Hey yall it's Paula Deen and ta-day we're cookin up some southern-style grits-n'bits with a side of mashed pa'taters! Ooooh yall, it's gunna be so gooood!

Paula's accent is SO out of control on her show. Why do I know this? Because I'm watching the food network at 5:32 a.m. and I can't pull myself away from the force that is her accent. It's disgustingly moronic and makes people from the South seem REALLY stupid (that's assuming Southerners even claim her).

But what do I care, and more importantly, why am I awake at 5:33 a.m.? Weird story, brace yourself.

For starters, I'm in Galva right now. I've been here since the 22nd and will continue to be here until the 30th. That's a lot of quality family time, I know. I have this weird urgency to be around my family WHENEVER I can. We're like that.

So, I'm on vacation from work until the 3rd and am basking in all that is Christmas and laziness in G-ville until it's time to go back to Chicago.

Anyway, so a lot of "firsts" have happened to me during my time here in Galva. The first first is that I'm horrendously ill. Okay ummm....I'm NEVER sick. I'm always disease and bacteria free and whenever I do get sick it's a major, major event because it so rarely happens. AND if it does happen, it's always an illness that's to the EXTREME. Never a slight cold, never a cough, never a tummy ache. I don't even know what a tummy ache feels like. If my tummy has ever ached it's because I had severe food poisoning or was out-of-control drunk or a pesky thing I call liver failure. Other than that, I never have tummy aches.

Well, somehow I've managed to get the flu. It's been a veryyyy ugly scene and I have no understanding of how it chose me. I mean, no one around me has the flu and there's no plague going around Galva right now except teen pregnancy.

But somehow the flu manages to find me. And let me tell you, it's been an awful experience. Food has no meaning and water just adds to the drama. I feel like my stomach is a big cauldron that's brewing over the top, so whenever I drink water it just adds to the boil and makes things even worse. So yes, two of the main necessities to sustaining life hold no significance to me. I am, however, able to breathe so the whole inhale, exhale, oxygen thing has kept my pulse steady. Such a saving grace.

Another first is that I slept with my clothes on last night. It was a really strange experience. Some fam came over last night and we did even more gift exchanging and whatnot, so I thought it necessary to atleast make myself be presentable and fully-clothed, so I put on some duds, put some gel in my hair, and flashed the mirror a winning smile. Perfect. So I'm doing the whole scene when I start to feel like I'm going to pass out. So I get up, leave the party, go upstairs, and lay down in bed.

Um, I must have literally passed out in bed because I woke up 6 hours later. It was like 3 a.m. and I still have all of my clothes on. Does this bother me? Usually, but for some reason I was perfectly fine with the thought of having about 9 articles of clothing on, including shoes, and remained in bed. Every time I tossed and turned I thought to myself-THIS IS SO WEIRD. I HAVE ALL OF MY CLOTHES ON. DO SOMETHING.

In addition, the entire time my body felt like a drying sponge that desperately needed moisture in order to maintain a heartbeat. But do I get myself some water?

NO.

I can't move.

I'm drying up.

Plus, it was as hot as a bitch in my room because the heat was on full blast for whatever reason, so I was sweating out the last remaining beads of moisture I had in my body...probably due to the fact that I was fully-clothed and under about 90 blankets.

And the entire time all I could think about was:

A) Jumping into a pool full of orange Gatorade and electrolytes, and
B) the song, O Come All Ye Faithful.

I have no idea why that song was stuck in my head, but in my mind I kept belting out, OH COME LET US ADORE HIM!

So there I was, fully-dressed, drying up, incapable of movement, internally singing Christmas songs, and hosting a bladder full of urine that I was trying to overlook because if I even looked at a toilet I'd puke instantaneously.

About an hour ago I managed to take off all of my clothes. Does that excite you? It shouldn't because my body hasn't seen water, let alone soap in about 2.5 days.

Yes, these are the conditions that I allow myself to dwell in. My family is concerned and are probably contacting a priest as we speak.

Please let me be possessed, that would make much more sense.

Do you ever have one of those days where you feel completely ugly and inadequate?

Today is the day.

Kelly: I find it really weird that you have a scarf wrapped around your head like a hat.
Ryan: Old women don't find it weird!
Kelly: You're not an old woman.
Ryan: Well...the person on the elevator didn't find it weird either.
Kelly: It still sounds weird.
Ryan: You sound weird.
Kelly: I have to go.
Click.

There's always so much mumbo-jumbo about love being cold, warm, light, dark...it's stupid, really.

I sleep alone all the time and am constantly cold. Doesn't mean I'm without.

Buster keeps me warm.

I barely see the light of day anymore and it's always dark when I desperately need to see, but does it matter?

No.

The blue glare from my alarm clock pulls a double trick...a cold blue read but yet a bright light guide.

I turn the tone down so that I can sleep better, it's darker, but when I dream about snakes the leftover light helps me see that they're really not there.

Winter.

So blue.

And snakes.

So scary.

GUESS WHAT I JUST REALIZED?

I'm becoming a complete stalker. Yes, you heard it here first.

Why do I find myself watching other people's video facebook wallposts? Or is it Facebook video wallposts? Either way, they're not to me, they're not about me, and sometimes...I don't even know who the people are that are on them.

But do I watch them?

YES.

a;lksdfj

It's really a bad thing. These social networking sites are so out of control. Wait a second...I'M OUT OF CONTROL. That's the real truth.

I'm way too nosey for my own good. I need less information, people...less information.

Mind ya bizz.

What fun would there be in life if we never took any risks?

Let me restate that because it's painting an entirely different picture than my personal philosophy...

Okay, so, risks. I'm torn. Shit, I can't even restate that sentence because I can't make up my mind. I mean, I don't take risks. Ever. I hate them. If something sounds risky, I'm out. Usually...

I typically fear the unknown. I'm a scared, scared boy. But I'm also a man. I live my life day-to-day doing what I have to do to survive, and at some points, to be happy.

I also like knowing, seeing, experiencing new things. How would I get anywhere without being blind? I feel my way, I put myself out, I take a step forward. I'm there.

And it's good.

But to fly by the seat of my pants is a big mistake. I've learned it a time or two as of late. Bad idea. Super bad. Don't do it.

But I wouldn't be where I am today without assuming the risks I have in the past. Yes, it's been a sucky migration from the good to bad, bad to good, and yes, I just said sucky.

Are fate and risk related? Am I screwing with fate with every decision I make? What if I change my mind about things a thousand times? Does my fate remain untouched? Oh man, best of luck to me.

I hope I don't get hit by a bus.

I hate it when people fart in a bar.

That shit stanks.

Sometimes I wish that I could live at home. Forever.

It's strange, I know, but every time I go home to see the family, I have such a hard time coming back to my apartment. Sure I have Buster and a lot of great friends to keep me company in Chicago, but there's something about being at home that is so comforting and relaxing and warm...it's hard to leave.

And I'm usually never homesick--but lately I have been.

I'm OK with that, too. I can go home any time I want and I can spend as much time with my family as I need to, and that helps.

I hate to admit that I'm a HUGE Momma's boy, but I SO am.

Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't change that fact for the world. I'm so so lucky to have such a strong relationship with my parents. They mean the world to me, as do the rest of the Sumner clan.

I'm a grown man, I take care of my own responsibilities, I pay my own bills, I lead my own life...

But damn, it's so nice to skip all of that and just sit at the kitchen table and talk to my parents about life and all of its blessings and shortcomings.

Wait...

Getting homesick again.

I'm cold.

And tired.

Amid winter, I feel...like smiling.

I feel like my life, for once, is circulating.

The O. The big O.

I control it. I keep it. I maintain.

I feel...like I've achieved something.

This smile is real, you know.

The mirror knows me. And I it.

I see the best even when the best didn't see me.

And still I smile. A real smile.

I smile not in looking back, but looking ahead.

It's great, isn't it? This.

This life.

It keeps giving.




This gift.

I was walking outside today and a Christmas tune shuffled its way onto my Ipod. It was sad, but merry at the same time. Please come home for Christmas. It made me think about love.

It makes me a little jealous that I don't have any. Well, I shouldn't say that. It's not that I don't have love. I have plenty of love.

Yet, no one to love as my own.

At the same time, I'm not lonely. Not depressed.

Just not in love.

I'd really like to be in love, though. To have someone that I connect with. Someone who's here. With me.

There are so many people on the scene, looking for...well I don't know what they're looking for, but it usually doesn't align with my own intentions.

I want to skip that scene. Be above it. Be blind to it all.

My focus, my energy on one person.

My person.

Until then, love is but a warm dream on a very cold night.

So, I'm typically non-Facebook-loving and today is no exception. While I do use Facebook to communicate with my friends and such, I still feel like it's a very shady, sneaky site that is capitalizing off of boredom. I mean, really, who in their right mind really wants people to know SO much about them? Every move you make on Facebook is monitored and recorded, and if you elect to, people can read about your activity just by logging on.

At the same time, it's the users who give the site its power. The minute someone breaks up with someone, I swear, their first strategic move is to log-on and change their relationship status on Facebook. They don't call their Mom, they don't sob into a pillow. Boom! Facebook it.

And wall posts. Oh my god, so ingenious. I love it when people communicate six or seven times a day via Facebook wall posts. Almost as if it were an instant messaging device. Seriously. Call these people to communicate to them, or better yet, make it a 3D experience!

I'm not playing innocent here, I've done ALL of these things and more, but why do I do it? I seriously have no idea. Brainwashed? A generational norm? A generational expectancy? Convenience?

Who knows. But I want to slap my hand every time I find myself using Facebook to look at the world.

And what's up with those gifts? Seriously, a dollar? It costs a dollar to give someone a stupid little graphic the size of a stamp? And they say there's a "limited edition"...like they're actual, physical gifts? No, they're not. AT ALL. They're something that can be replicated an infinite amount of times and would never cost a single cent in any market imaginable. Yet Facebook makes it possible to charge someone A DOLLAR for one.

And people buy them.

Do college students have such disposable incomes that they can be like, "Oh that graphic of a vodka shot is TOTALLY worth this measly dollar that's just lying around in my bank account."

SERIOUSLY PEOPLE.

Take that dollar and give it to a bum on the street if that's your attitude. Any way the bum chooses to spend that dollar will be more worthwhile than giving it to Zuckenburg or whoever that teen billionaire is. Or better yet, don't use it and wait for something WORTHWHILE to spend it on. Send it to Darfur, they could be using some vodka shot graphics right about now.

Better yet, send it to me.

I'm sorry, but if I hear one more story about that stupid Iggy dog that Ellen Degeneres has been boo-hooing about and ET has been exclusively covering for weeks post-eviction, I'm going to...do something.

I don't know what, but it will be something.

Seriously people, there's a plethora of things to be worried about, and some stupid dog that has been bounced from a few homes isn't worthy of our time or attention.

I'm sure whatever mansion that dog winds up in will be perfectly adequate.

Besides, he ain't got no bills to pay!

That's the real world talking...

I'm so disheartened and disgusted by the details of San Francisco's oil spill. Bunker oil is the crudest and most polluting oil available, yet the oil industry is both consuming and transporting this oil globally. Not to forget the simple carelessness of the tanker's captain has caused major, irreversible damage to our ecosystem, our wildlife, and our future. And this is only one spill out of the hundreds of spills within the last 5 years.

Many may not know this but I am extremely conscious and protective of the state of our world's environment. With our current loser President, issues concerning the environment have been overlooked, under-budgeted, and greatly disregarded.

I really need to research the stance of each presidential candidate concerning environmental issues, plans to help the welfare of wildlife and subsequent ecosystems, as well as strategic leadership goals to combat the effects of global warming. Of course, it would be easier to choose a candidate if Al Gore would inform me of his decision to run for President or as Vice President, because wherever he goes or whomever he backs, I will do the same.

There are MANY important issues that we need to follow carefully, however year after year environment-friendly or -concious presidential candidates are seen as the weak, unpopular, non-priority, or all together unimportant vote. The environment IS important. This world's integrity is what keeps us here, its what hosts all of our world's other problems like war, immigration, health care, and the fight for equality.

Vote with the environment in mind. If our environment crumbles, who really cares about civility?

Kill me now.

What's with all the baby names like Sophia, Isabella, or EmmaLee?

What happened to Meg, Patty, or Crystal?

Oh god, that reminds me. One time my sister was grounded because she used too much ketchup on her meatloaf! Ah ha ha.

I knew it was going to happen, too. My sister poured like the hugest BLOB of ketchup on her plate to dip her meatloaf into. My Dad goes, "If you don't use every last bit of that ketchup, you're grounded!"

She, of course, couldn't even come close to using it all because she used that much. So she was grounded for like a week.

My brothers and I laughed when she marched up to her room and bawled! We all shared a bedroom at this point in time so it was really annoying when she was still crying while I was trying to sleep. I threw a Pound Puppy at her and she snapped back QUIT ITTTTTTTTTT using a devil voice while still in a crying rage!

Such a baby.

My taste buds are finally developing.

I knew this to be true when the other day I had a little bit of mayonnaise on my finger and I licked it off without hesitation. That's a huge stride considering I used to despise mayonnaise in the worst way possible. But for some reason, over the last year or so, I somehow embraced it. And now apparently I'm okay with it in its rawest form. What's weird is that I sometimes hesitate to lick extra ketchup off my finger...and I love ketchup...just not raw. Calling condiments raw is weird, I know, but it's the only way I can explain it. So is licking stuff off your fingers, but apparently I do that alot, too.

That reminds me. When I was little and lived in the country, I used to be babysat by my neighbor down the road whom my sister and I lovingly referred to as "Grandma" even though she wasn't our real Grandma. She was, however, the Grandma of the other kids who lived right next to her, and since they all called her Grandma...we did too. I think those kids secretely hated my sister and I for this. Oh and many other reasons...

Anyway, so for lunch we ate Kraft macaroni and cheese and boiled hot dogs with ketchup almost every single day.

Everyday.

Not because that's the only food Grandma had in her cupboard, but because that's all my sister and I would eat. Literally. We were such brats. So, one day, we were all eating lunch (me, my sister, and Duane and Janet, the real grandchildren of Grandma). All of a sudden, Duane was like, "I'm not finishing lunch, I'm sick and tired of eating hot dogs!" Holy cow, Grandma turned around and snapped back, "You'll eat every last bite, ya little shit!" I'll never forget her little carpal'd finger pointing at his nose.

Now, before you call DCFS, Grandma was a very warm and loving old lady. She treated my sister and I like royalty and made us feel comfortable and loved at all times. However, it seemed like she was a little sick of her grandchildren, mostly because she had to watch those two brats for free.

So, I'll never forget that head turn, snap, and finger point. It was priceless. But that's not the point.

Duane stood his ground and just sat there with a half eaten hot dog on his plate. He looked at the ceiling, looked at the ground, pretended to read the magnets on the fridge even though they were way too far away to read, perfect eyesight or not. Grandma noticed his resistance, got up, took a bottle of ketchup (and I'll never forget this either, the brand of ketchup she bought was always spelled Catsup) and she poured the ketchup all over his plate in a contemporary design.

She then goes, "Clean your plate, Duane!" ...meaning Duane had to lick the ketchup off the plate with his tongue! All of it. Nauseating!

We perhaps should have called DCFS.

Anyway, what's even weirder was that Grandma had an old ice cream bucket that she kept by the door for "scraps." Anytime that my sister and I didn't finish our meal, we got to put the food in the scraps bucket. Grandma was also always peeling apples and potatoes and put the peelings in the bucket, too. (One time I was so hungry that I ate a few apple peelings straight from the scrap bucket. I did it even though I knew better...I was just hungry.) Well the real treat was that at the end of the day before we had to walk down the road back to our house, Grandma would take my sister to the pig pen and we would get to feed the piggies all of our scraps. Such a treat. Duane and Janet had to take a nap while we did this. HaHa, suckers!

Oh, one time a pig bit me! I tried to pick up this semi-newborn piggy and OH MY GOD that pig squealed so loud and ferociously, then the little sucker bit my arm! Hard, too! I started crying and Grandma somehow scaled the fence to come save me in the pig pen. I lied and told Grandma that the pig kicked me in the ribs, so she rushed me to the hospital which was like a hundred miles away since we lived out in the middle of a corn field. I only told her this because my Mom worked at the hospital and I wanted some M&M's that she kept in a jar at her desk.

I liked the green ones.

So life consuming. Why though?

I'd ask Oprah, but I feel like her response would be too lengthy and...personal.

I feel like it's behind every thought I have, every decision I make, every glimpse.

It's there, and it's annoying, and most times it's completely unnecessary.

When you look, you see what it is, or you see what you want it to be, and within it's walls there are things you're okay with, but more often its the things you hate or the things that detract.

But isn't it beautiful? It's supposed to be...even though I'd be a liar if I said they were all beautiful, no matter what it looked like.

But mine is different. Obviously.

Another day in, another sacrifice, another downfall, another bad decision, another step in the right direction.

Do they ever add up or is it a consistent plateau of disappointment...or a plateau of "almost there"...

And so FUN when you're out with others. It's the worst. It's a basis, a starting point.

And that's so very wrong for so many reasons.

But it's still there, and I still feel it, and I still see it.

I see it in others, and I see it in myself, and I just want it to go away and stop interuppting spontaneity.

I'm so close I can taste it, which can go either way.

I had a really weird dream last night. Well, maybe weird isn't the best word to describe it...I'll just say that it was an awakening. Yes, perfect. An awakening. So, all I really have to say is:

To the people in my life, thank you.

My family
John
Bennett
Jordan
Molly
Kelly
Molly C.

You're special.

I noticed the other day that Subway girl is going goth. Actually, let me explain Subway girl first. Um, she's not known for her intelligence. One time she made my sandwich without gloves on, and then when she rang me up at the cash register she used gloves. I didn't say anything about the whole thing because she only charged me $2.17 for my sandwich, chips, and drink...and looked at me as if this price was completely accurate. So, I let it slide and took advantage of the deal.

But that's not even the point; her attitude towards customers is of complete disinterest. You know, like a "what do you need" type tude. I want to be like, uh, Subway girl, I realize you're making 12 cents an hour, but you're giving the food I eat bad vibes and I'm not going to pay for a negative sandwich. So just smile at me and ask if I would like double meat. To which the answer is no.

Remember how I was just griping about the Walgreen's people being rude and disinterested? Well, she's not to that extreme but I group them together. I mean, I live in Chicago which has the largest sales tax in America and the least these workers could do is appreciate my business. C'mon!

Anyway, so I went to Subway last night and Subway girl was working, and I was a little depressed she hasn't recognized me yet. I mean, I have a wonderful relationship with Michelle at Panera on Fairbanks and Ohio. I go in there every morning before work and order the same thing: a cinnamon crunch bagel, sliced and toasted, to go. When Michelle sees me walk through the door, she gets my order ready and gets me to the front of the check out line. AND she tells me to TAKE CARE as I leave. She and I have a great relationship, and that's the kind of service I'd like to have.

What's even weirder is that when I went to Mezza for lunch the other day, which I do frequent quite often, one of the ladies who I didn't even recognize, remembered me somehow and goes "spicy chicken pita on wheat?" I was amazed. I didn't even know I stood out at that place and I probably hadn't even been there for a week.

I want this kind of treatment everywhere I go. I want people to know what I want, and then give it to me! With a smile.

Anyway, Subway girl. So I noticed last night that Subway girl now has a piercing in her lip. So when she says "And for you..." it's more like "Blah and fob you" because she's like conscious of the ring in her lip when she speaks so her lips stick together or something weird like that. And she added some fake extensions to her ponytail that hang over her shoulder. Neon pink ones, nonetheless. Very WalMart hair aisle. They kind of look like tentacles. Very Bratz.

OH GOD one time I ordered something with bacon on it and she microwaved the bacon for two minutes. They came out completely nuked agent orange style.

OH GOD one time I was at Subway in Iowa City and I was lucky enough to get some new kid that just started working there, and when I ordered a Subway Melt, he totally put on like 8 strips of bacon (heaven), thinking that it was a free-for-all topping or something because we all know that they have stringent quantity rules at Subway like...every 6 inch gets four slices of whatever meat, and the footlong gets eight, and if it's tuna then it's only two scoops, and so on and so forth.

OH GOD which reminds me, back to when I was at Mezza, the chick whose job it was to place the meat on the pita, was TOTALLY giving out large portions of meat on every pita. EXCEPT WHEN IT CAME TO MINE, she actually thought she put too much on and she ended up taking some off! I was so pissed. I thought I didn't get enough as it was, and then she goes and takes some off! Ugh!

It was so not fair.

Anyway back to Subway girl. Um...I have to go.

Now, what's weird about this is that I was actually at the club "Barracuda" in NYC when Candis Cayne performed the actual number for the "God Warrior" herself, which is what she is referring to and re-enacting in this video. The God Warrior, her husband, and her daughter Ashley sat next to John, Robbie, and I at the club, and were surprisingly interested in talking to us. Later we met Candis...whose fingers were abnormally long but she was still very nice, and strangely pretty.

Quite a memory.