Upon recently watching Ratatouille and 102 Dalmations, I highly suggest rereading the first entry in ryansumner blog year April 2006.
I still standby every word.
Except, in 2009, I have a weird love/hate relationship with Disney. I mean, I love Disney for all of the classics it has brought into my life, but at the very same time, despise it for introducing the world to the likes of Miley Cyrus and/or The Jonas Brothers.
Life is so unfair sometimes.
But cheers to That's So Raven. Thanks for that, Walt.
Ya nasty.
2.28.2009
Such a cruel, cruel world. I was walking down the street today, just minding my own business as usual, bopping along to some Adele. I then passed by a 711; gave the window a quick glance on the off chance I could catch a reflection...the wind was blowing something serious and I needed to see how my hair was holding up.
In the process I noticed a window sign:
Free Donuts!
WHAT WHAT WHAT WHAT!!!!!!!! Free?
YES! OMG, I AM THE LUCKIEST GUY IN THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD! What a miracle that I stumbled upon such a wonderful and amazing event! I am SIMPLY CRAZY about donuts and I love them so much YUM YUM YUM, MMM BOY, I WANT ONE WITH SPRINKLES! I LOVE DONUTS WITH SPRINKLES!!!!!!!!!!
Oh...wait, what?
Oops. That's slightly embarrassing.
Fresh Donuts!
Not free.
Not free at all. Just fresh.
F.
In the process I noticed a window sign:
Free Donuts!
WHAT WHAT WHAT WHAT!!!!!!!! Free?
YES! OMG, I AM THE LUCKIEST GUY IN THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD! What a miracle that I stumbled upon such a wonderful and amazing event! I am SIMPLY CRAZY about donuts and I love them so much YUM YUM YUM, MMM BOY, I WANT ONE WITH SPRINKLES! I LOVE DONUTS WITH SPRINKLES!!!!!!!!!!
Oh...wait, what?
Oops. That's slightly embarrassing.
Fresh Donuts!
Not free.
Not free at all. Just fresh.
F.
2.27.2009
2 posts, 1 day, yes yes...but this is important:
CNN, typically my #1 source for news, has just ruffled my feathers.
So, just like any other day/hour, I checked CNN to see what's going on in the world and came across this headline link "Octuplets were mistake, Mom tells Dr. Phil"
...
REALLY CNN? Wow, what a shameful, insensitive, and cruel way to capture viewer attention.
Of course, we, as a nation, throw stones at the octuplet Mom because we just love to stick our nose into everyone else's business and cast unending, hostile judgement onto others, as if the octuplet Mom has done something so vile and evil that she should receive anonymous death threats. But, the real problem here is that CNN just F'ed with innocent kids, whom deserve zero negative association with this "public scandal," media frenzy, and of course, money-machine of an event it has turned into. Seriously, they're damaged enough as it is, they don't need bullshit media stories denouncing their existence. (!)
Hey CNN, do you really think any of the octuplet children would like to read a headline eluding to the fact that they were born in vain? I mean, we've all been down that pity-party road of wondering if we were born as gifts, mistakes, or "surprises" but this takes all the fun out of that. This is just mean.
And, as if it could get any worse, CNN brings that turd of an exploiter, Dr. Phil, into the situation. Sick. I agree, the Mom should not be exploiting her children (which she is doing endlessly, even worse than Blagojevich), and the fact that she sold out to the exploiter of all exploiters (Dr. Phil), UMMM, can anyone here stop for one second and realize that these babies are going to, one day, be teenagers, and then adults? They more than likely will research their past and perhaps stumble upon this gem of a story.
Even with that aside, isn't the whole premise considered a moral no-no--to profit off such a slimeball, line-crossing story? Take your online ads off that story, will ya? Snakes. And here I thought that kind of news reporting was solely reserved for Fox? Wrong. Apparently, there is no morality or, at its most primitive level, better judgement when it comes to selling the news. Not even in my once beloved CNN.
Low blow CNN. Low blow octuplet Mom. And down with Dr. Phil. Down with him!
Quoting Shakespeare, noting such shameful disrespect of innocent life: all are punished.
CNN, typically my #1 source for news, has just ruffled my feathers.
So, just like any other day/hour, I checked CNN to see what's going on in the world and came across this headline link "Octuplets were mistake, Mom tells Dr. Phil"
...
REALLY CNN? Wow, what a shameful, insensitive, and cruel way to capture viewer attention.
Of course, we, as a nation, throw stones at the octuplet Mom because we just love to stick our nose into everyone else's business and cast unending, hostile judgement onto others, as if the octuplet Mom has done something so vile and evil that she should receive anonymous death threats. But, the real problem here is that CNN just F'ed with innocent kids, whom deserve zero negative association with this "public scandal," media frenzy, and of course, money-machine of an event it has turned into. Seriously, they're damaged enough as it is, they don't need bullshit media stories denouncing their existence. (!)
Hey CNN, do you really think any of the octuplet children would like to read a headline eluding to the fact that they were born in vain? I mean, we've all been down that pity-party road of wondering if we were born as gifts, mistakes, or "surprises" but this takes all the fun out of that. This is just mean.
And, as if it could get any worse, CNN brings that turd of an exploiter, Dr. Phil, into the situation. Sick. I agree, the Mom should not be exploiting her children (which she is doing endlessly, even worse than Blagojevich), and the fact that she sold out to the exploiter of all exploiters (Dr. Phil), UMMM, can anyone here stop for one second and realize that these babies are going to, one day, be teenagers, and then adults? They more than likely will research their past and perhaps stumble upon this gem of a story.
Even with that aside, isn't the whole premise considered a moral no-no--to profit off such a slimeball, line-crossing story? Take your online ads off that story, will ya? Snakes. And here I thought that kind of news reporting was solely reserved for Fox? Wrong. Apparently, there is no morality or, at its most primitive level, better judgement when it comes to selling the news. Not even in my once beloved CNN.
Low blow CNN. Low blow octuplet Mom. And down with Dr. Phil. Down with him!
Quoting Shakespeare, noting such shameful disrespect of innocent life: all are punished.
This blog is really not intended to be a dream journal, so please bear with me during my sporadic That's So Raven visions of the future, but I had yet another dream last night that really touched my soul, made me think about LOVE.
Yes, love. Here we go again, as if I don't talk about that subject enough, either. In reality, just be glad that I'm not critiquing granola bar brands, like I've been known to do.
Anyway, I'm ready for the plunge. After a dream about a particular person, in a particular place in time, and having those particular feelings feel SO real and SO vivid, I can't imagine going through life without those damn particulars. No, I'm not still longing after that particular person (I got over that many moons ago), but geez, I so want the sincere feelings of partnered contentment, commitment, emotions ranging both high and low, that zest for eternal camaraderie...you know, looking at someone and believing with all my being that YOU are the one. There are no others.
...all that, yes, I want it.
And in return, that very same person would have the exact mindset about me. Because really, why go out for hamburgers when you have steak at home?
Word up, lover.
Regardless, I've always been one to say that if I could get married, have 4 kids, and put up that white picket fence tomorrow...I totally would. With no regret whatsoever. And this dream confirmed just that. While I might be talking in a post-splendor haze, in reality, I've felt this way for awhile now and this dream made it seem as if I had finally won that coveted, internal lottery.
That's just where I'm at, ok?
I'm not some wishy-washy, pathetic sap. I just have goals to achieve, even though yeah, I get it, it's not solely up to me to achieve such a thing...but damnit, I wish it were.
And the whole picket fence thing? Yeah, the fence would definitely not be picket, more like a mahogany-stained, recycled barn wood barrier with Asian juniper shrubbery lining the outside within a dark, shredded mulch. Very minimal, but also very tasteful.
Oh, snap.
Yes, love. Here we go again, as if I don't talk about that subject enough, either. In reality, just be glad that I'm not critiquing granola bar brands, like I've been known to do.
Anyway, I'm ready for the plunge. After a dream about a particular person, in a particular place in time, and having those particular feelings feel SO real and SO vivid, I can't imagine going through life without those damn particulars. No, I'm not still longing after that particular person (I got over that many moons ago), but geez, I so want the sincere feelings of partnered contentment, commitment, emotions ranging both high and low, that zest for eternal camaraderie...you know, looking at someone and believing with all my being that YOU are the one. There are no others.
...all that, yes, I want it.
And in return, that very same person would have the exact mindset about me. Because really, why go out for hamburgers when you have steak at home?
Word up, lover.
Regardless, I've always been one to say that if I could get married, have 4 kids, and put up that white picket fence tomorrow...I totally would. With no regret whatsoever. And this dream confirmed just that. While I might be talking in a post-splendor haze, in reality, I've felt this way for awhile now and this dream made it seem as if I had finally won that coveted, internal lottery.
That's just where I'm at, ok?
I'm not some wishy-washy, pathetic sap. I just have goals to achieve, even though yeah, I get it, it's not solely up to me to achieve such a thing...but damnit, I wish it were.
And the whole picket fence thing? Yeah, the fence would definitely not be picket, more like a mahogany-stained, recycled barn wood barrier with Asian juniper shrubbery lining the outside within a dark, shredded mulch. Very minimal, but also very tasteful.
Oh, snap.
2.26.2009
What I See
I'm working from home on a nice-sized Ohio contract, all on a day where nothing can be seen. A fog so thick it's all white, and nothing but white, from the 32nd story. Just ate a great turkey sandwich, listening to some sweet jams in the background, and observing bright lightening flashes and devilish growls of thunder from...somewhere, who knows where, I can't see 2 inches off the patio railing. It's Narnia out there. See for yourself:
Today
Days of Yester
I'm working from home on a nice-sized Ohio contract, all on a day where nothing can be seen. A fog so thick it's all white, and nothing but white, from the 32nd story. Just ate a great turkey sandwich, listening to some sweet jams in the background, and observing bright lightening flashes and devilish growls of thunder from...somewhere, who knows where, I can't see 2 inches off the patio railing. It's Narnia out there. See for yourself:
Today
Days of Yester
2.25.2009
Huge revelation today. HUGE.
I was at work reading the Trib when I stumbled across an article about how a neurologist believes that our society's use of Facebook is "infantilizing" our brains...shortening our attention spans, lessening our power of empathy and, most importantly, giving our generation a "shaky sense of identity and reality."
Yes, yes, and YES.
It's true. I was just noticing that about myself. I look at Facebook too often. I'm too interested in everyone else's life. I'm also worried about how others view me. Who am I on Facebook? Who are you on Facebook?
I judge people based on their Facebook information.
But, I'd rather learn about people via Facebook rather than hang out with them in real life. Who has the time for real conversation?
I don't think Facebook's intention was to be an all-encompassing portal. I don't think Facebook was intended to be a window with the blinds wide open. I don't think Facebook was intended to be a glass against the wall. I don't think Facebook was intended to be Big Brother.
And I don't think I like my dependence on Facebook. It's alarming, now that I think about it. Mostly because I should be able to drop Facebook like a bad habit, but I couldn't really do that, could I?
I don't believe I could.
But I should. And I might.
PLUS, this revelation of epic proportion is on the coattail of a video I watched that dumbfounded me. It made me realize what an idiot I am, and that I'm merely one idiot in a nation full of idiots.
My patience levels, my expectations, my annoyances, my happiness, my comfort, my insecurities...are often created, nurtured, and maintained by our technology-driven world.
The simplicity of life, a slower pace, and a self-dependent lifestyle are gone, out the window. I say self-dependent rather than independent because they are two totally different words. I'm independent, but I'm not self-dependent at all.
I'm almost completely dependent upon technology to make me happy. I don't make myself happy. Technology does. Speed is everything (not the Jessie Spano kind). If something is slow, it's bad. If it's fast, it's good. Dial-up? Could you IMAGINE? No signal? Life is over. The power is out? Call 911, the sun won't be out for another 10 hours!
Life needs to slow down. I need to slow down. But that's a rather impossible notion, isn't it?
I fear it is.
And that's why I fear Facebook. Facebook is too much. It's simply too much. Facebook is our rolodex. Facebook is our telephone. Facebook is our stamp. Facebook is our window. Facebook is our friend. Facebook is our Big Brother. Facebook is our god. Because you know why? Facebook is fast, in an all-encompassing way too freaking fast. I can learn everything I never wanted to know about hundreds of friends in 5 minutes; 99.5% of it being information I didn't need to know in the first place. I can't recall what the Spanish word for spoon is but I can tell you what Person XYZ had for breakfast.
No wonder I have no memory, no desire for personal relationships, and no identity. It's all on Facebook, so why carry it around with me?
Facebook needs to go. It really does. I need to start living my own life.
My biggest fear is that I'll speed through life and not know it's close to being over. After all, I'll be too busy reading 25 random things about you to even notice it pass by. I didn't know you were lactose intolerant!?
I also didn't know my life was over. Whoops. Hey Jesus.
I was at work reading the Trib when I stumbled across an article about how a neurologist believes that our society's use of Facebook is "infantilizing" our brains...shortening our attention spans, lessening our power of empathy and, most importantly, giving our generation a "shaky sense of identity and reality."
Yes, yes, and YES.
It's true. I was just noticing that about myself. I look at Facebook too often. I'm too interested in everyone else's life. I'm also worried about how others view me. Who am I on Facebook? Who are you on Facebook?
I judge people based on their Facebook information.
But, I'd rather learn about people via Facebook rather than hang out with them in real life. Who has the time for real conversation?
I don't think Facebook's intention was to be an all-encompassing portal. I don't think Facebook was intended to be a window with the blinds wide open. I don't think Facebook was intended to be a glass against the wall. I don't think Facebook was intended to be Big Brother.
And I don't think I like my dependence on Facebook. It's alarming, now that I think about it. Mostly because I should be able to drop Facebook like a bad habit, but I couldn't really do that, could I?
I don't believe I could.
But I should. And I might.
PLUS, this revelation of epic proportion is on the coattail of a video I watched that dumbfounded me. It made me realize what an idiot I am, and that I'm merely one idiot in a nation full of idiots.
Watch more SpikedHumor videos on AOL Video
My patience levels, my expectations, my annoyances, my happiness, my comfort, my insecurities...are often created, nurtured, and maintained by our technology-driven world.
The simplicity of life, a slower pace, and a self-dependent lifestyle are gone, out the window. I say self-dependent rather than independent because they are two totally different words. I'm independent, but I'm not self-dependent at all.
I'm almost completely dependent upon technology to make me happy. I don't make myself happy. Technology does. Speed is everything (not the Jessie Spano kind). If something is slow, it's bad. If it's fast, it's good. Dial-up? Could you IMAGINE? No signal? Life is over. The power is out? Call 911, the sun won't be out for another 10 hours!
Life needs to slow down. I need to slow down. But that's a rather impossible notion, isn't it?
I fear it is.
And that's why I fear Facebook. Facebook is too much. It's simply too much. Facebook is our rolodex. Facebook is our telephone. Facebook is our stamp. Facebook is our window. Facebook is our friend. Facebook is our Big Brother. Facebook is our god. Because you know why? Facebook is fast, in an all-encompassing way too freaking fast. I can learn everything I never wanted to know about hundreds of friends in 5 minutes; 99.5% of it being information I didn't need to know in the first place. I can't recall what the Spanish word for spoon is but I can tell you what Person XYZ had for breakfast.
No wonder I have no memory, no desire for personal relationships, and no identity. It's all on Facebook, so why carry it around with me?
Facebook needs to go. It really does. I need to start living my own life.
My biggest fear is that I'll speed through life and not know it's close to being over. After all, I'll be too busy reading 25 random things about you to even notice it pass by. I didn't know you were lactose intolerant!?
I also didn't know my life was over. Whoops. Hey Jesus.
2.23.2009
Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh! So I just listened to a voicemail from my bff Mollz in which she was laughing and OMG'ing about how stupid I was because I unfortunately spelled "writing" as "righting" in my last post.
!?!?!?!? (!)
Holy flip, what an IDIOT I am.
I never even noticed that. Thanks, Mollz. I owe you one. You're totally THAT friend that would tell me if my tshirt was too tight or I if had peppercorn shards stuck in my teeth or smelled like a truck driver on a cross country drive.
You're a real friend with a real zest for calling out my many mental and physical challenges.
And for that I thank you.
XOXO
!?!?!?!? (!)
Holy flip, what an IDIOT I am.
I never even noticed that. Thanks, Mollz. I owe you one. You're totally THAT friend that would tell me if my tshirt was too tight or I if had peppercorn shards stuck in my teeth or smelled like a truck driver on a cross country drive.
You're a real friend with a real zest for calling out my many mental and physical challenges.
And for that I thank you.
XOXO
2.19.2009
Okay, the update:
Now that I have my wits about me...and my memory jogging, here we go.
1. Millisecond has two Ls.
2. Lil Wayne sings A Milli
3. I'm still very much employed.
4. My bff John today recommended taking fish oil supplements to help my memory.
5. My Mom told me I can't get a cat scan unless it's Dr. ordered, therefore my aneurysm fears will have to subside on their own.
6. I ordered the Memory game and it should be here any day now. That for sure will help the cause, right? 1 cow...2 cows! Match!
7. Memory loss won't get the best of me. Not when I have fish oil and Memory cards.
8. I'm good as new.
Off topic, I've been thinking about righting ***writing*** some weirdo poetry. Stay tuned.
Now that I have my wits about me...and my memory jogging, here we go.
1. Millisecond has two Ls.
2. Lil Wayne sings A Milli
3. I'm still very much employed.
4. My bff John today recommended taking fish oil supplements to help my memory.
5. My Mom told me I can't get a cat scan unless it's Dr. ordered, therefore my aneurysm fears will have to subside on their own.
6. I ordered the Memory game and it should be here any day now. That for sure will help the cause, right? 1 cow...2 cows! Match!
7. Memory loss won't get the best of me. Not when I have fish oil and Memory cards.
8. I'm good as new.
Off topic, I've been thinking about righting ***writing*** some weirdo poetry. Stay tuned.
My life is so similar to The Notebook it's not even funny. It's not funny because I'm talking about the final chapters here people.
EARLY ALZHEIMER'S:
Yes, my memory. It's slipping. It's unreliable. It's basically of no human use.
Important dates, tasks, names, events, elementary problem-solving skills...all out the window. With me one second, then absolutely gone within the smallest, tiniest, least computable fraction of a millisecond.
A milli, a milli, a milli, a milli...
...
See, just now I was going to continue on with my constantly-compiling motherload of memory issues, but now can't remember where I was going with it because I ridiculously got off task with that whole milli tangent and then consequently started humming to myself A Millionaire. Then my mind started questioning if "milli" was spelled with two Ls or one, and then I wondered if that song is indeed called A Millionaire, and then I felt completely embarrassed for not knowing earlier if milli was spelled with two Ls or one, and then that issue instigated a self-reflection shrouded in doubt concerning my ability to remain salaried as a professional writer, and, considering the economy and subsequent unemployment rate, my concerns skyrocketed exponentially to that of supremus maximus levels because if I was fired from my job for incompetency, I couldn't get a temporary job as a waiter because I have no MEMORY to remember what anyone asked for, and now my anxiety levels have heightened to another unhealthy maximus.
Great.
You know the song though, right? Millionaire? By Lil.....Wayne, right? Or is it Lil Zane? I need to do some serious Google research now to officially resolve my queries before I get an aneurysm.
I may never get back to my original point, just FYI.
I'll update once I'm informed and back on task.
EARLY ALZHEIMER'S:
Yes, my memory. It's slipping. It's unreliable. It's basically of no human use.
Important dates, tasks, names, events, elementary problem-solving skills...all out the window. With me one second, then absolutely gone within the smallest, tiniest, least computable fraction of a millisecond.
A milli, a milli, a milli, a milli...
...
See, just now I was going to continue on with my constantly-compiling motherload of memory issues, but now can't remember where I was going with it because I ridiculously got off task with that whole milli tangent and then consequently started humming to myself A Millionaire. Then my mind started questioning if "milli" was spelled with two Ls or one, and then I wondered if that song is indeed called A Millionaire, and then I felt completely embarrassed for not knowing earlier if milli was spelled with two Ls or one, and then that issue instigated a self-reflection shrouded in doubt concerning my ability to remain salaried as a professional writer, and, considering the economy and subsequent unemployment rate, my concerns skyrocketed exponentially to that of supremus maximus levels because if I was fired from my job for incompetency, I couldn't get a temporary job as a waiter because I have no MEMORY to remember what anyone asked for, and now my anxiety levels have heightened to another unhealthy maximus.
Great.
You know the song though, right? Millionaire? By Lil.....Wayne, right? Or is it Lil Zane? I need to do some serious Google research now to officially resolve my queries before I get an aneurysm.
I may never get back to my original point, just FYI.
I'll update once I'm informed and back on task.
2.18.2009
Mi amigo J-Reil shared an urbandictionary addition with me, and appropriately so. I absolutely adore sleeping. If sleeping is wrong, then I don't want to be right. Or awake.
bedgasm
A feeling of complete and utter euphoria which peaks when climbing into bed at the end of an 18-hour workday, a long road trip, or hours of extremely strenuous physical activity. Under perfect conditions, the physical release has been likened to that of an intense sexual experience.
"It was a three hour drive in the middle of the night, I could barely stay awake. When I got home, I climbed under the covers and had a ten-minute bedgasm."
shutter.shiver.shake.
that was good for me.
bedgasm
A feeling of complete and utter euphoria which peaks when climbing into bed at the end of an 18-hour workday, a long road trip, or hours of extremely strenuous physical activity. Under perfect conditions, the physical release has been likened to that of an intense sexual experience.
"It was a three hour drive in the middle of the night, I could barely stay awake. When I got home, I climbed under the covers and had a ten-minute bedgasm."
shutter.shiver.shake.
that was good for me.
2.17.2009
A few things:
The pink heart Runt is the best one,
Swedish Fish need to be somewhat gummy/somewhat tough, there's a perfect balance in there, somewhere,
Nibs all day, every day,
Smarties--so basic but still kinda fun, I always made-believe they were pills, weird, huh?,
Plain M&M's are best served cold,
A fun sized candy bar of any sort is the Devil's way of turning you into a glutton, thus winning the war,
What are those generic-strawberry-looking-things with the red and green-top wrappers that have a hard, red shell and slight strawberry goo in the middle? They're at every parade and kinda good, I'd for sure run in front of a tractor brigade for one,
Banana runts are the worst, avoid them,
This is a public shout-out to Sprees, HEYYYY,
Sour Patch Kids are both a blessing and a curse, so yum and so good but killer stomach cramping and acid-warped taste buds are often unavoidable side-effects,
Old timey SweeTarts are also good but they too warp your taste buds,
Kit Kats are a waste of time and calories,
Tootsie Rolls, get outta my face, who has the time?,
Birthday cake ice cream MUST have multi-color confetti otherwise it's no good,
Generic butterscotch are complete nostalgia; flashes me back to the 80's while at Grandma's trailer,
The "chewy" version of any hard candy is always completely disgusting,
Watermelon Twist Trident 16 hours a day, always,
It felt so wrong to eat the stick of a Lik-m-Aid fun dip,
I have to be in the right mood for Red Vines,
I still find Whatchamacallits intriguing,
I've OD'ed on Laffy Taffy at the pool so many times I can barely stand to think about it, insta-cramp,
Jelly Bellies are completely obnoxious and disgusting, generic JBs all the way,
Brach's old fogie peppermints will never go out of style, such a class act,
I have no idea what the difference is between Almond Joys and Mounds beside that one has nuts and the other don't but I do know that both are nast,
and lastly, never order a Nerd Blizzard.
They can only be deemed delicious as mutually exclusive snack events.
The pink heart Runt is the best one,
Swedish Fish need to be somewhat gummy/somewhat tough, there's a perfect balance in there, somewhere,
Nibs all day, every day,
Smarties--so basic but still kinda fun, I always made-believe they were pills, weird, huh?,
Plain M&M's are best served cold,
A fun sized candy bar of any sort is the Devil's way of turning you into a glutton, thus winning the war,
What are those generic-strawberry-looking-things with the red and green-top wrappers that have a hard, red shell and slight strawberry goo in the middle? They're at every parade and kinda good, I'd for sure run in front of a tractor brigade for one,
Banana runts are the worst, avoid them,
This is a public shout-out to Sprees, HEYYYY,
Sour Patch Kids are both a blessing and a curse, so yum and so good but killer stomach cramping and acid-warped taste buds are often unavoidable side-effects,
Old timey SweeTarts are also good but they too warp your taste buds,
Kit Kats are a waste of time and calories,
Tootsie Rolls, get outta my face, who has the time?,
Birthday cake ice cream MUST have multi-color confetti otherwise it's no good,
Generic butterscotch are complete nostalgia; flashes me back to the 80's while at Grandma's trailer,
The "chewy" version of any hard candy is always completely disgusting,
Watermelon Twist Trident 16 hours a day, always,
It felt so wrong to eat the stick of a Lik-m-Aid fun dip,
I have to be in the right mood for Red Vines,
I still find Whatchamacallits intriguing,
I've OD'ed on Laffy Taffy at the pool so many times I can barely stand to think about it, insta-cramp,
Jelly Bellies are completely obnoxious and disgusting, generic JBs all the way,
Brach's old fogie peppermints will never go out of style, such a class act,
I have no idea what the difference is between Almond Joys and Mounds beside that one has nuts and the other don't but I do know that both are nast,
and lastly, never order a Nerd Blizzard.
They can only be deemed delicious as mutually exclusive snack events.
2.16.2009
I can't do it, I just.can't.do.it.
I've yet to work up the nerve to wear the Speedos I bought almost a year ago. I only bought them because, at the time, I really wanted to start swimming at my gym. I mean, I used to swim all the time. I worked at the Y for nearly 6 years teaching swim lessons day in and day out, lifeguarding, and teaching Aquasize (yes, yes I did)...I swam SO much. It's such great exercise and I actually enjoy doing it, which can't be said about exercising in general.
But beside a dip or two in the lake (a shallow dip at that, I have a fear of dark water) over the past couple of years, I haven't even come close to swimming.
I think I'm over Spin classes for the most part. It's fun and whatnot, but it just doesn't fit into my schedule, so I want to swim and I want to swim in the Speedos I bought (the elongated shorts kind, I'm no showboat) but I JUST CAN'T DO IT.
I feel absolutely ridiculous in them. I have board shorts up the wahoo, but those aren't the best to swim in plus I don't want the chlorine to fade and ruin them.
CONUNDRUM.
Sumner just work up the nerve and get over yourself. Everyone else is doing it, even LARGE people.
I just feel weird...like too much of my stuff is out there.
My anxiety level has peaked just thinking about it.
I've yet to work up the nerve to wear the Speedos I bought almost a year ago. I only bought them because, at the time, I really wanted to start swimming at my gym. I mean, I used to swim all the time. I worked at the Y for nearly 6 years teaching swim lessons day in and day out, lifeguarding, and teaching Aquasize (yes, yes I did)...I swam SO much. It's such great exercise and I actually enjoy doing it, which can't be said about exercising in general.
But beside a dip or two in the lake (a shallow dip at that, I have a fear of dark water) over the past couple of years, I haven't even come close to swimming.
I think I'm over Spin classes for the most part. It's fun and whatnot, but it just doesn't fit into my schedule, so I want to swim and I want to swim in the Speedos I bought (the elongated shorts kind, I'm no showboat) but I JUST CAN'T DO IT.
I feel absolutely ridiculous in them. I have board shorts up the wahoo, but those aren't the best to swim in plus I don't want the chlorine to fade and ruin them.
CONUNDRUM.
Sumner just work up the nerve and get over yourself. Everyone else is doing it, even LARGE people.
I just feel weird...like too much of my stuff is out there.
My anxiety level has peaked just thinking about it.
2.13.2009
My morning ritual includes a protein shake, a banana, 1 egg and a 1/2 cup of egg whites. Upon digestion, I go back into my room to open the shades so that Anderson and Cooper (my two, beautiful plants to which I have no guess-timation of their species) can get their morning sun. I then grab my iPhone, meander to the bathroom, plug it into my iPlayer (fictitious equipment name, but I don't know what else to call it), select "Recently Played" from my playlists and then let the manana jam session begin.
Now, I have to first peruse the next couple of songs to make sure they're jam worthy. There's NO bigger buzzkill then jamming to a song in the shower, only to then have something like Josh Groban's rendition of "Oh Holy Night" come on and completely kill the mood.
The worst.
So, I perused, qualified the upcoming beats, then got in the shower. Some cool jams were playing, I was singing, but then the real fun began. OK, backstory first before I continue; I recently acquired a fun remix of Beyonce's "Diva" ditty, and wow is it a good time. I wasn't crazed about Diva the first, second, or fifteenth time I heard it, but it's slowly working on me and this remix is certainly quickening the process.
Sooo!
Upon stepping out of the shower, I noticed the remixed Diva beats were too funky fresh for me to ignore. I put on a towel (for modesty's sake) and then, as I stared into the mirror, started doing this cool chest pump.
Bass Bass Bass, chest pump, chest pump, chest pump.
Yes, yes, and YES.
It was fun and strange all at the same time. Looked good, too, if I must say so myself.
I believe they call that dancerbating.
Now, I have to first peruse the next couple of songs to make sure they're jam worthy. There's NO bigger buzzkill then jamming to a song in the shower, only to then have something like Josh Groban's rendition of "Oh Holy Night" come on and completely kill the mood.
The worst.
So, I perused, qualified the upcoming beats, then got in the shower. Some cool jams were playing, I was singing, but then the real fun began. OK, backstory first before I continue; I recently acquired a fun remix of Beyonce's "Diva" ditty, and wow is it a good time. I wasn't crazed about Diva the first, second, or fifteenth time I heard it, but it's slowly working on me and this remix is certainly quickening the process.
Sooo!
Upon stepping out of the shower, I noticed the remixed Diva beats were too funky fresh for me to ignore. I put on a towel (for modesty's sake) and then, as I stared into the mirror, started doing this cool chest pump.
Bass Bass Bass, chest pump, chest pump, chest pump.
Yes, yes, and YES.
It was fun and strange all at the same time. Looked good, too, if I must say so myself.
I believe they call that dancerbating.
2.11.2009
what a soggy morning. a morning full of blunders no less.
at 7:33 i was out on my patio snapping pics of the fog from my 32nd floor apartment. it rolled off the lake and over the city, making it look as if i lived on top of a cloud. cool.
it was in the final seconds of 7:34 that life would become a constant stream of blunders. a fog of distraction, if you will.
7:35 came and on my way back inside i stubbed my toe on the patio ledge. bleep that hurt.
then i used way too much shampoo at 7:57 which took forever and a day to wash out. i monitored my conditioner usage a little more closely than normal, considering the circumstances.
and in my hustle to catch the bus to work at 8:26 i rounded the elevator corner a little too quickly and accidentally kicked a tiny, unassuming dog. i hope he knows it wasn't on purpose.
out of nowhere at 8:33 my umbrella opened unexpectedly on the bus. did i hit a button? regardless, the remaining rain droplets sprayed the lady in front of me. i know she felt them. eep. sorry.
she hadn't said anything about it by 8:34. no mean looks or words were exchanged. thank you lady.
luckily, her hair was already frizzy.
and now at 11:03, as i'm sitting here at my desk, i feel as if my ass crack might be showing.
i checked and it wasn't as of 11:04. phew.
2.10.2009
You know what freaks me out a little?
No?
Ok, ok, I'll tell you:
Every time I sign onto Facebook there's that horrid "People You Might Know" section just waiting to heighten my anxieties, pokes the bear, just looking for trouble. God, and there's always somebody on there that, despite a few good years of distraction, I've all but forgotten. Now all of a sudden, he can just waltz back into my life, instantly; as if time didn't transcend, clocks didn't tick, bruises didn't fade, nightmares didn't wake. Time heals everything, but I'm still waiting. I'm not ready to make nice.
And now, and for no good reason, there he is, sitting on my Facebook page, just hanging out like he owned the place or something.
Uh...get out of here?!
Yes, Facebook, I do know who that person is but uh, no, I do not care to be his friend. I mean, I don't care for that person to have air to breathe let alone access to my wall where I'm sure the verbal attacks would once again begin.
After all, that shithead called me a girl simply because I liked to jump rope! So what if I was jumping rope with a bunch of girls. They were fun girls. And, they liked me. With girls, you could at least trade snap bracelets all day long. This guy just wanted to cut me in the lunch line and then let all of his friends do the same. Even on freaking taco day. Oh well, after you because who am I to stop you? I'll just be quiet about it because surely you'd find something to say about my haircut or my stupid, Payless shoes.
Ugh, but what do you want from me now?...My blood? Leave me alone already.
If there's any light at the end of this tunnel, it's the utter and complete satisfaction I felt when I clicked "X" and got rid of his ass. See ya wouldn't want to be ya.
Jumping rope is good cardiovascular exercise, a-hole. What do you know anyway?
I heard you worked at AutoZone.
No?
Ok, ok, I'll tell you:
Every time I sign onto Facebook there's that horrid "People You Might Know" section just waiting to heighten my anxieties, pokes the bear, just looking for trouble. God, and there's always somebody on there that, despite a few good years of distraction, I've all but forgotten. Now all of a sudden, he can just waltz back into my life, instantly; as if time didn't transcend, clocks didn't tick, bruises didn't fade, nightmares didn't wake. Time heals everything, but I'm still waiting. I'm not ready to make nice.
And now, and for no good reason, there he is, sitting on my Facebook page, just hanging out like he owned the place or something.
Uh...get out of here?!
Yes, Facebook, I do know who that person is but uh, no, I do not care to be his friend. I mean, I don't care for that person to have air to breathe let alone access to my wall where I'm sure the verbal attacks would once again begin.
After all, that shithead called me a girl simply because I liked to jump rope! So what if I was jumping rope with a bunch of girls. They were fun girls. And, they liked me. With girls, you could at least trade snap bracelets all day long. This guy just wanted to cut me in the lunch line and then let all of his friends do the same. Even on freaking taco day. Oh well, after you because who am I to stop you? I'll just be quiet about it because surely you'd find something to say about my haircut or my stupid, Payless shoes.
Ugh, but what do you want from me now?...My blood? Leave me alone already.
If there's any light at the end of this tunnel, it's the utter and complete satisfaction I felt when I clicked "X" and got rid of his ass. See ya wouldn't want to be ya.
Jumping rope is good cardiovascular exercise, a-hole. What do you know anyway?
I heard you worked at AutoZone.
2.09.2009
2.06.2009
I just pulled an Oprah.
So, I was in the grocery store last Monday, tooling up and down the aisles to see if anything would catch my eye, or trigger my memory in case I was forgetting something. After all, I always manage to forget something.
I was in the cracker/cookie aisle when it dawned on me that I needed Saltines (actually, I buy Jewel-brand "Salted Tops"...yes, yes, yuck it up, but Salted Tops are cheaper and just as good as Saltines. We're in a recession, people...). More importantly, this item is personally deemed a necessity because I'm in the midst of my annual soup craze and I, of course, have to have crackers with my soup. So I picked up the Tops and again meandered. For no reason though I stopped and thought, hey, I remember once-upon-a-time liking these caramel-flavored rice cakes that my friend John gets all the time, maybe I should pick some up?
Perfect. Since I eat within a pretty air-tight meal regimen that leaves little room for indulgence and/or gluttony, I could spice life up a little with these ridiculous rice cakes. *If you didn't know, now you do: I am a bottomless pit when it comes to eating food. I eat when I'm not hungry, I eat when I'm full, I eat when I'm bored, I eat before bed--I basically eat 'round the clock.
Guilty. Anyway.
So, OK, pick up some rice cakes already. Yes. They're reasonably harmless. But where are they? I thought for sure they'd be in the cracker aisle because they resemble a cracker, right? Ok...um, weird, nowhere to be found... okay moving on, maybe the chip aisle? I don't really see them as chips but I guess they could be associated as such? Tortilla, potato, Doritos, pretzels, Chex, nope, nope, nope, and nope.
WTF.
Ah, rice cakes! Here you are. Caramel-flavored? Suh-weet. Hmm, what does the packaging say...crisp, light, and fat-free check, check, and check! I'm good with all three of those things. Ok, let's give the Nutri-sh label a quick scan...ok, ok 60 calories in 8 cakes, 13 servings per bag. Fine, cool, whatev. Done.
So I bought two, normal-sized bags: one for at home, one for at work. Perfect.
Tuesday I brought a bag to work. It was gone by Wednesday. For some reason 8 cakes turned into 16 cakes, and 16 cakes turned into 32 cakes. Woah, did that actually just happen? Slow down, Sumner, godddd.
Now that my supply ran empty at work, Thursday I brought the second bag. I mean, I need my cakes.
Low and behold, I just rounded off the second bag...and it's Friday. This week I've managed to eat half a bag of caramel-flavored rice cakes per day. Half.a.bag.a.day, people. I can't really do math therefore I won't even try to calculate the calories it amounts to, but all in all it's not good.
If it can happen to Oprah, it can happen to me.
And it did.
Kelly Clarkson said it best: never again.
So, I was in the grocery store last Monday, tooling up and down the aisles to see if anything would catch my eye, or trigger my memory in case I was forgetting something. After all, I always manage to forget something.
I was in the cracker/cookie aisle when it dawned on me that I needed Saltines (actually, I buy Jewel-brand "Salted Tops"...yes, yes, yuck it up, but Salted Tops are cheaper and just as good as Saltines. We're in a recession, people...). More importantly, this item is personally deemed a necessity because I'm in the midst of my annual soup craze and I, of course, have to have crackers with my soup. So I picked up the Tops and again meandered. For no reason though I stopped and thought, hey, I remember once-upon-a-time liking these caramel-flavored rice cakes that my friend John gets all the time, maybe I should pick some up?
Perfect. Since I eat within a pretty air-tight meal regimen that leaves little room for indulgence and/or gluttony, I could spice life up a little with these ridiculous rice cakes. *If you didn't know, now you do: I am a bottomless pit when it comes to eating food. I eat when I'm not hungry, I eat when I'm full, I eat when I'm bored, I eat before bed--I basically eat 'round the clock.
Guilty. Anyway.
So, OK, pick up some rice cakes already. Yes. They're reasonably harmless. But where are they? I thought for sure they'd be in the cracker aisle because they resemble a cracker, right? Ok...um, weird, nowhere to be found... okay moving on, maybe the chip aisle? I don't really see them as chips but I guess they could be associated as such? Tortilla, potato, Doritos, pretzels, Chex, nope, nope, nope, and nope.
WTF.
Ah, rice cakes! Here you are. Caramel-flavored? Suh-weet. Hmm, what does the packaging say...crisp, light, and fat-free check, check, and check! I'm good with all three of those things. Ok, let's give the Nutri-sh label a quick scan...ok, ok 60 calories in 8 cakes, 13 servings per bag. Fine, cool, whatev. Done.
So I bought two, normal-sized bags: one for at home, one for at work. Perfect.
Tuesday I brought a bag to work. It was gone by Wednesday. For some reason 8 cakes turned into 16 cakes, and 16 cakes turned into 32 cakes. Woah, did that actually just happen? Slow down, Sumner, godddd.
Now that my supply ran empty at work, Thursday I brought the second bag. I mean, I need my cakes.
Low and behold, I just rounded off the second bag...and it's Friday. This week I've managed to eat half a bag of caramel-flavored rice cakes per day. Half.a.bag.a.day, people. I can't really do math therefore I won't even try to calculate the calories it amounts to, but all in all it's not good.
If it can happen to Oprah, it can happen to me.
And it did.
Kelly Clarkson said it best: never again.
2.04.2009
My Mom and I have been overly reflective as of late, but some good has come out of it. We'd read each other our fortune cookies and ponder the meanings or she'd look up our horoscopes and share its visions. Sometimes the fortunes made sense, other times they didn't, but on occasion it was if the stupid cookie had plunged to the depths of my soul, poked my brain, and strummed a little ditty on my heartstrings.
After all was read, said, and shared, I realized something...
I realized that I am in control of my life, a fact I sometimes overlook. Better yet, I'm in charge of my destiny, I'm in charge of my happiness, and I'm the one ultimately in charge of the way I feel, both toward myself, others, and the world. Make sense, right Mom? Then, just yesterday, I read a transcript of one of Barack Obama's recent speeches, to which he stated, "it is the responsibility of each individual to pursue their own happiness, whatever they perceive it to be."
You know what? He's right. My Mom's right. I'm right: Happiness can only be pursued and achieved. It won't wait around. Those who think happiness is a right, a government-controlled allowance, a free-for-all, is probably an unhappy person.
Take charge of your life. Take charge of your destiny.
Take charge of your happiness. Make it happen.
But do not eat the fortune cookie; empty calories.
After all was read, said, and shared, I realized something...
I realized that I am in control of my life, a fact I sometimes overlook. Better yet, I'm in charge of my destiny, I'm in charge of my happiness, and I'm the one ultimately in charge of the way I feel, both toward myself, others, and the world. Make sense, right Mom? Then, just yesterday, I read a transcript of one of Barack Obama's recent speeches, to which he stated, "it is the responsibility of each individual to pursue their own happiness, whatever they perceive it to be."
You know what? He's right. My Mom's right. I'm right: Happiness can only be pursued and achieved. It won't wait around. Those who think happiness is a right, a government-controlled allowance, a free-for-all, is probably an unhappy person.
Take charge of your life. Take charge of your destiny.
Take charge of your happiness. Make it happen.
But do not eat the fortune cookie; empty calories.
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