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.

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.

Name:	Ryan - Although I have many other "names" as well. My family all lovingly refer to me as "Ry" and in my youth I was known as RyGuy.
State, region, territory, etc.:	Born and raised in the countryside of Illinois, went to school and lived in Galva from age 11 on. Moved to Iowa City after graduating college in 2004 and here I am...still
Hair color:	Dark brown, although many people refer to my hair as being black. It's not black and yes, there is a difference.
Eye color:	Brown and yes, you could stare into them forever.
Shoe size:	9.5 and I'm very happy about that.
Height:	5'10. I wish I was taller, but at times I don't because I have a theory that taller people become hunchbacks as they age.
Can you...?
sing well:	This is debatable. I mean, I think I sound great. I don't have enough confidence in myself to go on American Idol or anything, but I've never had any complaints from Buster. Just don't hand me a microphone.
dance to a ballet:	No, and I assume most people don't. Maybe I'm an ass for thinking that.
play piano:	Ugh, no, and honestly it's one thing I wish I did as a child so that I would have SOME type of knowledge about reading and playing music.
sit through a four hour movie without getting crabby:	I saw Titanic at the movie theatre twice and I think that movie was about 3 hours if not 4. Don't ask me why I saw it twice, either. Sometimes we do stupid things in our youth.
put mascara on without opening your mouth:	Ok, one time Molly put eyeliner and mascara on me after getting crunked off boxed wine. Yeah, I know, we're classy individuals. Luckily we never made it out that night and I woke up with a lot of questions I wanted to ask myself.
two-step:	My Mom and I used to line dance in the kitchen all the time. We even had the instructional videos. We really know how to party.
write in cursive really well:	I have amazing handwriting for a guy. Actually, I think that my handwriting is counterpart to my amazing personality.
sleep all day long if given the chance:	Being the corporate grunt that I am, I get up at 6:45 am every morning M-F and find it hard to sleep past 9 or 10 on weekends. But I would take anyone up on a challenge to see exactly how long I could sleep.
Do you know how to...?
use/read tarot cards:	Nope and Nope. I don't understand the concept of Tarot cards. I'd rather call Cleo or Dionne Warwick.
cook a whole turkey:	Hm, yes. I'm a master of all that involves cooking.
serve the ball overhand in volleyball:	I haven't played volleyball in many moons, but I like to think that I could do this. It probably wouldn't land in bound, assuming it even cleared the net.
draw a lion:	Is this a Napolean Dynamite reference? I'm okay with it if it is because I laugh at that stupid movie very easily. I don't know what that says about me. But do know that I'm a bad drawer.
put together a computer:	Anyone that knows me knows that I'm the worst technological person EVER. I can easily do stuff on computers, but as far as hooking things up and connecting cables, eep. But can any lay man really put together a computer? I'm probably not alone.
First thing that comes to mind when you see the word...
mint:	Chocolate Chip. Which I'm not crazy about, but put a bowl of it in front of me and see you later.
doctor:	So many things for sooooo many reasons. Mostly good reasons but that depends on how we define the meaning of "good."
vixen:	Jessica Rabbit? Watching Roger Rabbit when I was younger always gave me weird feelings. I get the same feeling when I watch Beetlejuice.
rain:	Shampoo, and I can't really describe or interpret the reason why.
heart:	Captain Planet. The Heart power was the worst one, and I don't even really remember what it's purpose was, but the kid had a monkey, so enough said.
thunder:	I wrote a poem about thunder, and people received it well.
mall:	Rant: Malls suck. Working in malls suck, too. A&F sucks the worst, their clothes suck and so do the people that work there/think that it's cool they work there. It's not. Nobody respects anyone that wears A&F clothing.
reef:	Sandals. Moving on...
sponge:	Sponge Bob, although I've never seen the cartoon and I know nothing about Sponge Bob other than people are crazy about it for unknown reasons.
plantation:	Slaves.
red:	I'm not a fan of red. At all. You will rarely catch me wearing it or loving it.
cage:	Birds. I hate birds. You will rarely catch me loving them either.
groovy:	I hate 70's shit. Except for a few good songs. That's about it.
Favorite...
color:	Blue, Brown, Black, Gray, Teal, and Creme.
song:	Right now I'm loving Goldfrapp's "Black Cherry." It's a great song to make out to if you're lucky enough to be making out with a person/whatever.
band:	Electric President. Their existance is rather unknown but I'm crazy about them regardless.
movie:	Under the Tuscan Sun. Not a headliner, I know, but it embodies a lot about the things I want in life.
tv show:	I'm not a huge TV-watching person, but there are a lot of shows I would watch. Grey's Anatomy is sooo overly-popular and since recently, I've discovered why.
reality show:	Big Brother - guilty pleasure.
book:	I've never found joy in reading except for when I read Indian in the Cupboard. I couln't even tell you the number of times I read this book.
word to use:	Like. It's quite possibly the easiest word to slip out a few thousand times without even noticing it.
Have you ever seen the movie...?
Reservoir Dogs:	Nope
Pulp Fiction:	Nope
Hostel:	Nope
House of Wax (original):	Nope
The Texas Chainsaw Massacre Pt. II:	Nope
The Evil Dead:	Nope
Army of Darkness:	Nope
The Hills Have Eyes (original):	Nope
Bride of Frankenstein:	Nope
Young Frankenstein:	Nope
The Haunting (original):	Nope
Little Nicky:	Nope
The Craft:	YES and it's a great movie.
Labyrinth:	Nope.
First...
concert you went to:	Janet Jackson - Velvet Rope Tour. I couldn't get anyone to buy an expensive ticket like I did so I went by MYSELF and my parents drove me and picked me up. I was really cool.
thought when waking up on a weekday:	I wonder if I look cute and thin today?
thing you do when you wake up on the weekend:	I don't get to "wake up" on weekdays. I'm woken up by two alarms. Waking up is a gift, which only occurs on weekends.
thing you do when you come back home from work/school:	Eat. I eat every hour on the hour if not every half hour, so I guess it's not that special or dependant upon any action or time.
Have you ever heard the song...?
"Supervixen" by Garbage:	No
"Stuck In The Middle With You" by Stealers Wheel:	Yes
"Nemo" by Nightwish:	No
"Heaven's A Lie" by Lacuna Coil:	No
"Say Cheese And Die" by Dr. Acula:	No
"What's Under My Bed" by the HorrorPops:	No
"Good Man In A Bad Time" by Ian Hunter:	No
"Funeral of Hearts" by HIM:	No
"Dance D'Amour" by the 69 Eyes:	No
"Whiplash" by Metallica:	No
"Louder Than Hell" by Motley Crue:	No
"Eat The Rich" by Motorhead:	No
"Secrets" by Hammerfall:	No
"Teenage Frankenstein" by Alice Cooper:	No
"Die Romance" by Aiden:	No
"Crosses" by ASG:	No
"Attached At The Hip" by CKY:	No
"Resurrection" by Calabrese:	No
"Lupen Tooth" by Blitzkid:	No, I've probably heard a lot of these songs, but yeah, probably couldn't name that tune or who sang it.
This or That
this or that:	I usually always want that.
gold or silver:	Silver. I would pawn anything Gold.
mechanical pencil or regular pencil:	Mechanical. Although I couldn't even tell you the last time I used a pencil of either sort.
classic heavy metal or nu-metal:	Classic. I don't know what nu-metal really is, so classic wins.
motorcycle or mustang:	Motorcycles are hot.
lava lamp or black light:	Neither. I don't want either. Lava lamps are rather dumb and black lights remind me of bowling or Studio, both are equally non-appealing.
spades or diamonds:	Diamonds. I always have a moment of confusion when it comes to what a spade is/looks like.
uggs or converse:	Hm, neither. Both are equally unattractive.
sweet or sour:	Sweet, but I like Sour Patch Kids.
milk or dark chocolate:	Milk chocolate. I like chocolate, sort of, but I'm not crazy enough about it to be eating dark chocolate. Dark is an acquired taste. Dark chocolate is for fat women to eat.
exercise and eat right or starve youself:	Starving is soooooooooooo much easier and less expensive.
friday or saturday:	Saturday requires less of me, so Saturday it is.
green or red apples:	If they those two apples mated and produced offspring, I'd eat their babies.
horror movies or romantic comedies:	I like both but would rather see myself falling in love rather than being killed by one of my stuffed animals.
cartoons or reality tv:	Reality TV. Although Disney always holds a place in my heart.
reading or watching tv:	Both put me to sleep but watching TV is so much easier, and if you didn't see a trend, I'm a fan of all that is easy.
hamburger helper or hamburger steaks:	I don't know what a hamburger steak is and I feel like I don't want to. But you'll never catch me eating Hamburger Helper. I really don't even know what it is, but I know enough to not be eating it.
Are you a(n)...
air guitarist:	No. Never. And it makes me uncomfortable when people are.
myspace addict:	I wouldn't say addict but I check it daily, yes.
vampirefreaks addict:	I don't know what that is and I think I'm better-off not knowing.
bzoink addict:	No, and I don't like the spelling of this onomatopoeia.
shop-a-holic:	Yeah I could easily shop for days on end. I like to spend money.
photograph-a-holic:	No, and I don't really like lots of picture taking in a small amount of time.
doll collector:	I hate dolls and everything they stand for.
collector of anything:	Accent pillows.
Crue head:	?
candle freak:	No, but one or two is nice.
Do you like...?
Doo-wop music:	I don't think that's a real category.
green eggs and ham:	Don't even, don't even, don't even...(karate kick)
school:	Sooooo glad to be done with school and all school-related activities, besides binge drinking.
learning about history:	I think history is make-believe.
decorating the house for christmas:	Sure.
taking surveys:	No, especially when the questions aren't hard hitting, like these last few ones.
talking on the phone:	No and I NEVER will.
Finish the Sentence..........
I went to the grocery store and bought...:	I can't go to the store without buying a box of Oh's cereal. I have three boxes in my kitchen as we speak.
I can't see the...:	Subtitles for any movie. When will cinematographers learn that small print in a weird font is impossible for us viewers who purposely don't wear glasses or contacts and are legally blind? Cater to my laziness, please.
Me llamo...:	Raul.
The last concert I went to was...:	American Idol Live! Yeah, it was something I just needed to see and be a part of. Check your insecurities at the door.
I haven't seen my best friend since...:	I haven't seen my Galva best friend, Molly, in a while. Haven't seen my IC best friends since this last weekend, haven't seen my college best friends, Kimi and Tara, for years
I have a huge fasination with...:	spelling and grammar. Fascination is spelled wrong. Bad spelling really annoys me.
My passion is...:	Traveling. I love airports, I love packing, I love waking up in new places. I need to leave the country asap.
I can't live without my...:	ID and debit card. I never carry cash so without it, I'm screwed.
Okay, Last Question.
What is your main goal for the new year?:	To be in the best shape of my life, mentally and physically. And to be crazy-rich.
FIN

I'm going on hiatus from blogging for a bit, but I'll be back sometime. Until then, keep it real.

Things that I am Already Over in 2007

• I'm over the Chicago Bears and/or their "fans." Specifically, girls. I have never, ever heard of so much Bears-related commotion as I have in the last few weeks. People who have no knowledge of football, the NFL, or simply the Bears have sprung up everywhere and weirdly are all doing the Superbowl Shuffle, loving orange and blue everything, wearing jerseys with last names they have never heard of/can barely pronounce, and are also updating their Facebook status to reflect that they're doing something Bears-related and LOVING it. Uh, really? Because yesterday, you didn't even know that the Bears were anywhere near Superbowl status, but because you're from "Chicago" aka Naperville, now all of a sudden you can't get enough of the Bears, and are just THRILLED that they are in the Superbowl? Shuffle all you want, poser, but I still think you suck. Hey bandwagon.
• I'm over sideways peace signs and pouty-lipped pictures. Um, I know we live in the age of Facebook photo albums and MySpace insanity, but really...how many times can you take a picture of yourself and/or your friends doing that stupid peace sign and making that stupid face? You don't look sexy, you don't look gangster, but you do look stupid. Stop it. I'd even be happy with the end of pouty lip pictures. It's way overkill, people. Preposing pictures is not original. Take a picture of your friend grinding drunk on the dancefloor with some dumbfuck Frat ass at The Summitt, instead. I think those pictures are much more realistic and entertaining.
• I'm over vandalism. More specifically, vandalism by drunk college idiots. Guys especially. Everytime I walk around Iowa City, signs are broken, construction sites have cones everywhere, branches are broken from trees, glass is pretty much underneath every footstep, and vomit is so nicely splattered across every street, sidewalk, and pretty much every possible surface imagineable, including the hallway in my apartment building. Sometimes I get the viewing pleasure of witnessing some jackass karate-kick a parking meter, repeatedly. As if there's a score to settle. Seriously, after the bars, just go home. Directly. Avoid eye contact with any and all meters. I agree, they have it coming sometimes, but just let it go. Save the destruction for your own personal property, such as throwing your computer out of your window. When I see the destruction of such property, I feel much better about life. I feel happy knowing that you're going to wake up in the morning (hopefully) and consequently see the aftermath of your night-out, as well as see what a complete and utter jackass you are. Maybe you'll learn something, who knows? It's a crazy world.
• I'm over being in this mood. Better days lie ahead.

From: Lucker, Richard
Sent: Friday, January 12, 2007 12:55 PM
To: All--PEM;IOWA State Assessments Staff
Subject: hey ppl everyone

I know this isn’t for work but I’m lookin for a Med.-XL size puppy or dog. My last one ran away when I went to Indiana for vacation and left him with my best friend. Must be good with kids. I am willing to pay for it. Thank you for your time.
Richard Lucker


From: Sumner, Ryan
Sent: Friday, January 12, 2007 2:11 PM
To: Lucker, Richard
Subject: RE: hey ppl everyone

Dear Richard:

Dogs do not like you. When your last dog ran away, it wasn’t just a silly prank. He hated you. He hated you, he hated the Hoosiers, and he hated your best friend. Seriously, who’s your best friend? Cruella De Vil? And what do you have against small dogs? I bet your last dog was a Chihuahua and the only reason he ran away was because he just wasn’t BIG enough for you, was he? No matter what that poor dog did, nothing was ever good enough because he didn’t measure out to be size “Med.-XL.” Dog’s aren’t Tshirts, Richard. You don’t special order dogs by size. Do you think that by getting a bigger dog that it’s going to cover up the smaller issues in your life? Get real. Buy a Hummer. Dogs come in all shapes and sizes and your last dog wouldn’t have hit the streets so suddenly if you weren’t such an ignorant buffoon.

And do you think Darice Keating is going to appreciate finding an email in her inbox with the subject of “hey ppl everyone” ?? Next time, put the extra 5 seconds into spelling out the word people. P-E-O-P-L-E. I know vowels are a total waste of space, but at certain times, like when you send an email to the ENTIRE company, vowels come in handy.

Also, good with kids? Um, you have kids? Honestly…should you be reproducing? What if one of your kids was a midget? Would you just drop them off at your best friends, too until, WHOOPS, he jumped out the window in the middle of the night and took off on a one-way trip to GuadalaMexiRico in hopes of finding a new family that will accept him for who he is.

And I’m real glad you’re “willing” to pay for this Med-XL dog idea of yours. What, as if someone’s going to be like, “Here, Richard, take my dog. FREE. On the house! Here, have my wife, too. She’s yours!"

You are a real piece of work, Richard Lucker.

Sincerely,

Ryan Sumner

I really think that laughter is the best medicine. While Vicodin sometimes makes my world a better place, I'd rather have my stomach hurt from laughing than be in a comatose state-of-being for 7 hours. Living in Iowa City, you'd think that my priorities were out of order, but just go with me on this.

There are other times I feel void of all emotion. I couldn't even tell you the last time I cried. I've had a lot of people die or fall ill, even then, it's like I have to imagine the time Uncle Jesse almost moved out of the Tanner household and Michelle gurggled out "I'll miss you Uncle Jesse." Sometimes that scenario helps my eyes produce a glossy sheen and if I blink 80,000 times in a row at the speed of light, eventually a tear might fall out? That's pretty much my preparation for fake crying. It's a struggle. If only I were Sally Struthers and surrounded by orphans--then, and only then, would my emotions come more easy.

The weird thing is, I used to be SUCH a crybaby. Oh, we're not going to Pizza Hut even though I earned a free personal pan pizza from my Book It award? Fine Mom, I'm never speaking to you again! Wah! Cue instantaneous sobbing rage. Oh, the ant just died on 'Honey, I Shrunk the Kids'? Cue emotional meltdown.

But, cut to 5 years ago when my best friend died in a car accident-I'm like Stone Cold Steve Austin, minus the muscle and goatee. Actually, minus the goatee--I've been working out. Anyway, I'm still unable to produce a tear or even a slight shake in my voice. What's WRONG with me?

Don't answer that.

Now laughing...I'm more than capable of this. I'm one of those annoying people who find it best to laugh after throwing my head back, opening the airways, and belting out a loud, shout-like laugh that is nothing short of pure obnoxiousness. I find humor in so many things, that I can't help but to show my appreciation. But before you jump to conclusions, there are, of course, those few individuals who I find NO humor in, even if they're typically regarded as being funny. One such instance is this bitchy girl at work who I refer to as "the Queen Bee" which ironically has nothing to do with work. You know when there's a group of friends that hang out a lot together, but there's always that one individual that kind of runs the show? She's it. Anyway, so this girl is flipping through this catalog like there's no tomorrow, and all of a sudden she goes, "Oh.My.God. Butter pecan ice cream is the shit-nizzle" ...which was said in this "ch'yah, like totally" valley accent.

Really? Is it that good and did you really need to put nizzle at the end of shit? Get out of my face. And honestly, take off that scarf. You're indoors. I think your neck will survive, and will probably thank you later. And also, I know you're proud of your recent g-string purchase at Lane Bryant, being that everytime you sit down you expose the entire world to it's thin-wedgie glory. However, maybe you should take that g-string out of your ass and use it to floss your snaggled teeth with.

The other emotion I deal with frequently is hostility.

Hey new year.

I'd typically take this opportunity to fill in an entire entry of allll 8, 485, 937 resolutions I'd like to make this year, but today it hit me...resolutions are useless. I'm not going to change something about my life just because a 6 became a 7. Resolutions have to have more meaning than that. You have to WANT to change. I don't know if I want to change anything. Sure, I'd like to eat less pasta this year. Carbs, you know. Who cares though?

What's more important is that I had a new revelation today, be it the new year, or be it a quiet, lackluster day. But I still thought of something. I thought about how I would like to change myself by simple observation of people close to me.

There are things I see in friends and family that I'd like to inherit this year. Compassion, confidence, commitment...I know the C's are redundant, but it's completely coincidental. Oops!...I did it again.

There are also things I want to observe, and have already observed, that reflect characteristics and attributes that I don't want to see in myself, or be caught possessing. Rudeness, arrogance, selfishness, laziness, greed. I've seen this in people, and while it's not something that would make me sever a friendship or relationship over, it simply reminds me that I don't want to embody that attribute and have it be seen as my own.

I'll have to finish this thought later -- my elbows hurt. Actually, this horse is dead. Let's make glue.

Disjointed? Yes.

Interesting? Perhaps.

I don't write for you, I write for myself.

Just FYI.

Sometimes I get in a really good mood, and I'll start thinking that I have a crush. I love crushes. They're so fun for so many reasons. That feeling of newness: new excitement, new possibilities...newness is always an interesting feeling.

Maybe it's the false sense of hope that I enjoy the most. Either way, crushes occupy time, and I could certainly use a few interruptions.

For some reason, I have this aversion to laziness. I hate being lazy. I always get this feeling of "What else could I be doing besides laying on the couch? There's so much going on outside, or somewhere else, and YOU'RE MISSING OUT! Hurry!"

That feeling really annoys me. Why can't I lay in bed for an insane amount of time without feeling like I should be going somewhere, doing something, or seeing somebody? I blame my Mother. I don't blame her too much, since, afterall, she's my biggest fan. But for my entire life, my Mom got out of bed and started her day at 5am. Seriously, 5:04am at the latest. My Mom does more in a day than I do in a week.

So, while my Mom is saving the world on Saturday mornings, I'd be laying in bed waiting for Aladdin to come on TV. This was about 15 years ago, but there's a very good chance that this could reoccur on any Saturday morning, both present and future. Anyway, as soon as I heard the theme song "Arabian Niiiiiiiights, like Arabian Daaaaays," I'd instantly fall back asleep. I just needed to hear the jingle to know that everything was okay, and it was safe to sleep. I used to do the same thing on Sunday nights, but with Baywatch. "I'lllllll be ready" put me to sleep instantaneously. It wasn't like I fell asleep out of boredom, it was just the peace of knowing that it was safe to fall asleep at any point in the next half hour. Like comfort food, these were comfort jingles.

I was physically incapable of falling asleep during a TV show that I did not like. If I heard the M*A*S*H jingle come on, it's like I couldn't change the channel quick enough. I'd never be able to fall asleep during that. I don't care how long that show stayed on air--it was stupid.

I can remember one Christmas, my whole family was going to travel to Indiana to spend the holiday with my Grandma, Grandpa, and Aunt Sandy. This presented a problem though. I felt like I was abandoning my stuffed animals during a very important time. I mean, how would I feel if I had to spend Christmas in the closet? Oh wait...

Anyway, I wouldn't like that at all.

So I gathered up alllllll of my stuffed animals. We're talking about A LOT of stuffed animals. I had a thing for them because, at that point in my life, I wanted to work at a zoo therefore housing 75 animals of all sorts and sizes was a prerequisite to my future. Although, I sometimes had a problem with my Popple. I was always faced with the uncertainty of "What animal are you supposed to be?!" I always felt like my Popple was so alone amid the lions, tigers, and bears...or at least scared for his life. Therefore I positioned them on seperate sides of the bed. I think he felt more at ease with the Gloworms. Anyway, I literally positioned all of my stuffed animals in an upright and alert position on my bed. I wanted them to share the holiday together, since I couldn't be there. How weird. The only reason I thought about this was because during my last trip home, I went up to the attic to look for some Christmas lights. During my search I ran across some old friends sitting in a box haphazardly. This didn't sit right with me, so I gave them a quick hello and positioned them tightly together in the box so that they could keep warm up in that cold, cold attic.

It's fun revisiting your childhood. Even when you think you're all grown up, you can hear or see something that takes you back to where you started. I know for a fact that if I saw Mrs. Jacobson (my 5th grade teacher) tonight, I'd still have a HUGE crush on her, even though she's so not my type. At all.

I'd probably still ask her how to pronounce a word from a story I was reading during library time, even though I knew how to pronounce, spell, and define every word in the book.

How do you end the constant replay? How do you let yourself accept the fact that it's over...for good? How do you move on?

How?

I wish I knew because I can't seem to do it. Just get over it...like it's that easy. I can't stop replaying the moments. Or should I say THE moment. The moment I knew. The moment I knew that goodbye was inevitable and that their would be no more hello's.

We were great talkers. We could talk for hours on end, mostly about nothing, but it meant everything. Our words were everything, it's all we had. Then came our time together. At first it was weird. It was like I had to prove myself, I had to show you the reasons why you should love me forever. That's so sad.

But we seemed to click. Right? Or was that just me?

Shit. That was totally just me.

So, maybe we didn't click. I met your friends. They loved me. I think. I tried really hard to fit into your life, or atleast I tried to make it a seamless transition. This was accomplished by swallowing all of my fears in order to make it work. Now that I think about it, how did I do it? I was so scared, but I couldn't let you know that...let alone SEE it. My heart is always worn on my sleeve, but I sometimes roll them up.

I didn't sleep much that night. You did though. You slept next to me, without stirring, while I pondered our existance. Why was I even there? Granted I didn't want to be sleeping anywhere else but beside you, but I wonder, did it mean the same to you?...as it did to me?

I couldn't sense it, if it did. I eventually fell asleep. I had a dream--you were in it. I woke up 2 hours after I had fallen asleep. It was 4:46.

I kept dreaming the same dream that entire night. It started and stopped, started and stopped. But it was always the same. And you were always in it. People dream when they want more out of life. Sometimes a dream is the only chance we get to find what we're looking for. Sometimes a dream is the only way we get what we want. Sometimes a dream is the only time our feelings feel real. Sometimes a dream is as close as we get. That dream was just a dream, and it was all I had.

At 4:46 you were snoring.

That morning when I woke up, the dream was over.
And so were we.

Wait, did I already tell you that story before? Oh you hadn't heard? Yeah, that's just a small part of my life that's been on the backburner...simmering.

Of course you didn't know. No one seems to know. I have two older brothers -- Scott & Michael. They're 10+ years older than my sister, Kelly, and myself. For my parents, it was kind of like growing up with two sets of children. They raised the two boys upon the flowing countrysides of Illinois, literally in the middle of a cornfield. Nine years later, out comes the first girl. Then me. And here we are. I'm the baby and the most special, of course. People always assume it's just us two. For all of my life it's been Kelly and Ryan. Don't forget about the first two. They're important.

I don't know why but it just tastes so good. Mom always reached on tip toes for the brown box on the highest shelf in the middle cupboard, just above the marshmallows and popcorn kernels. She made me pudding because she knew I loved it. Now, Jello Pudding Cups always make my day better. For whatever reason. I just love it. Once from a box, now from a cup.

Do you still think about me? I still think about you. All of the time.

If I'm running late, I've been known for skipping the entire event. For some reason, I'd rather be seen as absent than late. I told her I didn't come because I was in the hospital. That was a lie. I didn't come because I was late. Afterwards, she came to the hospital to visit me. They couldn't find my name on the ER list. I wasn't there, obviously. Even though I lied, I learned that shrewd, mean woman who seemingly hated me...cared enough to make sure I was okay.

I didn't feel a thing, although I did see a light. My best friend Donna and I are home alone at my town-house in Galva, Illinois. Meterologist James Zahara is on the TV saying a tornado is coming and to hide in your bathtub. Donna and I run into the basement instead and hide underneath the ping pong table. I used to be so good at ping pong, but maybe my Dad was just letting me be good. I don't know. I always kicked Donna's ass, though. So, we're hiding, hoping something cool happens. And it did. A pole comes smashing through the basement window, powerlines still attached. It stretches past the ping pong table and the live wires dance happily, with one asking me to join. They clung to my body, even though I tried to get away. Too slow. Electrocuted on the basement floor. Two weeks later I woke up in a hospital bed, Mom was watching One Life to Live beside me. Little did she know I had two.

"Actually, we have another one in the back, he's kind of rowdy though." From the moment I touched him, I knew.

So, I'm cruising around Davenport, handing out resumes left and right. I stopped at the TV news offices, stopped at a couple of newspaper places. Stopped at the mall. I was hungry from all that desperation. Popped into A&F and tried on a pair of jeans. The more holes the better I thought. Out pops this quirky, funky girl. "Hey, have you ever thought about a job with A&F" she says to me. "Um, no, but here's my resume." 20 laps around the mall later on a pop-up interview, I'm hired. "Move to Iowa City, it has the best store around." she popped out of the door to say as I walked away. Flash forward a year - little did I know it contained some nasty, evil people. A few good ones, though too. I remember having a hicky on my very first day. I wore a zip-up sweater to conceal it. It was August. I popped the collar. I know, I'm ashamed. So poppy. Ay, papi.

"It's seriously coming down hard, I hate walking in the rain..." I said, standing under the brick building overhang. "C'mon, let's just go." he shot back with a smile.

I remember sitting at my desk in my comfy little dorm room, fixing, primping...making it perfect, thesaurus at my side. I walked to class without a shred of hope, "She'll hate it." I thought. I read it aloud, with the six of us around the table, critiquing. "Ryan Sumner, you ARE a writer" she said. Knowing the kind of person she was, and how much I feared her, she changed my life with those very words.

Can I ask you a question? Can I kiss you?

I left her outside. I was cold, wet, and miserable...I had to go in. She stayed behind. I took off my snowsuit, took off my boots and gloves and placed them next to the smoldering wood embers within the fireplace. My parents went outside, leaving me alone with my brothers who let me watch a scary cartoon -- something where Donald Duck had pointy teeth and a vengeance. I cried under my sheets for my sister, and because Donald was acting so different. Where had she gone? In my mind, all I can remember is them finding her outside, alone. I cried for her. I didn't mean to leave. I don't even know if she knows it happened. I don't even know if it happened. It still hurts, though.

Why did I stay in the backseat like that? He got out, she got out. I stayed in. Was it weird for you, too? Probably. I came off cold. I didn't mean to. Actually, I really didn't mean to. Things didn't go as I hoped they would. I think it was my fault. I carry that guilt around to this very day. That was a long plane ride home.

"Look, Bennett -- 'All About Beans!'" it read. 10 books, 1 g-string, and 3 beers later, it was the best after hours I had been to.

Since I was too young to remember, she told me the story. However, my brothers weren't too young, and they remembered all too well. She cried as she remembered. It was the worst day of her life. It was the worst feeling of her life. "He would have killed us all. He wrote it down on his suicide note. He wanted us dead." She hid us kids in the coat closet at the bottom of the stairs and stood in front of the door, the phone to her ear waiting for my Dad to pick up. "Get here now, he's trying to get in!" She remembers screaming...my Dad remembered hearing. He came just in time. 2 shots later, we were safe.

I sat on that beach, so alone, but the blue was so amazing.

I hope my life never ends. So interesting, so far.

Look at you. Completely helpless, dirty, begging me to spare your miserable life. I have needs too.

I don't want to give you up. I don't want to stop liking you. I don't want to stop thinking about you, thinking about when the next time I'll see you, the next time I'll taste you.

But at the same time, I don't want to think that just because your life sucks, mine should too.

I didn't ask to be who I am, or the position I was put in. I didn't ask for any of it. But yet you want me to completely change my life around for you? Like it's so easy?

I wish I could, but I can't.

I love meat.

Sorry PETA.

*Please do not eat Butterball, Tyson, Oscar Meyer, or any other processed meat. They're mean to the turkeys, chickens, cows, pigs, and other animals. It's sick. But at the same time, I can't be a vegetarian. I'm WEAK. I'll only consult my local dairy and butcher for meat and dairy products from now on.*

So, can I be depressing for a second?

Sweet, thanks.

Sometimes, do you ever feel like you're going to die alone?

I do.

There's something very disturbing about leaving for work in darkness, and then leaving work, only to find that the night never left.

The last few months have been devestatingly hard, perhaps my hardest yet. In this time I've seen countless obstacles that, for me, I've easily maneuvered past; while others have swallowed me whole.

You know me. Well, some of you do. I try to take control over everything in my life. No, I won't try to control your life, I'm just protective of my own. You treat me well? You have a place in my heart. You treat me poorly? You'll never be seen again. That's just the way it is. I keep those whom I KNOW are there for a reason. I feel like there are quite a few people like that in my life, and for that I am truly blessed. But I know that there are those who don't hold my best interest, those who don't think twice...and for you, goodbye.

I can't control how I feel. I can't control what happens to me. I can't control situations that arise. I can't control the lurid thoughts and doubts that haunt me. I can't control my life.

I can control my reaction though. I control what and who my life contains, and sometimes I misjudge, but often I don't. I can control how I tolerate misgivings, or what I can do to get past. I can control what really, truly matters...and let go of the rest. As someone once said, there's a beauty in just letting go. And it is beautiful.

I've let go of an insecurity this week. Humility. I've told a few people how amazing humility is. Humility shows you how to be human. It shows you that no one is perfect, and that no matter what you do to prevent bad things from happening, shit happens. Like a broken nose. Believe it or not, it made me a better person. I've always believed that God is in control of my life, and those obstacles He places in front of me are for a reason. Not my reason, but for one reason. To be a better person. And it happened. I still have many, many flaws...I'll admit that to anyone. But in this one moment, I learned something that I'll quite possibly never forget, nor would I ever want to forget. I'm imperfect. Beautifully imperfect.

Embrace imperfection. Keep humility in your heart. Allow yourself to be at the bottom, to learn and grow once again regardless of how old you are, or how much you have already been through. I'm not trying to be preachy, and I'm not trying to make a point. I'm reflecting on what has been a traumatic and stressful period of my life...and though it has caused me sleepless nights and endless uncertainty--I'm blessed that it has given me the opportunity to witness it, the courage to get through it, and the dignity to move on.

Life is so incredibly unyielding, and persistent, but so beautiful. Life isn't controlled and I can't control my life.

And for that, I'm thankful.

Medication.

I really need medication. Before you jump to conclusions or suggestions, it's sleeping medication that I need. That I deserve. I feel like I haven't slept in days. Like no matter how much I try, something's in the way. Something's stopping me from having dreams. There's plenty of factors to blame. My roommate keeps odd hours. He's awake at the worst time. That 3 am til 5 am bracket. I wake up to hear whatever he Tivo'd. To hell with Tivo. It allows him to record everyhing and anything he wants so that he can watch it at a time when any normal person should be sleeping. I haven't been normal for months. I wake up to hear the foggy details of Lost, or I'm kept up to speed with every movement of the Amazing Race people. Someone give me a medal for biting my tongue. I deserve one, too. It's okay, I'll just not sleep through this hour. This night. This week.

Seriously, go to bed. I have to be awake during the daylight hours and for what seems like my entire existance here, I've been awake during the night ones, too.

Buster is also cramping my style. I really need to remedy our situation. He sleeps right next to me, no matter where I move to in the bed. Literally, right by my side, always touching my leg, my back, my arm, my hand, my finger, all in some facet. People move during normal sleep. If I move, well then that requires me to move Buster.

And that whole scene is 100% my fault. He's been sleeping with me since he was a pup, since the very first day I've had him. Every night. Every single night. It's a great feeling to have his cute little face to wake up to, but seriously, it's ruining something, too. It's my fault, though. I still love him like no other.

SO sleep deprived. I sleep in silence. No TV in the room. No music. No fan. No nothing.

The windows of my bedroom keep the cold air out, but let every noise outside IN. I swear, it's as if I can hear the worms crawling through the mud down below. And this is from three stories up. I never noticed how many firetrucks, police cars, and ambulances are strolling down this God forsaken street at every God forsaken hour. Seriously people, could you drive yourself to the hospital or buy a fire extinguisher? I really need my sleep. Let's not jump to extremes right away.

I remember when I looked at the clock. Last night it was 3:28, 3:47, 4:52, 5:01, and 6:51. And oh, 6:51 was the absolute worst being that my alarm clock goes off at 6:53. Two minutes, are you fucking kidding me? I shut my eyes so tight thinking that two minutes could give me everything I need and that I'll be able to get up better if I just sleep for these two long minutes.

The alarm goes off, and all I can think about is how much I just want for the world to freeze for a minute. For the traffic to stop. For the loitering drunks to pass out. For the television in the living room to not work. For my roommate to go to bed. For Buster to sleep on the floor. For my eyes not to open. And for my brain not to stir.

Something has to change.

Sometimes I seriously think that I could spend ALL DAY on YouTube. It's so brilliant, $1.65 billion seems a little cheap to be the selling price. Way undersold.

I seriously just watched 3 hours worth of videos about funny cats.

Oh, life.

Okay, so now that all of that drama is over, I can begin writing normally again. Well, semi-normal. For some odd reason I can't remember what it was that I wanted to blog about, but trust me, you would have loved it. It had something to do with Disney movies...no wait, it didn't have anything to do with Disney movies, but it was similar in some way...

Hmm. I'm sitting here thinking, hold on. This blog is kind of in real-time, as they say. Umm.

Oh yes.

Romantic Comedies, let's discuss.

So, for any of you whom actually know me, you'll know that I'm a die-hard romantic comedy fan. Perhaps borderline romance/chick flick fan. I'm going to list some of my favorite ones, in no particular order because I'm not that obsessed to the point that I created an order:

1. Under the Tuscan Sun
2. Never Been Kissed
3. The Notebook
4. 50 First Dates
5. Can't Buy Me Love
6. Love, Actually
7. You've Got Mail
8. Short Circuit (I'll explain this later)
9. The Wedding Singer
10. My Best Friend's Wedding

Okay, so, I'll be honest and let you all know that I haven't seen all of these movies in their "entirety" due to the fact that I fall asleep during movies VERY easily, regardless of their entertainment value. And let's not forget the fact that I have the reputation for imaginatively placing myself in the role of the heartbroken, victimized, and looking-for-love single person in every movie, which is usually the lead character. So, with that, it's easy to say that I sometimes get distracted during the movie.

Anyway, Under the Tuscan Sun is one of those movies I haven't seen all the way through, but from what I did see, I LOVED it. First of all it takes place in Europe, so automatically the romance-meter already goes up quite a few degrees. Secondly, all of the people in the movie are fantastic looking, so it's really hard to not get caught up in this flick. I have the feeling I'll be at Blockbuster very soon searching for a "previously viewed" copy to buy. Hmm, desperate? Maybe.

Never Been Kissed...not the story of my life, thank God, but still something I can relate to. I don't know that I've kissed the love of my life yet either, but have definitely kissed a person here and there.

The Notebook. This movie will basically just make you feel that no matter what relationship you've been in, none of them could remotely compare to the relationship that Noah and Allie had. The emotion between the two of them was so THICK, it was great and bad all at the same time. Great to see that kind of passion, but bad because I haven't experienced anything even remotely like it. Some day...

50 First Dates gets my vote for one reason: dedication. Adam Sandler's character was so dedicated to Drew, that regardless of some very discouraging circumstances, he pursued what he was after until the end. That's very noteworthy in my book. Unless I'm uninterested, then you need to know when to call it a day.

I don't really know how Can't Buy Me Love got put on this list. What was I thinking? I can't even really think of anything to say about this movie. I really should have replaced this slot with Must Love Dogs.

Now, for Love, Actually. This movie is fantastic. It's funny and it also makes you want to step out your front door and find someone British to love and have marry you. If you're not up for loving Brits, don't watch the movie. Plus it ties in a Christmas feeling, which is one of my most favorite feelings, so it really does a number on the insides.

You've Got Mail is great, but primarily because it takes place in a book store and book stores are HOT.

Now Short Circuit will make you fall in love with a robot. That's why it's so great. I never really feel sympathetic and emotional towards robots, but this time is different. And I guess I also sympathize because I've met a few robots in my day.

I can't tell you how excited I get when The Wedding Singer is played on TBS or some other shitty cable station. And let's keep in mind the fact that I own the DVD, but for some reason the TV version is so much more appealing. And I also wouldn't mind if a string quartette played "Don't Stop Believing" at my wedding. Assuming I get married. Even if I don't get married I'm still going to fulfill my dream of having 10 children.

And last but not least is My Best Friend's Wedding, which I can't really decide if I like this movie for its content, or just for the opener where Ani DiFranco sings Wishing and Hoping and a bride and her bridesmaids dance around to it. I really relate to that song though because it's really all that I ever do these days.

I am such a victim.

...and then I hear a whisper, that this too shall pass.

I learned something.

I learned that I lose and/or have lost everything; my keys, my phone, my sanity, my faith in people. Never ask me to hold onto something. Never assume that I have everything when I leave the door, or a cab for that matter. Me? Leave the keys that unlock the most important possessions I own in a cab? Never...oh, whoops, I did actually. But more importantly, after the first loss I continued to lose. And lose and lose and lose. Possessions, feelings, hope, trust, respect...

I learned that no one will take care of you, except yourself. No one cares that you're stranded, that you're ridden with worry and helplessness, that you're alone, that you need somebody...ANYBODY. No one cares about that. No one cared at all.

I learned that the lake made me feel small. Smaller than I had already felt. I felt so small that it made me wonder...if I had drowned myself in that big, beautiful lake, would anyone notice? Well, yeah...when I didn't show up for work and when my rent didn't get paid - somebody would have eventually caught on. I think.

I learned that people aren't always what they seem, no matter how much you hope and dream. It's funny to think that I talked about "rock bottom" only to realize this was my rock bottom. And those rocks were sharp...really sharp. The scars reveal everything. Thanks for calling. Thanks for caring. Thanks for giving a damn what happened to me that miserable day and the day after. That was real sweet of you. You shouldn't have! Oh wait, you didn't.

I learned that it's possible to walk for miles and miles and never realize that your feet are blistered and that your leg muscles quit 3 miles back. I walked so fast, and so much, I'm just now realizing what I did and how amazing it is that I did it. No one will understand this concept because I experienced this on my own, alone. The seagulls will understand though. I hope they're reading.

I learned that your heart is often wrong. Follow your heart, the saying always goes. Really? No, don't do that. Your heart doesn't have its own brain. Follow the brain in your head. I didn't follow my brain this ENTIRE weekend. I followed my heart--it too let me down and now feels slightly heavy.

I learned how special home really is. Home is where I should of been. Would I change anything about leaving home and going there to go through all that? YES. Perhaps, all of it. All regret. I'm man enough to admit that I regret my decisions. I didn't grow from this. I made a mistake. Actually, I made mistakes. But I learned from them.

I learned a lot this weekend. And I'm happy that I'm home, safe and sound. No one knows that though, but me. No one asked.

I'm down, I'm battered, I'm sore, I'm tired, and I'm broke...but I'm home. Thanks for nothing.

Oh, hey September.

Forgot you were here. I haven't even really been that busy, not sure what my problem has been lately. Blogging is similar to working out--the benefits are AMAZING but who really has the time? Well, I do, it's just a matter of using that time for creative and positive purposes.

Let me search my databanks and try to recall some issues that have been bothering me lately. Oh okay, Iowa City. For some reason, I've been living here for 3 years now and I don't really understand why. Actually, I do understand--it's my job, first and foremost. It's too good of an opportunity and too much money to discredit the location. Sometimes I feel like I never left college though, and that's the main problem. This was experienced when I went tailgating this weekend. Seeing people get obnoxiously drunk at 7 in the morning? Seriously? For instance, this one guy actually projectile vomited right in front of me at some random house we went to. Luckily I was out of the line of fire. It was overwhelming. I went to a private college and never really dealt with the "lifestyle" of a public university. I went my entire college career without even seeing a college football game, and I was okay with that. I worked every weekend at the YMCA teaching swim lessons, all so that I could make my car payments. I like to think that I bettered myself. So, when living in a college town, it's like you're in college again, except in a more intense setting. I'm looking for a different lifestyle than that. I should have known this ahead of time. I mean, I moved to Iowa City when I graduated college in 2004 due to the fact that I found a job where I could use my newly acquired degree.

Oh wait, no I didn't, I worked at Abercrombie & Fitch. What a waste of life. Actually, I take that back, it wasn't a complete waste. I did meet some amazing individuals, but I also met some complete assholes, too. That's OK though because, let me check, oh yeah...they still work there, and I'm sure there are many more A&F years to come for them. How do you stay in retail? Anytime someone would ask me where I worked at, I had to embarrassingly say "A&F" and then immediately change the topic. I wonder what it's like to do that year after year after year. I don't care what your title is, you're still a loser with a punk job.

Enough of that. Here's an endorsement for Febreze: Buy their outlet products. I swear to God, you buy the mechanism, plug it into the wall, and your place will smell like fresh laundry every day. It's AMAZING. It's not as amazing as waffle-cone fragranced garages, but it's pretty close to it.

Anti-climatic, right? I know.

More to come later when I have time to tell a story about yogurt and/or dogs with three legs.

I always have this dream where I write a memoir about my life and it becomes a NY Times bestseller, selling millions of copies, in fact, so many copies that it sets a record for selling the most amount of copies ever. And then Oprah wants it in her book club, and I'm on Larry King Live talking about the inspiration behind the book, and Lindsay Lohan is being hounded by the paparazzi, taking picture after picture of her with my book in hand--subject line being "Stars are just like us! They read Ryan Sumner's memoirs!" But you should also probably know that when I'm writing my memoirs, my hair is always really messy and I have thick glasses on.

And then I think about the financial gains from writing these memoirs, and I believe the fortune to be somewhere in the billion range, but the exact number puzzles me. For some reason, 3 billion dollars just doesn't seem to be enough these days.

Oh, 2006.

So, does anyone else HATE Jeffrey on Project Runway as much as I do? I really hope so. The guy has no talent and no chin. That nasty tattoo around his neck ISN'T cool nor is his haircut which looks like Corkey from Life Goes On took a Flowbee to it after finding out his sister's boyfriend had AIDS and she was still kissing him on the railroad tracks, regardless.

Yeah, that's how much I dislike him. And he WON last night for making some ugly rockstar outfit, where the pants looked like some pajama bottoms I used to wear 20 years ago. And trust me people, you do NOT want to know what I was wearing 20 years ago.

Back then, I was really into Pound Puppies.

I think it's safe to say that we all know I have issues with aliens. Their existence in this world is undeniable (according to me) and it's only a matter of time before I come face to face with one.

Last Sunday, I inadvertently watched this show on the National Geographic channel, entitled...

(Hold on, I have to Google the name of the show because I can't remember what it was)

Aha..entitled "The UFO Phenomenon--Seeing is Believing."

And, OH!, actually before I start talking about that, on Saturday morning I watched this show called "UFOs over Illinois" and it talked about how on this one night in southern Illinois, this two-story UFO was flying around and was witnessed by over 7 people in 4 different towns (5 of the 7 witnesses were police officers). It was crazy because they all saw the same thing and one of the witnesses worked for the Air Force Base that is located in the area, and he confirmed that it was a non-registered, non-military sighting because the base was shut down on that night, so it wasn't like a top-secret plane that the Air Force was testing out. Plus why would the AF build a two-story "secret" plane? Russia would totally see that coming.

Silly rabbit.

Anyway, so back to the other alien show I was watching...so Peter Jennings was hosting it which is weird because he's dead, and I kept thinking to myself, I wonder what he looks like now? But I digress, so Peter is talking about how all of these UFOs have been seen by like 33,000 government and commercial pilots, and had all of these experts on talking about aliens and the reasons why they exist and he had this one scientist/professor who was the lead figure in disproving aliens and UFOs, but after all his studies he became a believer and lead this coalition in producing attention and money into creating programs that would help to scientifically prove that aliens exist. The show had SO many scientists, witnesses, and just ordinary citizens who all KNOW they saw something, but no one believes them. Why not believe them? Sure, they had on some freaks who were talking about how they were abducted by aliens in their sleep, and especially this one crazy lady who said that she was abducted from her home, was placed on a bed in the UFO and was introduced to this female alien who was holding onto an alien baby. The Earth lady goes, "Whose baby is that, is that my baby!?" and the alien lady goes "No, this isn't your baby, this is OUR baby."

Okay, yeah right lady. As if aliens know how to speak English and are capable of using a dramatic emphasis when saying OUR baby. dundunDUNNNN!

Now, what I didn't like about the show was that they would say, "Scientists disprove alien visitation on Earth for this, this, and this reason...but then they would follow up with a HOWEVER...and shoot off some random fact and show some scary UFO video footage.

Ugh, in all I was on a rollercoaster ride of beliefs and disbeliefs. What I did learn though was that aliens are here and they are queer, so get over it.

is equal to


So, after talking about this subject with a few people, I've decided that it would actually be best to put this opinion onto a textual platform. Here goes:

Now, I wouldn't consider myself a huge fan of fast food. Sure it typically tastes good and is relatively cheap, but it's not the best thing in the world to be eating. The places that I sometimes go for a fast, cheap meal would be Wendy's, Burger King, Taco Bell, and perhaps a few others. However, within the 4 or 5 times a year that I go to these places, the one restaurant that I consistently have a horrible time at is WENDY'S. The horrible-ness of every encounter is measured on many different levels. My main concern lies within the employee staffing. Without getting called a racist by my friends, I will just say that the majority (and by majority I mean each and every one) of the employees at EVERY Wendy's I have ever been to have always been staffed by unfriendly black people. This is similar to how every bank is staffed with unfriendly white people. The difference is that the mean bank people aren't handling food. I can handle having cocaine sediment on my dollar bills, but I can't handle having cocaine being used as a salt substitute. That sounds bad...unfriendly black people wouldn't waste cocaine like that.

Let me restate...

I can handle having a stripper's vagina juice all over my dollar bills, but I can't handle having a Wendy's employee spit a loogey on my hamburger as a makeshift spicy mayonnaise.


Now I'm not saying that it has ever happened, and if it did it tasted okay...but my point is the fact that I feel like the employees want to KILL me for merely stepping foot within their establishment. I'll walk up to the register and sure enough, here comes some girl with big fingernails and an even bigger attitude, freaking out on me because I wanted a Frosty instead of the drink that comes with my meal. Yeah, I want a Frosty INSTEAD of a drink, not a Frosty and a drink, and don't tell me I can't because I can.

Ohhhhh hell no I didn't.

Then she gives me the silent death treatment while all the others are in the back, staring at me without blinking. Well, this meal officially ended before it even got started. I wasn't hungry anyway.

I am not my hair!

And neither are you. Just be nice to me when I'm ordering a Frosty, okay sweetums?