Here are some thoughts I've been having lately:

-I'll never quite be able to understand electronic technology. The intelligence needed to hook up a tv, dvd player, home theatre system, and Tivo to succinctly harmonize in unison together is beyond my ability. The locations of all those wires sometimes keeps me up at night.

-Are grey walls too aesthetically-cold? Also, despite being an English major, I'm never confident in my ability to spell "grey" appropriately. I'm googling it right...now.

-Grey can be spelled either way, apparently, though I'm still uncomfortable with it's versatile usage.

-I really wish I liked coffee. But I really don't. At all. Coffee smells great, it's effects are great, and coffee houses are the most popular things since the invention of Kleenex. But I'm missing out. Because I don't like coffee. Not even the pretend kinds.

-SO often, gay men are SO dirty.

-Eye contact is a very critical and important means of communication/body language. I'm AWFUL at eye contact with strangers. How is it done effectively? I'd rather turn my head and NOT make potential eye contact, because sometimes eye contact is perceived as staring, or even worse, as a signal. Effective eye contact. HOW? Help...

-I need to invest in Lasik technology or perhaps utilize my vision benefits at work, since I'm paying for it anyway, because I could barely see Kathy Griffin's face last weekend and I was reasonably close. My eye sight is THAT bad. Squinting is perceived as glaring...which further complicates my eye contact issue. I'm not giving you the evil eye, I'm trying to see if you're ugly or not.

-I think people, for whatever reason, underestimate what a good catch I am. I could be with myself forever.

-Why are red carpets so glamorous? Doesn't it make you feel like you're walking through blood? Or lava?

-I don't know why, but hamburgers run through my mind allll the time.

-I greatly overlooked the necessity of having a variety of shoes.

-Sunday should always be a day of sleeping in, a good brunch, laundry, and watching a movie you've already seen.

-If I hear one more person talk about how their interests include "working out" I'm going to kill myself, or others. Including their trainer...or spotter. Or even the front desk receptionist. Get a life.

-Do you ever sympathize for the chickens that are riding in the back of those semis? I do. Aren't they cold? And hello, a little cramped.

-The people working at Walgreens need to be nicer. Just because you hate your job doesn't mean that you shouldn't offer me a bag to carry my pack of gum that I just purchased. Thank you. And yes, I want the receipt.

I'm tired of your lies,
I'm tired of your games,
I'm tired of both your Great Danes.

And another thing, I don't like your Moms
And another thing, I don't like your car.

You got a bad haircut
And your house smells weird.

And I'm tired of,
I'm tired of
you calling off our wedding.

It's over.



It's finally over...



:)

OK.

I'm disgruntled, and possibly suicidal so will someone please give me Owen Wilson's number so I can show him how to do it right the first time?

Anyway, so, I just did a little research about the things I eat day in and day out. Sidebar: I'm trying to eat healthier these days, because I'm SO obnoxiously obese.

Think Louie Anderson.

Okay, not true at all. I'm actually under-weight, I believe, but I'm trying to eat more strategically so that when I do workout-which is a battle in itself to get me to do-it atleast has some benefit to it and I'm not wasting my time.

So, I eat at Potbelly's like EVERY DAY, not because it's so delicious and mind-boggling that I must eat it whenever possible, but because it's close to where I work and is pretty good and mildly healthy. Okay, so almost everyday I get the smoked ham on wheat. Pretty okay, right?

WRONG.

I found out that the smoked ham has 8 grams of fat. That sounds acceptable, therefore I consumed it allll--like I was doing myself a favor by eating it. However, the addition of swiss cheese, which comes standard, adds on 18 grams of FAT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Look at all of them exclamation points! That means I'm pissed and bewildered! Imagine a wildebeast with a bladder full of Surge.

That's me.

Holy crap, that's a lot of fat for something I barely taste. To make matters even worse, add in mayo...which I always do...and that's a whopping 10 grams of fat per tablespoon! It would take 14 minutes of intense aerobic exercise just to burn off the mayo!

I ain't doing no aerobics! I used to do Tae-Bo until my Mom walked in on me doing some karate kicks with Billy Blanks and that was enough to scar me into thinking that babysitting was an acceptable form of exercise. Them baby's can be heavy.

Ever seen the Maury episodes? Duh...

"I feed my baby 8 hamburgers, 15 pancakes, 28 egg-omelettes, 8 gallons of Mr. Pibb, and Snow Caps for when Springer comes on. I can't help I feed him so much, he's HAWNGRY!"

This recent enlightenment is about as bad as the day I found out that I had been using my Dad's toothbrush for 2 months.

It was my choice. The first choice in a vignette of choices I made on my own behalf in a very long time.

It comes at a cost, but that cost is oh-so worth it. No price tag is even necessary.

In fact, it's priceless.

You don't know who you are. Who I speak of. You're all the same: you define me, I change for you, I exist for your purposes.

Not now. Not again.

I'm not helpless. I'm not a victim. I'm not anything to you.

But a memory.

Think of me when you need to, I will do the same.

I have no regrets. I think.

It's time to regain.

Dignity.

By persevering. Sticking through. Seeing what's next. In store.

And I really can't wait.

Your idea of romance is popping the can away from my face.

It's been said before that life is made of moments...all colliding together to get us to where we stand today. And that scares me.

Because it's true.

I think America is smiling knowing that our economy is growing stronger and that Beyonce fell down some stairs while ringing the alarm.

I think it's important to note that this is my 100th blog entry. Yes, there are actually 99 unimportant, random, confusing, and what I would often call "amusing, yet riveting" entries on this site. And this marks the 100th.

Maybe you should take a trip down memory lane and tell me what your most favorite entries are. Actually, try to narrow it down to just one.

I know...I'm asking a lot with the "only 1!" part, but at least try.

Oh yeah...this thing.

I haven't forgotten. I'm just a typical writer--sometimes in the mood. Sometimes not.

Yes, I referred to myself as a writer. Please do not laugh. I've had careers with that very word in the title.

And I'm running with it.

Let me know if you still read this bullshit. I have some alien stories that may or may not be publish-able.

I hesitate because, in reality, I don't want to piss off any aliens.

Whenever I watch movies that involve monsters, aliens, or anything else non-human, I always feel that I could potentially save my life by befriending the murderous, rampaging creature.

"Please don't kill me...you're just misunderstood. I get it. Friends?"

Although I tend to have mild rejection anxiety, so it's really not the best approach ever.

But then again my hide is on the line.

One thing that has really surprised me about NYC is how African Americans speak African...and not American.

It makes me recall the good ol'days, when I thought ebonics and phonetics were the same thing.

6 + 7 = Git-up out my crunk juice, bitch!

I cannot express this enough:

This is not our enemy:


This is our enemy.

I must admit...I am very glad that I do not partake in this:


Now, I'm not trying to say that I'm some squeaky-clean kid (I am) that has never done anything illegal (I haven't) in his entire life (entire). What I am trying to say is that, while I have many friends who do partake in drug use, which is fine, I always feel a little let down when it's the hard stuff. It's like when you meet someone new, and you think they're great, nice, whatever...then suddenly they're doing lines in front of you--it's a little awkward. And I would be lying if I didn't say a little disappointing, too. But disappointment isn't a judgement. It's an emotion.

People can't judge me for the fact that I don't do drugs, just as much as I can't judge them for doing drugs. I want the best for my friends, of course, so drugs don't necessarily keep that front and center.

You can imagine my frustration with this friend:



She is really skating on thin ice with me right now. Glad to see you finally hired a driver, Lindz-meister. Oh and call me! LYLAS.

I noticed something. Why is it when American citizens travel abroad for any amount of time, be it one week or one year, they feel the need to refer to the USA as "the states" ...???

Maybe it's just SO much easier, and so much cooler to just say the states, instead of that long, drawn out, and simply tedious reference of that 2-3 letter acronym. The states is just an easy lil quip. And God knows, we love quips! Can't you just see some dumb college girl being quippy?

I can.

Like, OMG, I forgot to call my Mom back in the states to tell her to send more birth control! Oopsies! Aren't I cute?

IDK, my BFF, Jill?

Sorry, I like that commercial. Cingular has some great commercials. So does Burger King.

I wish I was never broiled!

Anyway, another example, and for your reading pleasure, a typical Facebook message posted by a typical student studying abroad:

"Hey Stacy, I miss you so much! The last six months have just flown by here in Madagascar! But don't worry, I'll be back in the states tomorrow and you're the first person I want to see. Later Slut!"

The states? Not home, not the US, not AMERICA...but, the states. As if the US is now the foreign territory; so vague it's as if they've forgotten, or have gotten over, where they're from.

It's like when I try to think of the location of China, Japan, India, Iran on a map...ugh, bothersome. Let's just stick with Asia, alright? Whatever happened to Asia. Is it still Asia? One thing I know for sure is that anything goes in Amsterdam.

But, back to my main point, which centers around the fact that everyone but me sucks.

In a la-dee-da accent:
Oh God, a rooftop party in the states? I'll see if I have time. The Roos and the Dingos have booked-up most of my free time here in Sydney, Australia, Longitude 33/52 S and Latitude 151/12 E. I'll see if I have time to make it to...the states. Those 50 silly little things.

Our troops would be offended. And anytime you use the troops to your vantage during an argument, you automatically win, so case: Sumner.

Nothing is scarier in this world than the individuals whom idolize Paris Hilton.

I'd be a bold-faced liar if I didn't admit to daydreaming about the almighty dollar and it's capacity to blur the lines between dreams and realities, but at the same time, I'm scared.

Walking around NYC, I see Paris Hiltons. I see stupid people. People who contribute nothing to this Earth. Stupid people who wear big, white sunglasses and feel righteous with each passing glance of us commoners while thinking, "Ugh, you are simply not rich enough to know that this looks good."

As if white sunglasses make me stop to think, "What a revolutionary idea, I must get RICH in order to look as equally ridiculous."

And it's a shame I can see those shades coming from a mile away, yet I can't even recognize or at least pick out the overworked and underpaid, the single parents, the nurses, the taxi cab drivers...

Actually, I can pick out the taxi cab drivers. But usually only when they're driving taxis. Because otherwise, they blend in with society. A society that thrives off of knock-off Coach purses and bottled water.

The taxi cab drivers amaze me though with their bizarre sense of direction, yet humble themselves with their inescapable body odor.

And, for whatever reason, always keep the windows rolled up?

One time before leaving Wisconsin, I hugged my Grandpa even though he was covered in dirt and sweat from working all day on the farm. He knew he was dirty and sweaty...and he knew that I knew that he was dirty and sweaty.

But that didn't stop either of us from hugging. And you should probably know that he didn't hug people often.

So what I want to express is that my grandfather is nothing like Paris Hilton. And for that, I am grateful.

God rest his soul.

Let me leave you with this...is it just me, or do Mexican women laugh at everything?

Let me get a little Nelly Furtado on you for a second and tell you the reasons why I would like to be a bird.

So I was sitting on a park bench in front of this simple water fountain, which is basically just a black pole that shoots water out its top, and then attached are several disks descending down to the base. The shooting water eventually falls upon the disks and dribbles down to the bottom of the fountain. Very simple, but yet eloquently charming. Anyway, so these little sparrows kept flying around the fountain and would land onto the disks to bathe. With the splashing, misting, and dripping water going everywhere, the sparrows would just immerse themselves in the free-flying water droplets and ruffle their feathers, drink a little, and dip their little bird-faces into the water for a little spa-treatment.

It's weird, but I was so jealous. It's semi-muggy outside--a humid 77 degrees--so the water imagery of their refreshing tom-foolery made me want to leap out of my skin. It was quite bizarre. Plus, they don't even have to dry-off. They just spread their wings and zoom off. How do they fly so quickly from the starting line? Don't you have to build momentum? Marvels.

But it's these questions and activities that necessitate my metamorphosis. Also, it must be nice to pee and poop at the exact same time. Right? Plus, you can do it wherever you want, whenever you want...on whoever you want. Perfect.

Do birds even have asses? I've never seen one.

And oh, do birds get fat? Have you ever seen a bird and thought, "Hey...look at that fat bird."

I haven't.

Hey Kiddies.

Just when you thought it was safe, here I am, back at the keyboard. I apologize for the lack of a pulse...I've just been busy. Yep, very busy. I moved across the country to NYC, started a new job at a magazine, and am somehow trying to ressurect a whole new life...not that I needed a new one, the one I previously had just needed a few, minor adjustments. And buy minor adjustments I mean a new engine.

I must say that this new engine is exactly that: new. The accelerator is quick, the brakes are touchy, and the steering wheel is gripped tightly.

Instead of continuing on, writing cliche after cliche about cars and destinations and tune-ups, I'll stop for now.

I need to sit back and breathe-in this new air, allowing the creative energy to build naturally. I haven't felt creative lately and that's scary. I just need to get settled, rest my feet, and before you know it, I will be back to normal.

And, oh, in the meantime...please visit. I need some home bodies.

I can't quite put my finger on it, but American Idol is so very unappealing this year. No spunk, no pizazz--the only entertainment is watching a a 17 year old kid make a fool of himself and provide fodder for the national media.

How special.

Yes, LaKeisha can sing, and so can Melinda. Who cares though? A lot of people in this world can sing. Singing doesn't produce "idols" however the "X factor" does. Nobody has any edge or redeaming qualities, or quite simply, a personality. It's a shame, really.

Sometimes I'll look in my bathroom mirror while lip synching some long-winded love ballad and think to myself, "If only I was on American Idol."

Then they'd know who's boss.

Cuz I'm a BOSS.

The other day, a woman came up to me and asked "Is your hair lighter on the top?" I quickly said, "Uh, no." I thought she was asking if I dyed my hair, or something to that effect. Then I got to thinking...was she asking me if my hair was thinning at the top? For the last 6 months, I've been losing hair due to stress and some health issues, but I didn't realize it was noticeable to anyone but myself. I, fortunately, have rather thick hair, so if I were to lose a little, it wouldn't really hurt anything.

But holy hell apparently I'm balding at the speed of light.

Has anyone seen that commercial where this guy is offering his "professional" services of dealing with troubled teens? Basically, he will fix your unruly children. The commercial then cuts to this scenario of a conversation between a disgruntled daughter and her mother:

Daughter: I hate you!
Mother: *Words are muted so that we only see her violent reaction of flaling arms and stern looks*

I hope they get to the bottom of that.

So, I read in a men's magazine the other day that leather square-toed shoes are no longer considered cool. This isn't good news because, a year ago when square-toed shoes were the "must have" of the season, I bought three pairs. So I have all of these shoes and nowhere to wear them. I'm kind of mad at Details for that. How can things be so hit or miss so quickly? And then they said that the only place that sells square-toed shoes were cheap stores like Aldo. Ummm, I thought Aldo was kind of expensive? Does that make me cheap? I wasn't prepared for all of these life-questioning scenarios when I read the article. I was just trying to pass time while eating some cereal.

Is it just me, or is wall-to-wall carpeting overrated? The same goes for mailboxes.

Yesterday I was reading a magazine and saw a picture of Gwenyth Paltrow's daughter, Apple. Without hesitation, the first thought to come to my mind was "What a little bitch that girl is going to be."

I mean, seriously, don't you just want to slap Gwenyth sometimes? I do.

Phone Conversation between Molly Fitzgerald and Ryan Sumner

ryansumner: Hey Mollz, what's up...?
Molly: Um, I'm just reading something that my journalist friend in Haiti wrote. It's so bad. I need go back there and help.
ryansumner: Why, what happened?
Molly: Ryan, it's bad. You should have seen this picture with this dad holding his two dead daughters.
ryansumner: How'd they die?
Molly: The U.N. soldiers shot them for no reason.
ryansumner: Molly, you know they must of had it coming or something...
Molly: Ryan, no, they were shot in their sleep.
ryansumner: ...Maybe they were snoring...
Molly: That's not even funny. *click*

Sorry for offending you, Molly. Let's be friends again.