win though. I also like the sounds of Jason Castro, but he won't win either. He always manages to sound pretty good but you also know he's a complete stoner. C'mon.

Kellie Pickler is singing on the show tonight. Really? Why?

This Idol has been punched up to be the "best season yet" but it's really not. Don't get me wrong, it's good, but it's not the best.

The Hills starts Monday. Heaven...

Update:
Yes, I heard.

I've received several frantic calls/voicemails/emails/etc from quite a few people about being referenced on the "Missed Connections" portion of Craigslist. It's okay, semmer down, I haven't been killed...yet. Unfortunately, the original posting has been removed so I didn't get to read whatever it said, however I did read two follow-up responses, one comment being somewhat nice, the other being somewhat mean.

The mean one stated that my writing sucks, my blog is painfully boring, and that I'm an ego maniac who posts his own missed connections.

Let me assure you it's quite possible that my writing sucks and that my blog is boring...I mean, after all, I did post a sizeable entry about granola bars not too long ago. I'm sorry, but I was really crazy about those bars.

However, let me assure the readers of Missed Connections that I did not, in fact, post a missed connection as a means to self-glorify. Trust me, I don't need that kind of attention. I prefer to sleep at night, peacefully, without a baseball bat tucked under my pillow. I get such a kink in the neck from that...yowza.

So, thanks, but no thanks to my dear missed connection.

But thanks to the guy who said that my blog was goofy and unprententious. Goofy just happens to be one of my favorite movie stars...

Okay, so...I hate to do this. I'm going to lower the bar. I will be leaping over my comfort zone by commenting on a subject that I don't often comment on:

Farting.

Let me preface this entry with some cold, hard facts. I do not fart. I've never farted in my life. My Mom has also never farted...ever. Just FYI.

But apparently a lot of people in this world DO fart--and it's gross. AND it seems to be happening allllll around me. All the time.

Saturday: I'm sitting on the Red Line, minding my own business, when this creepy guy who is sitting a few seats to the side of me gets up to exit at the Addison stop. As the doors open and he exits, a foul, pungeant odor remains in the train. A guy directly across from me looks up from his book with a face that can only be described as a mixture between absolute nausea and raging hostility. THEN he looks at ME with this face, as if he's the judge, jury, and executioner. Um, it wasn't ME!? Do I look like the kind of person that would do such a foul and heinous thing? I don't think so...

I don't get it. Why did that evil man fart? Why wouldn't he have waited until he was out in the open air where NOBODY would have noticed? No, instead he did it right next to me so that when anyone opted to take a seat in my general area, they would immediately stop, turn around, and go to the other side of the train. PEOPLE, IT WAS NOT ME. Dammit.

Ugh.

Saturday night: Just trying to enjoy myself at Chicago's local watering hole and, trust me, this happens almost every night I've ever been out, someone in the bar, and in my general vicinity, decides to fart...with everyone noticing it and commenting and scurrying...good lord. WHY? Why did you do that?

I'm the kind of person who doesn't think farting is funny. If one of my friends did it in my presence, I wouldn't laugh. I would frown. If someone I was dating did it in my presence, I would dump them. Immediately. It's disgusting, it's weird, and it's typically always unnecessary.

Today: I'm sitting on the bus, on my way to work...I plopped down next to a rather large lady who takes up her entire seat plus a little bit of my own. I was kind of annoyed because she was reading the Redeye and apparently needed to see both pages at the same time, so with the paper spread wide open her elbow was about 2.5 centimeters from my chin. Anyway, I'm perusing my iPod, looking for Goldfrapp's Crystalline Green, when all of a sudden this OTHER large lady is shimmying her way down the bus aisle and then plops down in a seat a few rows ahead of me. Well when she plops, she PLOPS because at the exact moment her big booty hit the seat a horrifying and loud chainsaw-esque rumble ripped loose. Okay...so maybe her pants ripped, maybe the bus engine roared vigorously...I don't know, but to me it sounded like she farted ferociously upon impact. It happens apparently. Now, I wasn't the only commuter who noticed this. This lady sitting across from the suspected farter looked over at her with her mouth wide open. She totally looked like the type of lady that is examining everybody's behavior and is by no means afraid to show her distaste of others, and rightfully so in this instance.

Myself, on the other hand, was amused only because

A: I couldn't smell anything, and
B: Because I noticed a couple of other commuters laughing silently, too

For the rest of the bus trip I had to put my head down because it was extremely obvious that I kept replaying the situation in my head. The lady next to me kept ruffling her newspaper in my face, so at times I tensed up and began an inner-lecture of what I would like to say to her if I cared enough about her widespread arms. I do that all the time: whenever I'm mad about something I write very strongly worded letters of dissatisfaction in my head. It just helps me cope.

Anyway, so another reason I was laughing about this incident was due to the fact that I realized I was surrounded by people farting. Everywhere. Everywhere I go, someone is letting loose and not looking back.

It's wrong, it's vile, and it's embarrassing and uncomfortable for those who are left in the dust. IT WASN'T ME!

I swear.

It's Monday...I woke up today being barely able to open my eyes. My alarm went off at 7:37 am to which I promptly hit snooze. Eight minutes later the alarm went off again...and again I immediately, and somewhat more forcefully hit snooze. At 7:53 I just looked at the clock, weighing my options of how I could remain in bed...should I call my boss and ask to work from home, should I call my boss and tell her I'm coming in late, should I just lay here and not do anything...? I closed my eyes for a brief second, even though I all-too-well knew the risks that came with doing such a thing--there was a VERY good chance that I wouldn't reopen my eyes until two hours later, and then immediately endure a mild heart attack.

Honk.

Someone honked their car horn outside and amazingly I heard it from 15 floors up. Uh, thanks for that. I typically hate drivers that honk their horns, but this time it was actually quite helpful.

I knew I had to get up. It was 7:57. Sumner, get your lazy ass up. I need to be on the bus by 8:45 and I shave on Mondays therefore every extra minute helps.

Ugh. Mondays. I decided that since today is Monday and I'm overly tired and overly grump-ola that I would use my remaining negative energy to list things that I hate:

I hate when people eat a bag of chips and finish them off by lifting the bag to their mouth and guzzling the microscopic pieces that hide in the corners. Are you that hungry or are you just that nasty? Throw the bag away. Jesus-mary-and-joseph, I'll buy you another bag if you're so desperate for food.

I hate seeing satellite dishes. I feel like that, what with this being the year 2008 and all, that obnoxious satellite dishes should be a thing of the past. How is it that I still see those large, stupid dishes on every deck and rooftop in Chicago? Where is the technology, Dish Network, where is the technology?

I hate when gay men refer to other gay men as a "she." No, you're both men, so own up to the gender, cut the sass-factor, and butch it up a bit, will ya.

I hate when people write "Thx" as a way to write "Thanks"...take the extra 4 milliseconds and spell the word out already. It's one syllable.

I hate wrappers, of any sort, and I hate when they're not properly disposed of. Especially candy bar wrappers. Gross. If I see slimey chocolate remnants molded to the sides there's a very good chance I'll vomit.

I hate necklace beads. More importantly I hate people that KEEP necklace beads. I don't know where those beads came from, I don't know what you had to do to earn them, and I don't know why you're choosing to hang on to the memory by keeping them. I'll call Oriental Trading and buy you 5,000 more beads for a nickel if you promise to throw away the nasty beads hanging from your bed post.

I especially hate the beads that have attachments/have attachments that glow on them. I'll hate you 50,000 times more if you keep those.

I hate anything Paris Hilton-related. That includes Nicole Richie, that includes the hotel, that includes that's hot. Such a waste.

I hate the fact that I have the song "Rock the Cradle of Love" stuck in my head for absolutely no reason whatsoever. I haven't heard the song recently, I don't have the song on my iTunes, and I haven't listened to my "80's Monster Rock" CD for quite a few years now.

I hate folding clean laundry. Actually, I hate all laundry equally.

Do you hate anything? I know I have more hateful-hates but my zero patience level with thinking about this subject has really come full force. Gotta go.

You are what you eat.

I've been researching the website of the HSUS (Human Society of the United States) and have learned a lot of bittersweet information. While it's sad to read about the inhumane and deplorable conditions/treatment of animals in our country and elsewhere, it's also empowering to know that YOU can make a difference.

It's about what we eat,
It's about what we buy,
It's about what we don't know,
It's about what we don't do,
but most importantly, it's about what we can DO.

Go to the site, learn about what's happening, and make a difference.

Click here to link to the HSUS

Holy F.

Okay, umm...just got back from Florida vacay and I'm a little sad to be back in Chicago. Here are the reasons why:

So Kellz and I embarked on our journey to the FL via TED, the United Airlines alternative that neither of us had ever heard of. So, our 2.5 hour flight was filled with gossip, screaming children, and "easy" crossword puzzles. Thank god Kelly brought extra snacks along for the ride (all of which I opened and ate most of while she was sleeping) because the miniature pretzels just weren't cutting it. Whatever happened to the days where you received NORMAL-sized pretzels or STANDARD-sized cans of soda or juice? Now you get mini-pretzels and Dixie cups of OJ, which, I'm sorry, but was mostly ice. Ugh. TED!

Anyway, we arrived in FL Wednesday evening and quickly met up with our wonderful friend Mollz at the baggage claim. She whisks us to her home, geckos running everywhere, and FINALLY our vacation starts.

FIRST STOP: Applebee's. Yes, yes. The finest quality dining experience you can get in the entire US of A. But this just wasn't ANY Applebee's, this is an Applebee's with flare. It was KARAOKE NIGHT AT APPLEBEE'S. Yes. I kid you not. Not only were we served all-you-can-eat-nachos and other assortments of grease and trans fat, we were enlightened with the soulful sounds of drunk fat girls screaming into the microphone with their nerdy, skinny white boyfriends ready to sing every Uncle Kracker song ever composed. How cute. Even cuter was the DJ/Emcee--mullet and all, which he decided to comb his slick, oily locks during our dinner, forcing Molly to vomit profusely. Such a waste of a good meal! He even tried to get Molly and Kelly to sing a duet. Well, with that charming smile and his fat beer belly, I barely understood why they refused. Ugh, unfortunately that night had to come to an end at some point, so we walked out the door only to find a group of nicely dressed Mormons standing outside of Molly's car. For some reason, Kelly thought it was gang-related and quickly hollered out, "Oh shit, fart!" She meant to say, "Oh shit, fight!" but after an evening full of people who looked like farts and sang like projectile diarrhea, her slip-up made perfect sense.

Thursday morning, Kellz and I woke up to the melodic sounds of Molly slamming every door in the house while getting ready for work. As soon as that beyotch left the house, we got a few peaceful hours of rest before a very BUSY day of vacay. Sidenote: Kelly and I woke up staring at each other's beautiful faces and decided that next time, we should keep the room as dark as possible in the mornings to prevent this kind of awakening from happening in the future. Yikes. Neither of us are morning people. Anyway, we put on our faces (and clothes, wink wink Kellz) and went for a walk around beautiful Tampa. We stopped by the local Publix grocery store for some fruit to which I bought peaches and Kellz bought oranges. Interesting, I know! It should be known that I bought two peaches, and my first one wasn't that good at all where as the second was simply delicious. Weird how that happens, I know...

So, later, Thursday becomes a bust because it starts raining. Mollz came home from work around noon and we decided to go to the mall and all three of us ended up purchasing matching aviators. Success! It was really quite fierce.

So then we sampled some beers at this restaurant and I would like to note that Molly was drunk after one beer. I'm just saying...

So later that night it's STILL raining, so we go to the store and buy lots of food and snacks to munch on and then watched Lipstick Jungle...and to my surprise, it was really good and I'll be watching it again. However, Molly, the true drunk that she is, kept taking pulls off of the Bacardi jug that we bought, and before we knew it, she's drunk and disappears to her bedroom. All we heard was her door slam shut (surprise).

What a boozehound.

Friday was a great, fabulous, fun day. So, Kelly and I go out on our ritual walk around Tampa and both of us came back from it sunburnt beyond belief. Who knew? After all, neither of us had seen sunlight for the last 6 months in Chicago. We were walking vampires. Oh, and for future reference, everyone should be aware of the gecko crisis in Tampa. There are thousands of little geckos running around EVERYWHERE. I hated them all...each and every one. They scurried underneath every footstep of mine, forcing me to freak out at almost a minute by minute basis. There should be an ordinance about being forced to kill them. Population control, helloooooooo....

Anyway.

The rest of the day we relaxed pool side and took in some rays until we left on a road trip to West Palm Beach. We hopped in Molly's Sebring and took off for the adventure of a lifetime. We stopped at plenty of gas stations for candy, pop, and dirty restroom utilization. We even saw a guy come in one gas station without a shirt on. I thought that was a service-no no? I'm surprised he had shoes/teeth.

During the car ride, and after yodeling some blasts from the pasts, we decided to give each other aliases, should we need them later:

Molly: JLo
Ryan: Rainbow
Kelly: Snow White (later to become Mu Kat)

It just made sense.

So we get to the bustling, beautiful city and took residence in a Holiday Inn for the night, where we immediately encountered a Bill Clinton look-alike. He kept following us around, it seemed, but we also think he was drunk and looking for a good time. We let that situation alone. So we met up with Molly's bf and headed out to a great ocean-side restaurant for dinner and drinks and then of course Molly and I had to run and jump in the ocean at midnight, hoping the entire time that Girls Gone Wild would be looking for us. I lost my sandals amid the seaweed momentarily but found them and continued on with the night. We went to a very trendy, fun club and had some drinks and shenanigans. We bopped to the music, waited entirely too long for our drinks, and then ended the night with two drunk Italian men harassing Molly and Kelly and later hate-criming me. According to the Italians, we were all up to no good. Kelly and Molly were accused of liking black men and I was accused of rattling my head at them. They said to me "Don't rattle your head if you can't back it up." Whatever that meant. I was within inches of a fight, but due to my muscular physique and no-nonsense attitude, I scared them off. Or perhaps it was Molly who scared them off since she started waving her finger in the air and chased after them with her shoe in hand. Either or.

So, Molly, Kelly, and I left the club at bar close and began walking the streets looking for those Italian haters--we weren't finished fighting apparently. Then low and behold these OTHER foreigners stopped us. Two of them tried to get Kelly and I to guess their nationality while the other creeped on Molly and tried to give her his phone number. They were WAY too foreign for us to handle and we were WAY to hungry to keep talking to them. I mean, c'mon, one of them was wearing under-armor as a shirt. Beat it. (Oh, and they were Bulgarian, come to find out.)

Saturday was just as ridiculous. First of all, I ate at McDonald's with Kelly, and if anyone knows me, they know I NEVER eat at McDonald's. I must say that I did enjoy my chicken McNuggets. I wish I would have ordered the 20 piece. So after that fat fun, Kelly and I went to the beautiful beach on A1A Avenue. Yes, straight from Ice Ice Baby (A1A, beach front avenue! Girls were hot wearing less than bikinis...) Molly and her bf were shopping for stuff for their new beautiful apartment in Boynton. At the beach, Kelly and I got some good sun, Kelly sang acapella and sounded VERY similar to a hungry seagull, I swam pretty far out into the ocean until I remembered that sharks and jellyfish lived in the ocean and I freaked myself out and made a quick, desperate exit back to land. We saw some lady looking for treasure on the beach, all decked out with her metal detector and digging tools. She was on a serious hunt. I collected some seashells like the 70 year old grandmother that I am. I plan to glue them to the edge of my bathroom mirror as a decorative, nautical border. I can't wait. Now all I need is a fish net to hang in the corner. Kellz and I eventually got tired of being sun-worshippers, as well as irritated with the sand storm that coated every part of our bodies (even the places we didn't know existed) with sand molecules, and decided to mosey down the touristy streets of Palm beach. We wanted to get ice cream at this cool walk-up place called Doc's, but were quickly informed that they only accepted cash. I don't have any idea what cash is either, but I also was informed that I could get it at an ATM down the street. This ATM happened to be at a store called Tommy's and WOW, cool place. We walked in and it had this weird, gas station-vibe, even though I'm pretty sure they didn't sell gas. They sold everything you would find in a gas station AND more--cell phones, asian food, Native American novelty items, etc. Well, both Kelly and I had to use the unisex bathroom, and it too was special. Inside the bathroom was a bunch of bikes and a dolly-thing...you know that thing that you carry stuff with? Right in the middle of the bathroom. It was weird peeing in front of these items, but we had no real choice in the matter. While I was in the bathroom, some crazy black guy asked Kelly if she was a model. I mean, clearly she is, but it was entirely random. Then when I came out of the john, the crazy black man accused me of being her boyfriend and that he didn't want to fight me for her, or as he put it, he wasn't going to "come to blows." I would have told the man that he could TAKE her, but he left very quickly. So, we ventured back to Doc's and I had a banana split the size of my head. It was delicious.

Later that night we went to an Italian restaurant and gorged on homemade mozzarella sticks and other great food and then went to Ft. Lauderdale for some more shenanigans. I was sitting with Molly and Kelly, watching people dance and whatnot, until I caught sight of this massive booty that was swirling and shaking wildly, as if it had a mind of its own. No, no...as if it was it's OWN PERSON. Just a butt...doing all kinds of crazy movements. This butt came entirely too close to my face and I almost lost my life. It was really quite bizarre.

On Sunday we went back to the beach for more sun time and we encountered a broken meter, a very "refreshing" ocean temperature, more sand, and some great photo ops. We eventually drove our beach bums back to Tampa...complete with more gas stations, more candy and pop, and yet another rare fast food encounter--Arby's. I'll say no more.

Monday, Kelly and I got back onto TED and waved goodbye to Molly, Florida, and 1,000,000 geckos. It was so sad, but luckily for us, our easy crosswords puzzles (i.e. three letter word for writing utencil) and miniature snacks helped us cope.

Great times, great memories...

I'll miss you Mollz, I'll miss you warm, sunshiney days, but to the geckos...I hope you all die.

I've been in a non-blog mood lately. Well, at least for the last few days. Every time I think about writing something, I veto the idea. For one reason or another...

But fear not, it's ME after all, and weird stuff comes to me and happens to me and invades my mind on a semi-regular basis, so, I'll be "back."

Plus, I'm going to Florida today for some much needed R&R...and SUN. Thank god. See you on the flip side.