So, I had yet another revelation last night. Well, it wasn't so much a revelation as it was a conclusion...
I think my V-Logs are on their way out the door. Here's my reasoning:
V-Logs are typically fun. I've had fun making them, I've had fun watching other people's v-logs, it's just a fun idea altogether.
BUT, and boy is it a big but, YouTube is such a buzzkill. You know why? People are ruthless on YouTube. Just down right mean and nasty. I can't tell you how many weird emails I've received via YouTube that are completely uncalled for and unnecessary and I hate to admit it but sometimes even scary. I received an email last night that really was an end-all of all end-alls. That one email (and trust me, there have been a few of similar nature but nothing like this) took all of the fun out of what I was trying to accomplish and extracted every last ounce of interest I had in continuing on. Like I said, for some reason, YouTube harbors undeniable hate. People love to be hateful on YouTube, and it's gone just a little too far. And by a little I mean a lot. Even more, I really can't keep putting myself out there only to be demeaned and threatened. It's totally not worth it.
Coincidentally, I recently watched someone else's reaction video to their own YouTube hate, and it got me thinking...he's absolutely right: inside somewhere deep and dark, YouTube enthusiasts are just a bunch of haters who don't even blink before leaving a nasty, unjust comment or sending a nasty, hate-filled email. Would these lurking YouTube haters ever verbalize such a thing, or do they talk to people in real life with such misery-filled, hate speech? Probably not.
But on YouTube, that's just the lay of the land. And I'm over it.
YouTube kills my self-esteem and for a soon-to-be 27 year old man, that's just not necessary. This isn't grade school.
Peace out, YouTube.
Blogspot is my baby anyway.
3.04.2009
3.03.2009
From One Fine Day
Melanie (Mom): Sammy, I swear, you'll be just fine here, there are lots of nice kids to play with.
Sammy: I don't want to play with them, they always make fun of me.
Melanie: Honey, don't worry about it, you'll be just fine, I promise. Hey, look it's superhero day! Oh wow, look at Spiderman.
Spiderman Kid: Hey, look, he doesn't have a costume! (points at Sammy)
Melanie: Sure he does, he's a superhero too, you know.
Spiderman Kid: He doesn't look like a superhero, he looks like a whiney baby poo poo face.
Sammy: Stares at his Mom
Melanie (Mom): Sammy, I swear, you'll be just fine here, there are lots of nice kids to play with.
Sammy: I don't want to play with them, they always make fun of me.
Melanie: Honey, don't worry about it, you'll be just fine, I promise. Hey, look it's superhero day! Oh wow, look at Spiderman.
Spiderman Kid: Hey, look, he doesn't have a costume! (points at Sammy)
Melanie: Sure he does, he's a superhero too, you know.
Spiderman Kid: He doesn't look like a superhero, he looks like a whiney baby poo poo face.
Sammy: Stares at his Mom
3.02.2009
This is going to be a week gifted from Hell. I'm in Milwaukee all week wrapping up a major state proposal. Crunch time...but, speaking of which (and more importantly) I could really go for an oversized bowl of Captain Crunch right about now. Although I must say that I can only handle so many crunchberries. In my mind, a perfect bowl would only contain about 8 or 9 crunchberries...and only the red kind, no blue. If you get too many of them, the cereal gets a little toxic--my teeth feel slime-coated while my stomach files claims of domestic abuse.
Much like the perfect chocolate chip cookie would only have about 4 or 5 chocolate chips.
However, it's been a good 10+ years since I've had a bowl of CC. Since then I've ventured in and out of my Fruit Loop days, generic fruit loop days, Lucky Charms days, generic Lucky Charms days (one bag only, SICK, and I swear the marshmallows shrivel into nothingness upon 5 milliseconds of milk submergence), Oh's days, and most recently, Apple Cinnamon Cheerios days, but in the spirit of embracing the ever-so-close-I-can-almost-feel-it arrival of Spring...it's all about the protein shake. That's it.
Although I went to the continental breakfast in the hotel lobby and snagged a donut on my way to work. It had sprinkles and I could not resist.
Yes, my life is disconnected. This post is merely one example.
Much like the perfect chocolate chip cookie would only have about 4 or 5 chocolate chips.
However, it's been a good 10+ years since I've had a bowl of CC. Since then I've ventured in and out of my Fruit Loop days, generic fruit loop days, Lucky Charms days, generic Lucky Charms days (one bag only, SICK, and I swear the marshmallows shrivel into nothingness upon 5 milliseconds of milk submergence), Oh's days, and most recently, Apple Cinnamon Cheerios days, but in the spirit of embracing the ever-so-close-I-can-almost-feel-it arrival of Spring...it's all about the protein shake. That's it.
Although I went to the continental breakfast in the hotel lobby and snagged a donut on my way to work. It had sprinkles and I could not resist.
Yes, my life is disconnected. This post is merely one example.
3.01.2009
2.28.2009
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.
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.
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.
1.23.2009
Today I read an online news article about the recent, massive peanut butter recall and found an excerpt to be of particular interest:
"Peanut butter lover Adam Leidhecker checked online to make sure his food is safe. He combed through his cupboard and found a few peanut butter cookies and crackers and threw them away if those companies hadn't released a statement stating their products were safe.
"The companies not affected need to take an extra step to say that they're on top of it," said Leidhecker, a Williamsport, Pennsylvania, resident.
He said he'll continue to eat his daily creamy peanut butter sandwich and slather peanut butter on a treat for his 2-year-old dog, Lola, after checking the products online.
"I'm not going to go without peanut butter," he said."
OK, kudos to Adam for ensuring every tablespoon of his PB intake was safe and salmonella-free. Good job. But, the nugget of fascination within this article was Adam's final statement, "I'm not going to go without peanut butter."
You see, this subtle statement reflects just one of the many attitude problems us Americans have and often overlook as just that--a problem: an unwillingness (or perhaps an all-out refusal) to go without. America is a land of have, not have not. We get what we want. We do what we want. And we don't take no for an answer. We're also completely dependent upon things to make us safe, happy, or healthy, rather than ourselves. We've seen this throughout our lifetimes, both on a social level and personal level.
Take for instance, Katrina. All were warned that the magnitude of the storm would be devastating and fatal for residents in its path. Some left their earthly possessions and escaped with their hides still attached. Others did not; some didn't want to leave their homes and belongings, some didn't care enough as they've braved other storms in the past, while some simply refused to leave on the basis that "they didn't want to." After all, they wanted to ride out the storm's fury in their own home, in the comfort of their familiarity.
Some residents did not have the means to leave, yes, I know.
For some victims of Katrina, they simply could not go without their stuff; therefore they stayed, and they paid. It's extremely unfortunate.
I've heard others say that "they could not go a day without their cell phone!" They'd simply die. Really? No you wouldn't. You'd be just fine. You'd still have a pulse, wouldn't you? Yes, your BFF wouldn't be able to hear about what you did last night, but you'd still be breathing. You'd be A-OK.
OMG, the internet is down. Now what!? It's practically equated to not having electricity. But I can't go without internet access!? How am I supposed to update my Facebook status message to alert my friends that I have no internet access, no cell phone, and no peanut butter?!
Pretty sure Native Americans were always without the internet, cell phones, and PB (and Facebook). And they did alright for themselves. Some even have bamboo flooring in their casino bar lounges. Fancy.
But Adam doesn't want to go without peanut butter, and neither does Lola. Well, Adam, I hope you continue to do your recall research since, life is simply not worth living if that PB sandwich doesn't hit your lips every day, as well as Lola's snout. You idiot. Yes, PB makers and distributors are putting the word on the street that their PB is indeed safe for consumption therefore we all can safely buy up their products with no fret whatsoever. As they should. But, you know what else is important? Your health. Don't be so ignorant and stubborn to say that you won't go without peanut butter, despite the iffy circumstances (I wanted to say Jiffy circumstances, but refrained). It's peanut butter. It's not a life-sustaining need, by any means. If there was a pacemaker recall, yeah, I'd say keep that pacemaker in your body until you officially hear otherwise. Don't stop using it.
But, again, this is about peanut butter. If you really, really tried, I bet you could go a couple of weeks without peanut butter. I swear! It probably wouldn't be that hard or harmful. You so could do it, Adam, I know it. And Lola would be just fine with the temporary withdrawal, too. Sure she might piss on your bedsheets or chew on your Old Navy flip flops in retaliation, but she'll eventually get over it. Slip her a Beggin' Strip to cool her jets in the meantime.
My point: don't take your life for granted. Life is precious. It's a gift. It should last for a long, long time. And as long as you have your health (and your dignity) you have everything you need. You can go without the rest.
My best to you during this difficult time.
"Peanut butter lover Adam Leidhecker checked online to make sure his food is safe. He combed through his cupboard and found a few peanut butter cookies and crackers and threw them away if those companies hadn't released a statement stating their products were safe.
"The companies not affected need to take an extra step to say that they're on top of it," said Leidhecker, a Williamsport, Pennsylvania, resident.
He said he'll continue to eat his daily creamy peanut butter sandwich and slather peanut butter on a treat for his 2-year-old dog, Lola, after checking the products online.
"I'm not going to go without peanut butter," he said."
OK, kudos to Adam for ensuring every tablespoon of his PB intake was safe and salmonella-free. Good job. But, the nugget of fascination within this article was Adam's final statement, "I'm not going to go without peanut butter."
You see, this subtle statement reflects just one of the many attitude problems us Americans have and often overlook as just that--a problem: an unwillingness (or perhaps an all-out refusal) to go without. America is a land of have, not have not. We get what we want. We do what we want. And we don't take no for an answer. We're also completely dependent upon things to make us safe, happy, or healthy, rather than ourselves. We've seen this throughout our lifetimes, both on a social level and personal level.
Take for instance, Katrina. All were warned that the magnitude of the storm would be devastating and fatal for residents in its path. Some left their earthly possessions and escaped with their hides still attached. Others did not; some didn't want to leave their homes and belongings, some didn't care enough as they've braved other storms in the past, while some simply refused to leave on the basis that "they didn't want to." After all, they wanted to ride out the storm's fury in their own home, in the comfort of their familiarity.
Some residents did not have the means to leave, yes, I know.
For some victims of Katrina, they simply could not go without their stuff; therefore they stayed, and they paid. It's extremely unfortunate.
I've heard others say that "they could not go a day without their cell phone!" They'd simply die. Really? No you wouldn't. You'd be just fine. You'd still have a pulse, wouldn't you? Yes, your BFF wouldn't be able to hear about what you did last night, but you'd still be breathing. You'd be A-OK.
OMG, the internet is down. Now what!? It's practically equated to not having electricity. But I can't go without internet access!? How am I supposed to update my Facebook status message to alert my friends that I have no internet access, no cell phone, and no peanut butter?!
Pretty sure Native Americans were always without the internet, cell phones, and PB (and Facebook). And they did alright for themselves. Some even have bamboo flooring in their casino bar lounges. Fancy.
But Adam doesn't want to go without peanut butter, and neither does Lola. Well, Adam, I hope you continue to do your recall research since, life is simply not worth living if that PB sandwich doesn't hit your lips every day, as well as Lola's snout. You idiot. Yes, PB makers and distributors are putting the word on the street that their PB is indeed safe for consumption therefore we all can safely buy up their products with no fret whatsoever. As they should. But, you know what else is important? Your health. Don't be so ignorant and stubborn to say that you won't go without peanut butter, despite the iffy circumstances (I wanted to say Jiffy circumstances, but refrained). It's peanut butter. It's not a life-sustaining need, by any means. If there was a pacemaker recall, yeah, I'd say keep that pacemaker in your body until you officially hear otherwise. Don't stop using it.
But, again, this is about peanut butter. If you really, really tried, I bet you could go a couple of weeks without peanut butter. I swear! It probably wouldn't be that hard or harmful. You so could do it, Adam, I know it. And Lola would be just fine with the temporary withdrawal, too. Sure she might piss on your bedsheets or chew on your Old Navy flip flops in retaliation, but she'll eventually get over it. Slip her a Beggin' Strip to cool her jets in the meantime.
My point: don't take your life for granted. Life is precious. It's a gift. It should last for a long, long time. And as long as you have your health (and your dignity) you have everything you need. You can go without the rest.
My best to you during this difficult time.
1.22.2009
I feel like I have to say this, just to get it out of my head:
OK, America. Barack is now President. Get over it and get down to business.
:)
Seriously. I know we're all happy, patriotic, life-loving citizens right now as we anticipate our hopes for prosperity, peace in the Middle East, economic stability, and unending tax breaks and refunds (booya!) to come true, but let's step back to reality. The party is over.
Yes, we have a new Prez. A good one, too. But, let him do his job. Get out of his way. Get over it. The world hasn't stopped for him, so neither should we.
Accordingly, no more commentary on how absolutely wonderful Barack is. He's not just a celebritized, political figure anymore. He's our President. He has a job to do. A real job. He's in charge of the free world...and what a mess it is. Let him get started. There's no more time for autographs.
While we're at it, don't expect him to endlessly say cheese! with Asian tourists or clap along to Mary J. Blige performances. No more US Weekly covers and interviews. No more scrutinizing everything Michelle Obama wears. No more chanting yes we can! (if you persist on the YWC! chants, just watch Bob the Builder, I believe he coined it first.)
I mean, you can just tell from the look on Obama's face that he's completely over the media love affair, over all of his celebrity BFFs, over seeing endless stockpiles of Obama memorabilia for sale (and probably slightly embarrassed that people spend their dwindling dollars on it), and more than likely over the massive Barack-themed orgies amongst our citizens. You can just tell he is ready to get to work. If you look closely, you can see in his eyes an immense passion to fix this country's woes...if only you could get past how gentle and friendly they are.
He wants you to hold him accountable for his promises, his lure, his beliefs, his ethics. He's ready to put all of that talk into reality. Make it happen. Make it more than just a hope.
Make him make it happen. He wants you to. He wants to do his job.
Turn off your ga-ga face and put on your game face. Get over your immense love affair for our now President and start monitoring the situation; what needs to be done, what he's doing, what he's not doing, and what he could do better. It's time to get to work. And he works for us.
Let's be real for five seconds: The US has a shit-ton of problems. Real ones. Most of which affect YOU. Or were started by YOU, in some respect. After all, it's YOU that bought a house you couldn't afford, it's YOU that didn't have a savings account in case you lost your job, it's YOU that can't pay your bills because your credit cards are maxed out and you're fronting your whole paycheck just to pay off the interest. It's YOU that pollutes the world by driving your car everywhere and then some, yet you blame Bush for global warming and the situation of those poor, poor polar bears. No, no...don't pass the buck--that's all on YOU, too.
So instead, let's focus on what needs to happen, what you need to do, what Barack needs to do, and let's end the celebrity fantasy obsession we have with our new administration.
They are elected citizens with crucial jobs to do. Hold them to their purpose. Closely.
And don't forget to do your job, too.
OK, America. Barack is now President. Get over it and get down to business.
:)
Seriously. I know we're all happy, patriotic, life-loving citizens right now as we anticipate our hopes for prosperity, peace in the Middle East, economic stability, and unending tax breaks and refunds (booya!) to come true, but let's step back to reality. The party is over.
Yes, we have a new Prez. A good one, too. But, let him do his job. Get out of his way. Get over it. The world hasn't stopped for him, so neither should we.
Accordingly, no more commentary on how absolutely wonderful Barack is. He's not just a celebritized, political figure anymore. He's our President. He has a job to do. A real job. He's in charge of the free world...and what a mess it is. Let him get started. There's no more time for autographs.
While we're at it, don't expect him to endlessly say cheese! with Asian tourists or clap along to Mary J. Blige performances. No more US Weekly covers and interviews. No more scrutinizing everything Michelle Obama wears. No more chanting yes we can! (if you persist on the YWC! chants, just watch Bob the Builder, I believe he coined it first.)
I mean, you can just tell from the look on Obama's face that he's completely over the media love affair, over all of his celebrity BFFs, over seeing endless stockpiles of Obama memorabilia for sale (and probably slightly embarrassed that people spend their dwindling dollars on it), and more than likely over the massive Barack-themed orgies amongst our citizens. You can just tell he is ready to get to work. If you look closely, you can see in his eyes an immense passion to fix this country's woes...if only you could get past how gentle and friendly they are.
He wants you to hold him accountable for his promises, his lure, his beliefs, his ethics. He's ready to put all of that talk into reality. Make it happen. Make it more than just a hope.
Make him make it happen. He wants you to. He wants to do his job.
Turn off your ga-ga face and put on your game face. Get over your immense love affair for our now President and start monitoring the situation; what needs to be done, what he's doing, what he's not doing, and what he could do better. It's time to get to work. And he works for us.
Let's be real for five seconds: The US has a shit-ton of problems. Real ones. Most of which affect YOU. Or were started by YOU, in some respect. After all, it's YOU that bought a house you couldn't afford, it's YOU that didn't have a savings account in case you lost your job, it's YOU that can't pay your bills because your credit cards are maxed out and you're fronting your whole paycheck just to pay off the interest. It's YOU that pollutes the world by driving your car everywhere and then some, yet you blame Bush for global warming and the situation of those poor, poor polar bears. No, no...don't pass the buck--that's all on YOU, too.
So instead, let's focus on what needs to happen, what you need to do, what Barack needs to do, and let's end the celebrity fantasy obsession we have with our new administration.
They are elected citizens with crucial jobs to do. Hold them to their purpose. Closely.
And don't forget to do your job, too.
1.21.2009
Sleepless gliding
Over the city lights
Watch us flying
Over the streets tonight.
And I say
There’s a way,
there’s a way, I know.
I know that someday we will surely find it.
Sunday morning
Watching the city sleep
Dreams are shining
Finely they’re within reach.
And I say
There’s a way,
there’s a way, I know.
Someday, there’s a way
Someday, there’s a way
I know it.
There’s a way,
there’s a way, I know.
4 AM
Kaskade
Over the city lights
Watch us flying
Over the streets tonight.
And I say
There’s a way,
there’s a way, I know.
I know that someday we will surely find it.
Sunday morning
Watching the city sleep
Dreams are shining
Finely they’re within reach.
And I say
There’s a way,
there’s a way, I know.
Someday, there’s a way
Someday, there’s a way
I know it.
There’s a way,
there’s a way, I know.
4 AM
Kaskade
1.15.2009
I've gotten quite a few emails concerning the fact that I no longer have the comment feature available on my blog, nor do I have commenting allowed on any V-Logs via YouTube.
And my collective answer to these emails is: Yes, you are correct, no commenting.
You want to know why? It's quite simple:
1) Comments really aren't necessary for me to do what I do, whatever that is.
2) People have access to my personal email as well as my YouTube messaging service if they feel compelled enough to comment on a blog or V-Log post, respectively. Use it, if you dare. If not, thanks for stopping by.
And my collective answer to these emails is: Yes, you are correct, no commenting.
You want to know why? It's quite simple:
1) Comments really aren't necessary for me to do what I do, whatever that is.
2) People have access to my personal email as well as my YouTube messaging service if they feel compelled enough to comment on a blog or V-Log post, respectively. Use it, if you dare. If not, thanks for stopping by.
1.12.2009
As soon as I stepped off the bus, I braced for the worst.
The snow, the wind, the cold;
It chapped my skin.
It stole my breath.
It hurt my heart.
I hurried down the sidewalk, my shoes slipping in the salty slush.
Any place on Earth, I'd rather be.
But here.
The gray snow sickened my core.
Ruined my mood.
Stopped my life.
But then I heard a shout.
I heard a laugh.
I saw two kids. One pulling the other in a sled.
He smiled as he pulled her. She laughed as she flew.
She leaned back and looked at the sky.
The snow, the snow fell softly on her face. Her smile widened.
His laugh grew.
The two noticed no cold, felt no misery.
My own childhood flashed before my eyes,
My sister and I flying so fast down that hill,
The snow crunching beneath.
Hour upon hour,
Up hill and down.
Our fingers numb, our feet wet, our bodies tired.
But our souls lighter than ever, our happiness full.
The two children went on.
Their smiles unyielding.
I went on, too.
As I turned back around, the cold took my breath again,
but this time, I let it.
And smiled.
The snow, the wind, the cold;
It chapped my skin.
It stole my breath.
It hurt my heart.
I hurried down the sidewalk, my shoes slipping in the salty slush.
Any place on Earth, I'd rather be.
But here.
The gray snow sickened my core.
Ruined my mood.
Stopped my life.
But then I heard a shout.
I heard a laugh.
I saw two kids. One pulling the other in a sled.
He smiled as he pulled her. She laughed as she flew.
She leaned back and looked at the sky.
The snow, the snow fell softly on her face. Her smile widened.
His laugh grew.
The two noticed no cold, felt no misery.
My own childhood flashed before my eyes,
My sister and I flying so fast down that hill,
The snow crunching beneath.
Hour upon hour,
Up hill and down.
Our fingers numb, our feet wet, our bodies tired.
But our souls lighter than ever, our happiness full.
The two children went on.
Their smiles unyielding.
I went on, too.
As I turned back around, the cold took my breath again,
but this time, I let it.
And smiled.
1.05.2009
Six month experiment: sobriety.
Yep, no more drinking. I'm ready for it, I think. It can only bring about a change that can do nothing but make me feel better, inside and out.
I'm tired of looking at lemons and limes, I'm tired of having to be in a different state of mind in order to have fun, I'm tired of seeing photos of blurry, watered eyes.
I'm tired of bars. I'm tired of booze. I'm tired.
Over it.
Sober Ryan.
Yep, no more drinking. I'm ready for it, I think. It can only bring about a change that can do nothing but make me feel better, inside and out.
I'm tired of looking at lemons and limes, I'm tired of having to be in a different state of mind in order to have fun, I'm tired of seeing photos of blurry, watered eyes.
I'm tired of bars. I'm tired of booze. I'm tired.
Over it.
Sober Ryan.
1.04.2009
There's some expression that says something to the effect of: even bad pizza is kind of good.
Well, here's the thing. So, I'm considering not drinking anymore because it's just not beneficial to my mental or physical health. But that's beside the point, sort of. I went out last night and had some drinks with John and apparently had too much because I've been hungover all day on top of having a slight cold. I laid in bed until 3:36 today. Sometimes sleeping, sometimes staring at the ceiling, sometimes staring at the glass of water on my nightstand, wishing it would refill itself somehow magically.
That is sort of beside the point, too.
Eventually I mustered up the energy to go to the convenient store in my building in order to buy something to eat. I wanted to get a pizza since it's just the easiest option. Well, all of the pizzas they offered were WEIRDO pizza. Not a single one was a recognizable brand name. EXCEPT Mystic Pizza. Yes, like the movie. Frozen Mystic Pizza. Weird. I've never seen the movie so the pizza didn't impress me on a first name basis. Also, the pizza pictured on the box looked mildly disgusting and pathetic, so I passed it up real quick.
The other frozen pizza was called Romano's. Yes, there were only 2 options. Mystic or Romano's. Whatever. No box for Romano's, just clear saran wrap, realllll ghetto-like. But at least it allowed me to see the pizza in order for me to make snap judgements more easily. There was no ego with this pizza, unlike the Mystic. Just from looks alone of the Romano's pizza itself, I knew it was going to suck. The cheese was very sparsely placed, the pepperonis looked all raggedy, and the crust looked extra stupid. Just one, big, stupid-looking pizza.
So I purchased it. And it sucked. It sucked bad.
But what was weird though, out of the eight slices, I managed to eat 6.
Without blinking.
Well, here's the thing. So, I'm considering not drinking anymore because it's just not beneficial to my mental or physical health. But that's beside the point, sort of. I went out last night and had some drinks with John and apparently had too much because I've been hungover all day on top of having a slight cold. I laid in bed until 3:36 today. Sometimes sleeping, sometimes staring at the ceiling, sometimes staring at the glass of water on my nightstand, wishing it would refill itself somehow magically.
That is sort of beside the point, too.
Eventually I mustered up the energy to go to the convenient store in my building in order to buy something to eat. I wanted to get a pizza since it's just the easiest option. Well, all of the pizzas they offered were WEIRDO pizza. Not a single one was a recognizable brand name. EXCEPT Mystic Pizza. Yes, like the movie. Frozen Mystic Pizza. Weird. I've never seen the movie so the pizza didn't impress me on a first name basis. Also, the pizza pictured on the box looked mildly disgusting and pathetic, so I passed it up real quick.
The other frozen pizza was called Romano's. Yes, there were only 2 options. Mystic or Romano's. Whatever. No box for Romano's, just clear saran wrap, realllll ghetto-like. But at least it allowed me to see the pizza in order for me to make snap judgements more easily. There was no ego with this pizza, unlike the Mystic. Just from looks alone of the Romano's pizza itself, I knew it was going to suck. The cheese was very sparsely placed, the pepperonis looked all raggedy, and the crust looked extra stupid. Just one, big, stupid-looking pizza.
So I purchased it. And it sucked. It sucked bad.
But what was weird though, out of the eight slices, I managed to eat 6.
Without blinking.
12.16.2008
Oh god...the winter.
It's happening.
I've been down this road. Several times.
I can feel it. It's here. It's real. It's ugly.
And I'm not talking about slush.
That horrible, desperate, alone feeling.
How old am I, soon to be 27?
Really?
Bleep.
Just relax. Be cool. It's fine.
Completely fine.
OK, here we go...
Don't go looking for it, it'll happen when you least expect it.
Oh really?
Even taking into consideration the fact that I haven't seen anything that resembles decency ...since I can't remember when?
They've come, they've gone, they've taken over.
Mindless. Jobless. Thoughtless.
Absorbed in fantasy. Themselves.
If you're standing next to them, be careful.
Their motto: the grass is always greener. Work out 6x a week, shop at Nordstrom, buy jeans with that thick, white stitching on the butt. Because the grass is always greener, and believe me, they wanna roll around in it.
Such bull, right? That grass is about as green as the manure that blankets it, grows it, feeds it.
Pretty soon you'll standing by yourself. Oh, cya. Found a grassy knoll that worked out 7x a week.
OK, bye.
That's the mindframe of most.
That's why the good are overlooked, and the rotten sip in the limelight. As fickle as ever.
The rotten will age, though. Their tans will turn to wrinkles. Their cheeks fatten. Their disease full-blown. Their lives lived in the dark and behind a straw.
You can spot them from a mile away. While they may seem cool now. They're not.
A mile away. You know who they are.
They won't be pretty forever.
But you'll be stuck with their personalities. Their never-dying insecurities.
Have fun with that.
Not me though. I can persevere: I don't settle. I don't give in. I stay true.
I persist.
You could only be so lucky. that's what i say.
Spring isn't far.
But for now, It's over.
It's happening.
I've been down this road. Several times.
I can feel it. It's here. It's real. It's ugly.
And I'm not talking about slush.
That horrible, desperate, alone feeling.
How old am I, soon to be 27?
Really?
Bleep.
Just relax. Be cool. It's fine.
Completely fine.
OK, here we go...
Don't go looking for it, it'll happen when you least expect it.
Oh really?
Even taking into consideration the fact that I haven't seen anything that resembles decency ...since I can't remember when?
They've come, they've gone, they've taken over.
Mindless. Jobless. Thoughtless.
Absorbed in fantasy. Themselves.
If you're standing next to them, be careful.
Their motto: the grass is always greener. Work out 6x a week, shop at Nordstrom, buy jeans with that thick, white stitching on the butt. Because the grass is always greener, and believe me, they wanna roll around in it.
Such bull, right? That grass is about as green as the manure that blankets it, grows it, feeds it.
Pretty soon you'll standing by yourself. Oh, cya. Found a grassy knoll that worked out 7x a week.
OK, bye.
That's the mindframe of most.
That's why the good are overlooked, and the rotten sip in the limelight. As fickle as ever.
The rotten will age, though. Their tans will turn to wrinkles. Their cheeks fatten. Their disease full-blown. Their lives lived in the dark and behind a straw.
You can spot them from a mile away. While they may seem cool now. They're not.
A mile away. You know who they are.
They won't be pretty forever.
But you'll be stuck with their personalities. Their never-dying insecurities.
Have fun with that.
Not me though. I can persevere: I don't settle. I don't give in. I stay true.
I persist.
You could only be so lucky. that's what i say.
Spring isn't far.
But for now, It's over.
12.12.2008
Rules I Live By: the bible of ryansumner
1. Always be seen smiling. Even if it hurts.
2. Never own average-sized cereal bowls, wineglasses, coffee mugs, or conditioner.
3. White socks never go above the lowest part of your ankle.
4. Always have bread available; possibilities for quick meals are endless with a loaf of bread.
5. Never be shirtless in a bar or club. Ever. The beach...that's it.
6. Keep your wallet tidy and organized at all times. Nothing is worse than unfolding one of those huge, card/coupon-cluttered, quarter-pounder wallets. Gross.
7. Male jewelry should be kept to a minimum at all times; i.e. shell necklaces are never acceptable, nor are cuff bracelets, thumb rings, or eccentric belt buckles.
8. Keep your chin up, back straight, and shoulders back when walking.
9. Straws are optional.
10. Keep toothbrush up-to-date.
11. Look people in the eye (or at least the face area) when they ask you how you are doing, then return the question while keeping the focus.
12. Drink a half gallon of water per day, minimum.
13. Jeans/pants should always have some sort of fit...whether its your ass, crotch, or thigh/knee. It's not always just a waist/length scenario. Avoid potato sacks at all times.
14. Choose a liquor you can mix with water. Keeps you hydrated throughout the night and validates your "I never get hangovers!" statement you always gloat about.
15. Vodka raises your body temperature, making you appear red and/or sweaty. Avoid it.
16. Facebook status messages shouldn't purposely evoke self-pity, emotional disturbance, or inner/outer turmoil. Keep it light.
17. Also, and similar to rule #5, never be shirtless in your social-networking site's profile picture.
18. Always lock the bathroom door, even if you're alone.
19. Move toward the back of the bus. Up front is nothing but geriatrics and weirdos.
20. On a first date, choose something on the menu you can eat with a fork. Second date, anything goes.
21. Give restaurant leftovers to the homeless; you're not going to eat it anyway, especially if it has lettuce on it.
22. Bye, not buh-bye.
23. Red and yellow are not your colors.
24. Never blow your nose in earshot of another person, unless it's unpreventable.
25. Generally, 3 minutes in the microwave or 425 degrees in the oven for cooking anything that's frozen.
26. If you're getting ice cream, Starbucks dessert, or Chipotle-anything, you must first walk to (and later from) its farthest location, within reason.
27. Get out of bed immediately after you turn off the alarm. If you pause and close your eyes, you're a goner.
28. You'll never find what you're looking for in a bar. You know it to be true.
29. LOL is not in your vocabulary. Neither is lol.
30. Never answer a cell phone call when someone is talking to you. It's always rude.
31. Do not be rude to people, unless they have it coming.
32. Spend money on good bedding.
33. Do not overspend on shoes, no one looks at them anyway unless you're a girl. But avoid bad shoes--people will judge you based on the bad ones. For sure. Not that you care, but you know you've done it to others.
34. You need Centrum. Don't forget to take it every day.
35. I swear, the air that comes out of the overhead airplane vent thing irritates my skin. Turn it off, or flow it in a direction that does not hit your face.
36. Trees cry when you pick off their leaves for no reason.
37. If you think that it might be just a little too small, it's too small.
38. Exclamations points should be used sparingly!
39. One pump of butter at the movie theatre, one dollop of sour cream, and 3 donut holes, max. Anything more than that and you're asking for it.
40. 180's will never touch your head again. Never again. What were you thinking in the first place?
41. Redbox is a one day rental. ONE DAY. Not two. Not three. One. That's why it costs $1. Take it back the next day. The next time you see $3 on your receipt email, don't be so surprised and feel so cheated.
42. Lotion should always be accessible. Moisturize, moisturize, moisturize.
43. Make a list. You'll never remember everything. Plus, how good does that check mark feel? The best.
44. Do not return phone calls with a follow-up email or text message.
45. Year-round warm weather is for lazy, uninspired people. Embrace the cold. Embrace the elements. Feel the wrath. Revel in surviving. Spring is that much prettier and summer is that much more sacred.
46. If you're ever thinking in depth, pondering life, choosing a route--play Feist or Air in the background. It helps.
47. Spelling and punctuation are almost always necessary. Also, think before and while you speak. Be aware of your surroundings. Determine a level of appropriateness. Know when to change the subject. Know when to leave.
48. Class before ass.
49. You hate bragging. If it's on your end though, recognize the bragging opportunity and avoid it. Subtle it down.
50. Be happy with what you have, what you can do, and who you are, even when you stray from the rules.
1. Always be seen smiling. Even if it hurts.
2. Never own average-sized cereal bowls, wineglasses, coffee mugs, or conditioner.
3. White socks never go above the lowest part of your ankle.
4. Always have bread available; possibilities for quick meals are endless with a loaf of bread.
5. Never be shirtless in a bar or club. Ever. The beach...that's it.
6. Keep your wallet tidy and organized at all times. Nothing is worse than unfolding one of those huge, card/coupon-cluttered, quarter-pounder wallets. Gross.
7. Male jewelry should be kept to a minimum at all times; i.e. shell necklaces are never acceptable, nor are cuff bracelets, thumb rings, or eccentric belt buckles.
8. Keep your chin up, back straight, and shoulders back when walking.
9. Straws are optional.
10. Keep toothbrush up-to-date.
11. Look people in the eye (or at least the face area) when they ask you how you are doing, then return the question while keeping the focus.
12. Drink a half gallon of water per day, minimum.
13. Jeans/pants should always have some sort of fit...whether its your ass, crotch, or thigh/knee. It's not always just a waist/length scenario. Avoid potato sacks at all times.
14. Choose a liquor you can mix with water. Keeps you hydrated throughout the night and validates your "I never get hangovers!" statement you always gloat about.
15. Vodka raises your body temperature, making you appear red and/or sweaty. Avoid it.
16. Facebook status messages shouldn't purposely evoke self-pity, emotional disturbance, or inner/outer turmoil. Keep it light.
17. Also, and similar to rule #5, never be shirtless in your social-networking site's profile picture.
18. Always lock the bathroom door, even if you're alone.
19. Move toward the back of the bus. Up front is nothing but geriatrics and weirdos.
20. On a first date, choose something on the menu you can eat with a fork. Second date, anything goes.
21. Give restaurant leftovers to the homeless; you're not going to eat it anyway, especially if it has lettuce on it.
22. Bye, not buh-bye.
23. Red and yellow are not your colors.
24. Never blow your nose in earshot of another person, unless it's unpreventable.
25. Generally, 3 minutes in the microwave or 425 degrees in the oven for cooking anything that's frozen.
26. If you're getting ice cream, Starbucks dessert, or Chipotle-anything, you must first walk to (and later from) its farthest location, within reason.
27. Get out of bed immediately after you turn off the alarm. If you pause and close your eyes, you're a goner.
28. You'll never find what you're looking for in a bar. You know it to be true.
29. LOL is not in your vocabulary. Neither is lol.
30. Never answer a cell phone call when someone is talking to you. It's always rude.
31. Do not be rude to people, unless they have it coming.
32. Spend money on good bedding.
33. Do not overspend on shoes, no one looks at them anyway unless you're a girl. But avoid bad shoes--people will judge you based on the bad ones. For sure. Not that you care, but you know you've done it to others.
34. You need Centrum. Don't forget to take it every day.
35. I swear, the air that comes out of the overhead airplane vent thing irritates my skin. Turn it off, or flow it in a direction that does not hit your face.
36. Trees cry when you pick off their leaves for no reason.
37. If you think that it might be just a little too small, it's too small.
38. Exclamations points should be used sparingly!
39. One pump of butter at the movie theatre, one dollop of sour cream, and 3 donut holes, max. Anything more than that and you're asking for it.
40. 180's will never touch your head again. Never again. What were you thinking in the first place?
41. Redbox is a one day rental. ONE DAY. Not two. Not three. One. That's why it costs $1. Take it back the next day. The next time you see $3 on your receipt email, don't be so surprised and feel so cheated.
42. Lotion should always be accessible. Moisturize, moisturize, moisturize.
43. Make a list. You'll never remember everything. Plus, how good does that check mark feel? The best.
44. Do not return phone calls with a follow-up email or text message.
45. Year-round warm weather is for lazy, uninspired people. Embrace the cold. Embrace the elements. Feel the wrath. Revel in surviving. Spring is that much prettier and summer is that much more sacred.
46. If you're ever thinking in depth, pondering life, choosing a route--play Feist or Air in the background. It helps.
47. Spelling and punctuation are almost always necessary. Also, think before and while you speak. Be aware of your surroundings. Determine a level of appropriateness. Know when to change the subject. Know when to leave.
48. Class before ass.
49. You hate bragging. If it's on your end though, recognize the bragging opportunity and avoid it. Subtle it down.
50. Be happy with what you have, what you can do, and who you are, even when you stray from the rules.
12.07.2008
It's such a conundrum:
I love, love hot chocolate. It's one of my most favorite things in the entire world.
The big, oversized coffee mug.
The Swiss Miss packaging.
Boiling water.
The feel of a thousand puffy mini-marshmallows.
The way they melt.
It's nostalgic. It's comfort.
It's the warmest part of winter.
BUT. and it's a big but.
after I drink hot chocolate
i get real hot and feel like puking.
I love, love hot chocolate. It's one of my most favorite things in the entire world.
The big, oversized coffee mug.
The Swiss Miss packaging.
Boiling water.
The feel of a thousand puffy mini-marshmallows.
The way they melt.
It's nostalgic. It's comfort.
It's the warmest part of winter.
BUT. and it's a big but.
after I drink hot chocolate
i get real hot and feel like puking.
12.03.2008
The other day I was clicking through MSNBC and came across an article about the lamest blogs on the internet. Mine wasn't on there.
Phew, close call...
Actually, reverse that. Boo, I wish I made it on there. Bad publicity is suh-weet. After all, you better believe I checked out each lame-o blog thoroughly and even checked back again today. So, as far as my own lame blog goes, here's to another year of lameness!
*clink*
On the other lame hand, I've been thinking about doing some short story/poetry writing on here, but quickly changed my mind. I'm way too vulnerable for that. I mean, there are vultures everywhere.
So, instead, I'll continue to clue you into the lame thoughts/fears/etc. that plague my mind and conscience on a daily basis.
For example, I can't help but notice that whenever anything upsets me or if I'm put off, disadvantaged, turned down, told no, or given any other type of negative response, I automatically begin to write a strongly-worded letter of disappointment in my head. Instead of verbalizing anything, I write it down in my head. Instantly. It happens all the time: at work, restaurants, on the bus, train, at Walgreens, at the movie theater, while reading the newspaper, Details magazine, at my building's doormen, the gym and its personnel, here, there, everywhere.
No matter what bad situation or less-than-positive interaction occurs, if I feel at all jaded upon conclusion...boom, a letter is written.
However, none of these letters make it to actual paper, except on a few extreme cases, but rather they're all mental letters that sit in mental stacks on top my mental desk within my mental brain. Hm...mental brain, I like the sound of that. It's staying.
Anyway, it happened last night: I was at Jewel-Osco buying groceries. I get into the checkout lane and begin to unload my groceries out of my basket and onto the checkout conveyor belt thing. While I'm doing that, my roommate, who was checking-out in the lane across from me, asked if she could use my Jewel Preferred Savings card. I'm like yeah, of course, here you go. Didn't think a thing of it. So, I go to reach over the aisle to hand it to her and my checkout lady intercepts the transaction, takes the card from me, gives me a look, hands it to my roommate's checkout lady, she scans it, hands it back to my checkout lady, she scans it for my groceries, hands it to me, and then gives me another look.
I was confused. Was letting someone use your Preferred Savings Card against store policy? I didn't know it to be? Did I do something wrong? Why did you just give me that nasty look? Bad day?
Sorry 'bout it lady.
I, of course, didn't say one word about it. Rather, I just smiled, handed the bagger my eco-friendly grocery bags, happily swiped my debit card, inserted my pin number with great care, and upon exiting thanked both the check-out lady and the bagger for their service and went about my merry way.
BUT, in my head, the mental ink was hittin the mental paper. Hard.
My dramatic and over-the-top mental letter rambled endlessly about how I faithfully shop at Jewel-Osco on a weekly basis, to which (and yes, you're welcome) I buy mostly Jewel-brand items, I'm always courteous to the staff even though I feel like they never restock the shelves during the evening hours, I never do weird things like re-think my frozen Bob Evans Sausage Breakfast Biscuit selection and then place it in the cereal aisle next to the Cheerios as if that's where I found it, I never report dented cans upon checkout for a price reduction (does that even work?), and most importantly I walk around the store, aisle-upon-aisle, with a nice, big smile on my face to cheer on (and applaud) the efforts of those that work there (even though I wish they would stock the shelves more regularly).
Just doing my part, people.
Anyway, I won't let this solitary situation (although I once had an altercation with the person monitoring the self-checkout lanes, long story) affect future visits to Jewel-Osco despite the fact that the unexplained nasty look my cashier gave me (twice!) made me feel like I tried to rob the place. To boot, she didn't say thank you or have a good night. She didn't even fold my receipt like they always do. She just handed it to me (forcefully) and never gave me a second look.
Rude. Party of one. Your table is definitely ready.
Oh well. Their was an up side to all of this: the bagger somehow managed to fit all of my groceries into 2 bags instead of three, which was a miracle because I bought a larger amount of groceries this go-around than normal. This made carrying my groceries home much easier. I thanked her and even added, you did an awesome job, getting it all in there like that.
I don't know if she heard me or not, but trust that I said it.
In conclusion, if everyone was as nice as I am and treated others the way I do, life would be better and similar to whatever planet the Teletubbies live on...where the smallest nuances of life are surprising and fun, rabbits hop around everywhere, and, on top of all that, you get to see and hear a baby laugh at sunrise and sunset. I'd be President of this land (voting is not allowed, sorry) and name it LameVille.
Let's go, sign me up! And sign up that checkout lady. She could use a vacation. I'll pardon her.
Phew, close call...
Actually, reverse that. Boo, I wish I made it on there. Bad publicity is suh-weet. After all, you better believe I checked out each lame-o blog thoroughly and even checked back again today. So, as far as my own lame blog goes, here's to another year of lameness!
*clink*
On the other lame hand, I've been thinking about doing some short story/poetry writing on here, but quickly changed my mind. I'm way too vulnerable for that. I mean, there are vultures everywhere.
So, instead, I'll continue to clue you into the lame thoughts/fears/etc. that plague my mind and conscience on a daily basis.
For example, I can't help but notice that whenever anything upsets me or if I'm put off, disadvantaged, turned down, told no, or given any other type of negative response, I automatically begin to write a strongly-worded letter of disappointment in my head. Instead of verbalizing anything, I write it down in my head. Instantly. It happens all the time: at work, restaurants, on the bus, train, at Walgreens, at the movie theater, while reading the newspaper, Details magazine, at my building's doormen, the gym and its personnel, here, there, everywhere.
No matter what bad situation or less-than-positive interaction occurs, if I feel at all jaded upon conclusion...boom, a letter is written.
However, none of these letters make it to actual paper, except on a few extreme cases, but rather they're all mental letters that sit in mental stacks on top my mental desk within my mental brain. Hm...mental brain, I like the sound of that. It's staying.
Anyway, it happened last night: I was at Jewel-Osco buying groceries. I get into the checkout lane and begin to unload my groceries out of my basket and onto the checkout conveyor belt thing. While I'm doing that, my roommate, who was checking-out in the lane across from me, asked if she could use my Jewel Preferred Savings card. I'm like yeah, of course, here you go. Didn't think a thing of it. So, I go to reach over the aisle to hand it to her and my checkout lady intercepts the transaction, takes the card from me, gives me a look, hands it to my roommate's checkout lady, she scans it, hands it back to my checkout lady, she scans it for my groceries, hands it to me, and then gives me another look.
I was confused. Was letting someone use your Preferred Savings Card against store policy? I didn't know it to be? Did I do something wrong? Why did you just give me that nasty look? Bad day?
Sorry 'bout it lady.
I, of course, didn't say one word about it. Rather, I just smiled, handed the bagger my eco-friendly grocery bags, happily swiped my debit card, inserted my pin number with great care, and upon exiting thanked both the check-out lady and the bagger for their service and went about my merry way.
BUT, in my head, the mental ink was hittin the mental paper. Hard.
My dramatic and over-the-top mental letter rambled endlessly about how I faithfully shop at Jewel-Osco on a weekly basis, to which (and yes, you're welcome) I buy mostly Jewel-brand items, I'm always courteous to the staff even though I feel like they never restock the shelves during the evening hours, I never do weird things like re-think my frozen Bob Evans Sausage Breakfast Biscuit selection and then place it in the cereal aisle next to the Cheerios as if that's where I found it, I never report dented cans upon checkout for a price reduction (does that even work?), and most importantly I walk around the store, aisle-upon-aisle, with a nice, big smile on my face to cheer on (and applaud) the efforts of those that work there (even though I wish they would stock the shelves more regularly).
Just doing my part, people.
Anyway, I won't let this solitary situation (although I once had an altercation with the person monitoring the self-checkout lanes, long story) affect future visits to Jewel-Osco despite the fact that the unexplained nasty look my cashier gave me (twice!) made me feel like I tried to rob the place. To boot, she didn't say thank you or have a good night. She didn't even fold my receipt like they always do. She just handed it to me (forcefully) and never gave me a second look.
Rude. Party of one. Your table is definitely ready.
Oh well. Their was an up side to all of this: the bagger somehow managed to fit all of my groceries into 2 bags instead of three, which was a miracle because I bought a larger amount of groceries this go-around than normal. This made carrying my groceries home much easier. I thanked her and even added, you did an awesome job, getting it all in there like that.
I don't know if she heard me or not, but trust that I said it.
In conclusion, if everyone was as nice as I am and treated others the way I do, life would be better and similar to whatever planet the Teletubbies live on...where the smallest nuances of life are surprising and fun, rabbits hop around everywhere, and, on top of all that, you get to see and hear a baby laugh at sunrise and sunset. I'd be President of this land (voting is not allowed, sorry) and name it LameVille.
Let's go, sign me up! And sign up that checkout lady. She could use a vacation. I'll pardon her.
12.02.2008
11.24.2008
5 Things You Probably Didn't Know about Ryan Sumner
1) I always set my alarm clock so that the minute mark ends in 03, 17, 33, or 47. Mon-Friday I wake up at 7:33 am...but if I wanted to get up earlier, I'd set it to 7:03. Or perhaps 6:33, but if I wanted to sleep in a little later than normal I'd set my alarm to 7:47...but never :43 because then I would probably be tempted to sleep in until :45 which would turn into 8:00. To me it just makes sense, because if I woke up at a :00 or a :15 or a :30 or a :45...I'd be like uhhhh, can I please sleep for like 5 more minutes? And then a vicious cycle would occur of sleeping/snooze, sleeping/snooze and before you know it I'd oversleep and be late. But with the extra few minutes on the end of every normal minute mark...I feel like I already got my extra couple of Z's therefore it's time to get up. Like I said, it makes perfect sense to me and has worked flawlessly for many, many years.
2) I think that stale popcorn (like popped yesterday or even a week ago) is delicious. I don't really care for freshly popped corn.
3) My signature alcoholic beverage is Bacardi Limon and water with a lemon twist for pizazz. And if that's not available, beer will do. No shots. (So I say.)
4) I've never, ever been remotely close to feeling like I've loved a significant other of mine. I thought I did once but that turned out to be a big trick. Therefore it doesn't count.
5) I purposely listened to the "Thong Song" today and I'm not making any apologies for having done so.
The End.
1) I always set my alarm clock so that the minute mark ends in 03, 17, 33, or 47. Mon-Friday I wake up at 7:33 am...but if I wanted to get up earlier, I'd set it to 7:03. Or perhaps 6:33, but if I wanted to sleep in a little later than normal I'd set my alarm to 7:47...but never :43 because then I would probably be tempted to sleep in until :45 which would turn into 8:00. To me it just makes sense, because if I woke up at a :00 or a :15 or a :30 or a :45...I'd be like uhhhh, can I please sleep for like 5 more minutes? And then a vicious cycle would occur of sleeping/snooze, sleeping/snooze and before you know it I'd oversleep and be late. But with the extra few minutes on the end of every normal minute mark...I feel like I already got my extra couple of Z's therefore it's time to get up. Like I said, it makes perfect sense to me and has worked flawlessly for many, many years.
2) I think that stale popcorn (like popped yesterday or even a week ago) is delicious. I don't really care for freshly popped corn.
3) My signature alcoholic beverage is Bacardi Limon and water with a lemon twist for pizazz. And if that's not available, beer will do. No shots. (So I say.)
4) I've never, ever been remotely close to feeling like I've loved a significant other of mine. I thought I did once but that turned out to be a big trick. Therefore it doesn't count.
5) I purposely listened to the "Thong Song" today and I'm not making any apologies for having done so.
The End.
11.19.2008
Sherri Shepherd is by and large the most hypocritical, uninformed, and grotesque human being on daytime TV that I've seen in a long time.
Just wanted to throw that out there.
Now, I can admit to actually liking The View at one point in my life but, when I get to chance to catch up, I've increasingly become more and more repulsed by her holier than thou approach to life in the 21st century.
It's insane.
She's insane.
And it's disgusting.
She's disgusting.
Sherri's education level was explained WAY back on her first couple of appearances as a newbie host when she oh-so-eloquently stated (on broadcast TV, mind you) that she didn't know if the Earth was round or flat...because the answer, as we know it today and quite some time in the past, didn't mesh with what the Bible stated.
Are you serious?
Yes, she was.
She later retracted her stupidity because Barbara gave her the airtime to do so.
But does anyone know the past of Sherri? Her story? Woah, it's dark, it's twisted and it's very un-Christian, yet, she sits on the couch of The View, perky as ever, while toxically spewing complete and utter ignorance and segregation to the audience across the nation.
But everything she says and stands for (today) is in the name of her Christian values and upbringing.
Sometimes I feel like Christianity gets a really bad name, some of which it deserves since people still preach it's ancient philosophies in a modern and educated civilization. But Sherri Shepherd is like the spokeswoman for all that is ugly and hypocritical in the Christian realm.
All in all, she's enough to make me ill (and very sad) and from here out not watch The View. I don't know if that is a real loss or not, but it is what it is.
My suggestion to you: Don't watch The View if you currently do so. Get a real perspective. Read the news. Don't let ignorance spread. Don't let Sherri Shepherd spread. Her ugliness is already everywhere, she's not alone. It's already affected most of this country, although more and more are breaking free from it.
(Mike Huckabee's appearance on The View didn't help either. While the ladies licked his balls in adoration, he spewed "They should have certain civil rights, like employment...")
Aw, thanks!
Just wanted to throw that out there.
Now, I can admit to actually liking The View at one point in my life but, when I get to chance to catch up, I've increasingly become more and more repulsed by her holier than thou approach to life in the 21st century.
It's insane.
She's insane.
And it's disgusting.
She's disgusting.
Sherri's education level was explained WAY back on her first couple of appearances as a newbie host when she oh-so-eloquently stated (on broadcast TV, mind you) that she didn't know if the Earth was round or flat...because the answer, as we know it today and quite some time in the past, didn't mesh with what the Bible stated.
Are you serious?
Yes, she was.
She later retracted her stupidity because Barbara gave her the airtime to do so.
But does anyone know the past of Sherri? Her story? Woah, it's dark, it's twisted and it's very un-Christian, yet, she sits on the couch of The View, perky as ever, while toxically spewing complete and utter ignorance and segregation to the audience across the nation.
But everything she says and stands for (today) is in the name of her Christian values and upbringing.
Sometimes I feel like Christianity gets a really bad name, some of which it deserves since people still preach it's ancient philosophies in a modern and educated civilization. But Sherri Shepherd is like the spokeswoman for all that is ugly and hypocritical in the Christian realm.
All in all, she's enough to make me ill (and very sad) and from here out not watch The View. I don't know if that is a real loss or not, but it is what it is.
My suggestion to you: Don't watch The View if you currently do so. Get a real perspective. Read the news. Don't let ignorance spread. Don't let Sherri Shepherd spread. Her ugliness is already everywhere, she's not alone. It's already affected most of this country, although more and more are breaking free from it.
(Mike Huckabee's appearance on The View didn't help either. While the ladies licked his balls in adoration, he spewed "They should have certain civil rights, like employment...")
Aw, thanks!
11.17.2008
Sad day in the Sumner world. My "Grandpa" died peacefully in his sleep this morning at the age of 92. He lived a long, wonderful life. I refer to him as my "Grandpa" only because he wasn't my actual Grandpa...although he sort of was. It's confusing to me, still. Anyway, I always called him by his first name, as did all of my immediate family members:
FD.
Short for Floyd. He was always FD.
Long story, but, my father's actual father died before my sister and I were born. But for my two older brothers, he was their original Grandpa. Kelly and I obviously never knew him, but as time passed my Mamaw (Grandma) started dating FD after Kelly and I were born. They eventually married however, for whatever reason, it never caught on that we should refer to FD as our new Grandpa. Especially since my older brother's already experienced their real Grandpa. So it was weird. FD was FD. He wasn't anyone's stepfather, he wasn't called our Grandpa, and he never asked to be labeled as such either. FD was FD.
That's just the way it was. And it was perfect.
FD was a pretty great catch for my Mamaw. He was soft-hearted, soft-spoken, sweet, caring, gentle, always happy to see you kind of guy, who had a loveable southern accent and a fondness for gardening. He always had fresh, homegrown tomatoes sliced and ready whenever my family would come to visit for vacation or holidays. He also liked to have his first beer starting at noon, god love him. But he poured it into a glass, like the classy man that he was. He was also pretty adamant about serving fresh ham. He was big on getting ham from the deli before we arrived for a visit, and then made sure to tell us that there was thin-sliced, Virginia ham in the fridge at all times. Afterall, he got it especially for us. Anything that my siblings and I did made him laugh, too. He took such interest in us, I can just picture his response to seeing us or listening to us talk. He was such a gentle soul.
I'll never forget the way he said my name either..."Ryne"...and my sister "Kellay."
While he's gone, these memories are forever.
Rest in peace, Grandpa.
FD.
Short for Floyd. He was always FD.
Long story, but, my father's actual father died before my sister and I were born. But for my two older brothers, he was their original Grandpa. Kelly and I obviously never knew him, but as time passed my Mamaw (Grandma) started dating FD after Kelly and I were born. They eventually married however, for whatever reason, it never caught on that we should refer to FD as our new Grandpa. Especially since my older brother's already experienced their real Grandpa. So it was weird. FD was FD. He wasn't anyone's stepfather, he wasn't called our Grandpa, and he never asked to be labeled as such either. FD was FD.
That's just the way it was. And it was perfect.
FD was a pretty great catch for my Mamaw. He was soft-hearted, soft-spoken, sweet, caring, gentle, always happy to see you kind of guy, who had a loveable southern accent and a fondness for gardening. He always had fresh, homegrown tomatoes sliced and ready whenever my family would come to visit for vacation or holidays. He also liked to have his first beer starting at noon, god love him. But he poured it into a glass, like the classy man that he was. He was also pretty adamant about serving fresh ham. He was big on getting ham from the deli before we arrived for a visit, and then made sure to tell us that there was thin-sliced, Virginia ham in the fridge at all times. Afterall, he got it especially for us. Anything that my siblings and I did made him laugh, too. He took such interest in us, I can just picture his response to seeing us or listening to us talk. He was such a gentle soul.
I'll never forget the way he said my name either..."Ryne"...and my sister "Kellay."
While he's gone, these memories are forever.
Rest in peace, Grandpa.
11.14.2008
It is with great elation to inform you that I am typing this blog from the comfort of my bed at 10:54 am. Yes, that's right...no work today.
Sweetness.
It's a dull, grey Friday morning, one which I awoke to only because my eyes decided to open and not because the alarm on my iphone was strumming a guitar in an attempt to wake me up.
I woke up just because. Such a nice, wonderful way to start the day. Actually, I don't know that I'm going to start a day. I might just continue this current pace of nothingness.
Weird--as I'm typing this blog, I have my iTunes playing in the background, and John Legend's "Good Morning" came on.
Good Moooorning. Good Mooooorning, Love. Down load it.
Ugh. I might just stay here forever. The temp in my room is just right. Not warm..not cold...but a nice, cool sleeping temperature.
My pillows stayed in place during the night, too. Throughout the week, somehow, all four pillows have jumped ship at some point in the night. I've been waking up with a sore neck since the mattress has to fill in during the pillows' PTO. But this morning, my favorite pillow (don't tell the others) was securely and comfortably under my head. Nice.
Oh sweet...Tony Rich Project's "Nobody Knows It But Me" just came on. I love this song, and I love it even more when I can belt it without anyone listening. I can just belt, belt, and belt some more. Could today get any better?
Probably not, so I'm just going to lie here and revel in the moment that is a perfect morning.
Good morning, and good night.
Sweetness.
It's a dull, grey Friday morning, one which I awoke to only because my eyes decided to open and not because the alarm on my iphone was strumming a guitar in an attempt to wake me up.
I woke up just because. Such a nice, wonderful way to start the day. Actually, I don't know that I'm going to start a day. I might just continue this current pace of nothingness.
Weird--as I'm typing this blog, I have my iTunes playing in the background, and John Legend's "Good Morning" came on.
Good Moooorning. Good Mooooorning, Love. Down load it.
Ugh. I might just stay here forever. The temp in my room is just right. Not warm..not cold...but a nice, cool sleeping temperature.
My pillows stayed in place during the night, too. Throughout the week, somehow, all four pillows have jumped ship at some point in the night. I've been waking up with a sore neck since the mattress has to fill in during the pillows' PTO. But this morning, my favorite pillow (don't tell the others) was securely and comfortably under my head. Nice.
Oh sweet...Tony Rich Project's "Nobody Knows It But Me" just came on. I love this song, and I love it even more when I can belt it without anyone listening. I can just belt, belt, and belt some more. Could today get any better?
Probably not, so I'm just going to lie here and revel in the moment that is a perfect morning.
Good morning, and good night.
11.10.2008
I was checking MSNBC today to see what was happening in the world and, low and behold, I stumbled upon this absolutely horrifying and gasp-evoking news headline:
Armadillos May Be Moving to Midwest
When I first read it, I thought, okay Ryan, no need to panic. Surely the Armadillos are some new basketball team or obscure, southwestern retail chain.
...say what?
THEY'RE THE ACTUAL ANIMAL!?! COMING HERE????!!!!
Oh snap. I hate armadillos. I've never actually seen one, but I've definitely seen them on TV and they are seriously sick. And I feel like I read somewhere that they're nocturnal and only come out of hiding at night to eat (feast), like opossums. I mean, opossums freak me out enough as it is because they're crazy looking and have freakishly sharp, razorblade teeth/fangs that could bite through your arm/leg with one chomp. But now I have to worry about armadillos?
You know what my beef is with them, right? Armadillos have that weirdo alien exterior and, if you've been reading my blog faithfully, you know how scared I am of aliens.
And let's not forget...armadillos scurry as a form of transportation. I don't mind animals that run or swim, but scurry? That's the worst kind. I've seen them scurry on TV, and boy do those little legs move. If one came after me, I wouldn't even have a chance to scream, let alone run before they caught up to me and did stuff.
And they're migrating north? Why? Around here? Whaaaaat? Scientists believe it's due to global warming because, apparently, it's too hot in the southwest and therefore are in search of a milder climate. I'm going to assume it's entirely too cold during the winter months for them to come as far north as Chicago (that lake breeze is a bitch in the winter!)...but still, the shrinking proximity greatly threatens my non-armadillo-loving lifestyle.
They better stay out of my soft soil!
And I know I just wrote like 700 blogs about not discriminating against those who are different and all...but, really, this struck me completely off-guard and it's going to take awhile for me to adjust and perhaps, eventually, learn more about this unfamiliar mammal whose intentions I'm not fully trusting of just yet.
Yes, yes, acceptance, equality, etc.
It'll happen, just give me a second...
Armadillos May Be Moving to Midwest
When I first read it, I thought, okay Ryan, no need to panic. Surely the Armadillos are some new basketball team or obscure, southwestern retail chain.
...say what?
THEY'RE THE ACTUAL ANIMAL!?! COMING HERE????!!!!
Oh snap. I hate armadillos. I've never actually seen one, but I've definitely seen them on TV and they are seriously sick. And I feel like I read somewhere that they're nocturnal and only come out of hiding at night to eat (feast), like opossums. I mean, opossums freak me out enough as it is because they're crazy looking and have freakishly sharp, razorblade teeth/fangs that could bite through your arm/leg with one chomp. But now I have to worry about armadillos?
You know what my beef is with them, right? Armadillos have that weirdo alien exterior and, if you've been reading my blog faithfully, you know how scared I am of aliens.
And let's not forget...armadillos scurry as a form of transportation. I don't mind animals that run or swim, but scurry? That's the worst kind. I've seen them scurry on TV, and boy do those little legs move. If one came after me, I wouldn't even have a chance to scream, let alone run before they caught up to me and did stuff.
And they're migrating north? Why? Around here? Whaaaaat? Scientists believe it's due to global warming because, apparently, it's too hot in the southwest and therefore are in search of a milder climate. I'm going to assume it's entirely too cold during the winter months for them to come as far north as Chicago (that lake breeze is a bitch in the winter!)...but still, the shrinking proximity greatly threatens my non-armadillo-loving lifestyle.
They better stay out of my soft soil!
And I know I just wrote like 700 blogs about not discriminating against those who are different and all...but, really, this struck me completely off-guard and it's going to take awhile for me to adjust and perhaps, eventually, learn more about this unfamiliar mammal whose intentions I'm not fully trusting of just yet.
Yes, yes, acceptance, equality, etc.
It'll happen, just give me a second...
11.06.2008
One more thing...and I just thought of this, wouldn't it be great if equality wasn't something we had to vote for, but rather common sense?
Wouldn't it be great if Americans looked at their own freedoms and happiness and then thought, hey, who am I, as a free individual, to impose my religious (or otherwise) beliefs on other free individuals?
Wouldn't it be great if people stopped looking into the lives of strangers to determine/judge/denounce their lifestyles, and instead concentrated on their own? What's good for the goose isn't always good for the gander. The US is a big, unique, melting pot of a gander. Not one goose is like another. Somebody smart once said:
"…whence came all these people? They are a mixture of English, Scotch, Irish, French, Dutch, Germans, and Swedes... What, then, is the American, this new man? He is neither a European nor the descendant of a European; hence that strange mixture of blood, which you will find in no other country. I could point out to you a family whose grandfather was an Englishman, whose wife was Dutch, whose son married a French woman, and whose present four sons have now four wives of different nations. He is an American, who, leaving behind him all his ancient prejudices and manners, receives new ones from the new mode of life he has embraced, the new government he obeys, and the new rank he holds. . . . The Americans were once scattered all over Europe; here they are incorporated into one of the finest systems of population which has ever appeared." − J. Hector St. John de Crevecoeur, Letters from an American Farmer.
Now here are some different, less smart quotes by supporters and leaders of Proposition 8, "People believe in the institution of marriage," said Frank Schubert, co-manager of the Yes on 8 campaign. "It's one institution that crosses ethnic divides, that crosses partisan divides. ... People have stood up because they care about marriage and they care a great deal."
I would go as far as to say that the 18,000 gay men and women that were married in California more than likely cared about marriage "a great deal" too. Another said,
"This is a great day for marriage. The people of California stood up for traditional marriage and reclaimed this great institution," said Ron Prentice, chairman of ProtectMarriage.com — Yes on 8. "We are gratified that voters chose to protect traditional marriage and to enshrine its importance in the state constitution. We trust that this decision will be respected by all Californians."
Wouldn't it be great if the institution of marriage crossed not only a partisan divide, or an ethnic divide, but also a sexual orientation divide? After all, you can't discriminate against a person interviewing for a job based on their sexual orientation, but for some insane reason, the US (and it's voters) can discriminate against gays and lesbians entirely based on their sexual orientation? Really?
And "Yay" for you Frank Shcubert and Ron Prentice, for leading the way and snatching marriage away from them as if you, heterosexual, white males (typical) living in the year 2008, somehow own the institution of marriage. Nice job, way.to.go.
Wouldn't it be great if Ron Prentice stopped using the word "traditional?" What is traditional marriage? There's no such thing. If there was, why on Earth could you go through a drive-through chapel in Las Vegas to get married? Thousands of people do it every year. Some people have the craziest traditions. Also, on that note, I once heard of a traditional marriage that lasted for "52 hours." I think we all know what that was about. But back to the earlier quote,
"He is an American, who, leaving behind him all his ancient prejudices and manners, receives new ones from the new mode of life he has embraced, the new government he obeys, and the new rank he holds..."
Wouldn't it be great if we, too, left our ancient prejudices and manners (i.e. Bible-toting, religious zealots) behind? The bible was written a long time ago. It doesn't reflect a modern culture in any way. You can't denounce or choose the lifestyles of U.S. citizens based upon your religious beliefs. Religion is not a law. Marriage is not exclusive to religion. It's for everybody. But, in respect, gay marriage doesn't break a single commandment out of the ten we (some of us) live by. Also, we now have an interracial President who, for some people, thought never could exist since slavery wasn't that long ago. Yet at the very same time, a dominating group of African American and Latino Proposition 8 supporters have the audacity to say/discriminate that gays and lesbians are undeserving of the same constitutional rights given to every American citizen? What??!! How?! WHY?!
Wouldn't it be great if homophobia and discrimination based on sexual orientation was given a fraction of the attention, denunciation, and elimination that racism, sexism, or religious freedom is given?
Put it under a microscope: discrimination is the unfair treatment of one person or a group because of prejudice.
If you still can't see that banning gay marriage is absolute discrimination in its simplest form...and that it's insanely wrong...if you still can't see that, you must be blind and in a vegetable state, which is the only reason you can't do anything about it to reverse it. Or you're homophobic and you don't want anything to be done about it. You live in ignorance and are OK with that.
It's one or the other. You either choose to discriminate, or you don't.
I don't.
Wouldn't it be great if Americans looked at their own freedoms and happiness and then thought, hey, who am I, as a free individual, to impose my religious (or otherwise) beliefs on other free individuals?
Wouldn't it be great if people stopped looking into the lives of strangers to determine/judge/denounce their lifestyles, and instead concentrated on their own? What's good for the goose isn't always good for the gander. The US is a big, unique, melting pot of a gander. Not one goose is like another. Somebody smart once said:
"…whence came all these people? They are a mixture of English, Scotch, Irish, French, Dutch, Germans, and Swedes... What, then, is the American, this new man? He is neither a European nor the descendant of a European; hence that strange mixture of blood, which you will find in no other country. I could point out to you a family whose grandfather was an Englishman, whose wife was Dutch, whose son married a French woman, and whose present four sons have now four wives of different nations. He is an American, who, leaving behind him all his ancient prejudices and manners, receives new ones from the new mode of life he has embraced, the new government he obeys, and the new rank he holds. . . . The Americans were once scattered all over Europe; here they are incorporated into one of the finest systems of population which has ever appeared." − J. Hector St. John de Crevecoeur, Letters from an American Farmer.
Now here are some different, less smart quotes by supporters and leaders of Proposition 8, "People believe in the institution of marriage," said Frank Schubert, co-manager of the Yes on 8 campaign. "It's one institution that crosses ethnic divides, that crosses partisan divides. ... People have stood up because they care about marriage and they care a great deal."
I would go as far as to say that the 18,000 gay men and women that were married in California more than likely cared about marriage "a great deal" too. Another said,
"This is a great day for marriage. The people of California stood up for traditional marriage and reclaimed this great institution," said Ron Prentice, chairman of ProtectMarriage.com — Yes on 8. "We are gratified that voters chose to protect traditional marriage and to enshrine its importance in the state constitution. We trust that this decision will be respected by all Californians."
Wouldn't it be great if the institution of marriage crossed not only a partisan divide, or an ethnic divide, but also a sexual orientation divide? After all, you can't discriminate against a person interviewing for a job based on their sexual orientation, but for some insane reason, the US (and it's voters) can discriminate against gays and lesbians entirely based on their sexual orientation? Really?
And "Yay" for you Frank Shcubert and Ron Prentice, for leading the way and snatching marriage away from them as if you, heterosexual, white males (typical) living in the year 2008, somehow own the institution of marriage. Nice job, way.to.go.
Wouldn't it be great if Ron Prentice stopped using the word "traditional?" What is traditional marriage? There's no such thing. If there was, why on Earth could you go through a drive-through chapel in Las Vegas to get married? Thousands of people do it every year. Some people have the craziest traditions. Also, on that note, I once heard of a traditional marriage that lasted for "52 hours." I think we all know what that was about. But back to the earlier quote,
"He is an American, who, leaving behind him all his ancient prejudices and manners, receives new ones from the new mode of life he has embraced, the new government he obeys, and the new rank he holds..."
Wouldn't it be great if we, too, left our ancient prejudices and manners (i.e. Bible-toting, religious zealots) behind? The bible was written a long time ago. It doesn't reflect a modern culture in any way. You can't denounce or choose the lifestyles of U.S. citizens based upon your religious beliefs. Religion is not a law. Marriage is not exclusive to religion. It's for everybody. But, in respect, gay marriage doesn't break a single commandment out of the ten we (some of us) live by. Also, we now have an interracial President who, for some people, thought never could exist since slavery wasn't that long ago. Yet at the very same time, a dominating group of African American and Latino Proposition 8 supporters have the audacity to say/discriminate that gays and lesbians are undeserving of the same constitutional rights given to every American citizen? What??!! How?! WHY?!
Wouldn't it be great if homophobia and discrimination based on sexual orientation was given a fraction of the attention, denunciation, and elimination that racism, sexism, or religious freedom is given?
Put it under a microscope: discrimination is the unfair treatment of one person or a group because of prejudice.
If you still can't see that banning gay marriage is absolute discrimination in its simplest form...and that it's insanely wrong...if you still can't see that, you must be blind and in a vegetable state, which is the only reason you can't do anything about it to reverse it. Or you're homophobic and you don't want anything to be done about it. You live in ignorance and are OK with that.
It's one or the other. You either choose to discriminate, or you don't.
I don't.
11.05.2008
This image is enough to make me sick. The caption of the LA Times reads this:
Bob Knoke, of Mission Viejo, Amanda Stanfield, of Monrovia, Jim Domen, of Yorba Linda, and J.D. Gaddis, of Yorba Linda, celebrate returns for Proposition 8 at an Irvine hotel.
What are they so happy about? What did they accomplish? Gay married couples lost their right to be legally protected as a family. That's something you cheer? That's a victory? That's a reason to party?
These people should start a clan, and their future parties should involve robes, fires, and chants of some sort. It's all too similar.
Remember their names and faces. They need more help than anyone.
Simply put: they are exactly what this nation should not be.
Some thoughts on my mind:
-January 20th, 2009 will be a great day, and considering how the world stands at this very moment (with Bush still in control and a long, dark 8 years overwhelmingly revealing the results of a failed presidency), I can only be excited to see what the future holds.
-Let's not forget our own problems, though. It was was the American people who voted Bush into office the first time. It was the American people who voted Bush into office a second time. We, the people, are also to blame. It's easy to point the finger at only Bush, but on some level, we have to point that finger at ourselves. Let's persist though. We started something really, really good last night. Let's run with it.
-We need to stop and remember that last night's victory wasn't about the fact that we, for the first time in history, have an interracial President. While it's amazing to reflect on how far America/ans have come, and the adversity we've overcome since the days of slavery and segregation, let's not forget something very important. Barack isn't in office because he's black. I didn't vote for him because he's black, and I hope you didn't either. That's the same as voting for a white candidate only because he or she is white. That's ignorant. Barack is in office because he stands for change, change we desperately need and deserve. Today, and for the next four years, are days to celebrate and witness Barack Obama as President, and champion him as a leader and advocate for changing this troubled nation.
-Proposition 8 passed. This is a sad day for California, and for the United States. We elected an interracial President, yet discrimination and segregation still exists for gays and lesbians. Very sad. What's sadder is that black voters (especially black female voters) had an astoundingly high turnout in support of Prop 8. Interesting, isn't it? In my opinion, male or female, black or white or other, straight or gay...none are choices we made coming into this world. We didn't fill out a form in the womb denoting our preferences. We are what we are. We cannot be discriminated against simply by what we are. We are human. We are citizens. We are equal. But not so fast. What happened last night changed that. If you're homosexual, you're somehow different. Your needs and hopes for family, marriage, and equality are not deserving. You're second class. You are not one of "us"...whatever that is. While white and black families share a water fountain, gay and lesbian families have their own to drink from. This national step forward has taken a step back. Don't you think there should be less hypocrisy in this nation, and more, much much more equality? Shame on you, all of you who voted in support of discrimination.
-In Arkansas, a ballot was passed that, in order to adopt or foster children, you must be legally married. I'm not sure how much adoption or fostering is going on in Arkansas, but, is it just me that believes the only real losers in this situation are the kids? While the argument is usually politicked as supporting the abandoned children produced in unloving or unfit homes (even the homes of Christian married couples), it's actually a contradiction. The children lose, and they lose big. Because in this instance, the ballot strokes the egos of married couples, it doesn't support the affected children. Because, after all, teenage girls, or oopsy-I-made-a-big-mistake women or whatever the circumstance may be, can place babies up for adoption or place children in foster homes (aka they need better parents) at any time. It's now law that those babies can only be passed off to married couples (yep, no single people or gay couples) or, even more ridiculously, married foster parents! What a convenient world married people live in. While citizens of Arkansas can bring unwanted children into the world all day long, and for no reason at all, only married couples can take them in, or at least foster them until some other married couple comes along with the room to spare. I guess you are only deemed "fit" as a parent if you have someone in your home that has to legally help you. But for the rest of the "non-legit" citizens of Arkansas (you know, since being married is the precedent of normalcy and being considered socially acceptable and loving) even if those kids needed a home in the worst way, you unmarried or GLBT folk are stricken from providing the child(ren) a home because you could/would damage them beyond what they've already experienced. YOU MUST HAVE A MOM AND A DAD! No exclusions or provisos allowed! Those kids won't grow up healthy or normal (straight) if they have only one parent or two parents of the same sex! The world doesn't work like that, mister! At least not here in the great state of Arkansas!
I mean, that makes perfect sense, right?
...?
No, it doesn't. It's selfish, it's barbaric, and it's to the disadvantage of children needing love by someone willing to provide it. Shame on Arkansas.
This just goes to show that the world we live in is still a mess, and still evolving. Barack has a big job ahead of him. But, I voted for Barack because I truly believe he has a bigger brain, and an even bigger heart than most people in this nation. One day, hopefully sooner than later, all American citizens will experience true equality, on all levels.
But for today, most people will get to experience that. Congrats.
-January 20th, 2009 will be a great day, and considering how the world stands at this very moment (with Bush still in control and a long, dark 8 years overwhelmingly revealing the results of a failed presidency), I can only be excited to see what the future holds.
-Let's not forget our own problems, though. It was was the American people who voted Bush into office the first time. It was the American people who voted Bush into office a second time. We, the people, are also to blame. It's easy to point the finger at only Bush, but on some level, we have to point that finger at ourselves. Let's persist though. We started something really, really good last night. Let's run with it.
-We need to stop and remember that last night's victory wasn't about the fact that we, for the first time in history, have an interracial President. While it's amazing to reflect on how far America/ans have come, and the adversity we've overcome since the days of slavery and segregation, let's not forget something very important. Barack isn't in office because he's black. I didn't vote for him because he's black, and I hope you didn't either. That's the same as voting for a white candidate only because he or she is white. That's ignorant. Barack is in office because he stands for change, change we desperately need and deserve. Today, and for the next four years, are days to celebrate and witness Barack Obama as President, and champion him as a leader and advocate for changing this troubled nation.
-Proposition 8 passed. This is a sad day for California, and for the United States. We elected an interracial President, yet discrimination and segregation still exists for gays and lesbians. Very sad. What's sadder is that black voters (especially black female voters) had an astoundingly high turnout in support of Prop 8. Interesting, isn't it? In my opinion, male or female, black or white or other, straight or gay...none are choices we made coming into this world. We didn't fill out a form in the womb denoting our preferences. We are what we are. We cannot be discriminated against simply by what we are. We are human. We are citizens. We are equal. But not so fast. What happened last night changed that. If you're homosexual, you're somehow different. Your needs and hopes for family, marriage, and equality are not deserving. You're second class. You are not one of "us"...whatever that is. While white and black families share a water fountain, gay and lesbian families have their own to drink from. This national step forward has taken a step back. Don't you think there should be less hypocrisy in this nation, and more, much much more equality? Shame on you, all of you who voted in support of discrimination.
-In Arkansas, a ballot was passed that, in order to adopt or foster children, you must be legally married. I'm not sure how much adoption or fostering is going on in Arkansas, but, is it just me that believes the only real losers in this situation are the kids? While the argument is usually politicked as supporting the abandoned children produced in unloving or unfit homes (even the homes of Christian married couples), it's actually a contradiction. The children lose, and they lose big. Because in this instance, the ballot strokes the egos of married couples, it doesn't support the affected children. Because, after all, teenage girls, or oopsy-I-made-a-big-mistake women or whatever the circumstance may be, can place babies up for adoption or place children in foster homes (aka they need better parents) at any time. It's now law that those babies can only be passed off to married couples (yep, no single people or gay couples) or, even more ridiculously, married foster parents! What a convenient world married people live in. While citizens of Arkansas can bring unwanted children into the world all day long, and for no reason at all, only married couples can take them in, or at least foster them until some other married couple comes along with the room to spare. I guess you are only deemed "fit" as a parent if you have someone in your home that has to legally help you. But for the rest of the "non-legit" citizens of Arkansas (you know, since being married is the precedent of normalcy and being considered socially acceptable and loving) even if those kids needed a home in the worst way, you unmarried or GLBT folk are stricken from providing the child(ren) a home because you could/would damage them beyond what they've already experienced. YOU MUST HAVE A MOM AND A DAD! No exclusions or provisos allowed! Those kids won't grow up healthy or normal (straight) if they have only one parent or two parents of the same sex! The world doesn't work like that, mister! At least not here in the great state of Arkansas!
I mean, that makes perfect sense, right?
...?
No, it doesn't. It's selfish, it's barbaric, and it's to the disadvantage of children needing love by someone willing to provide it. Shame on Arkansas.
This just goes to show that the world we live in is still a mess, and still evolving. Barack has a big job ahead of him. But, I voted for Barack because I truly believe he has a bigger brain, and an even bigger heart than most people in this nation. One day, hopefully sooner than later, all American citizens will experience true equality, on all levels.
But for today, most people will get to experience that. Congrats.
11.04.2008
Today is the day, peeps. The nation has gone stir-crazy about getting to those polls to vote! And can you blame them? You gotta get a free donut, coffee, and scoop of B&J. That's all the incentive I need, minus the coffee.
Weird--donuts and ice cream are quite possibly two of my favorite things in the world...food wise, you know.
So is the world counting on my specific vote? Why else would they lure me to the polls with such temptations?.
Very weird, if you ask me. Which you didn't. But who cares?
Not me.
I haven't voted yet, but that's because I'm at work and I had a lot of shizz to do today, including writing this blog. But I will vote for sure. At 2. Today. It's a historic day, potentially, and this is a historic post...
Well, it's a post nonetheless. But this blog is the shizz! Right?
I think so.
Are you still reading?
If so, good, because I have a story:
So last night for some weird reason, during a dream, the song "We Built This City" was playing like a broken record in my head, BUT, the part that kept repeating was something like this, "my pony plays the mamba, listenin to the radio..."
Now, I don't know if those are the actual lyrics, BUT apparently I needed to know them at that very moment, at whatever time of night it was which, I really have no idea because I didn't even look at a clock. But what's weirder is that I vaguely remember opening my laptop to try and Google the lyrics...mind you I'm SLEEPING while I'm doing this. I don't know if anything was accomplished at that moment but I do know my computer is in one piece...I didn't like drop it or anything and completely disregard the whole event.
FLASHBACK!
Back when I lived at my parents' house I made my bedroom out of a section of the basement. I cleaned the basement up, painted the walls (including the ceiling) and like, made it the coolest room known to mankind. I also had a ferret at the time named Charlette. Why I had a ferret, I have no idea, but I had one and she was the sweetest little thing ever. Anyway, so I was sleeping one night in my bed and apparently Charlette got out of her cage somehow and was playing around in my room. I was unaware of this, I was sleeping. You get the idea. Anyway, Charlette must have crawled up into my bed to like...snuggle with me? I'm not sure what her intentions were. But, it couldn't have been a worse time to do so because I specifically recall having a horrible nightmare about a spider crawling under my clothes and up to my neck. I freaked out and, in a moment of bravery, grabbed the spider and threw it across the room.
Well, that "spider" just so happened to be my beloved ferret Charlette. I didn't connect the ideas/perpetrators until I heard a "noise"...a big ka-thunk made by something that hit the wall across the room. I looked over, and sure enough, there goes Charlette running for dear life. The range of emotions I went through when I realized what I had just done went from sheer terror to utter remorse and endless guilt. If anything though, I was simply relieved to see that she was up and moving...god knows I wouldn't have been. She apparently went unhurt and unbothered by the traumatic event, thankfully...but if she would have tried to bite me every time I went to pick her up I would have understood, completely. She didn't though. She was sweet.
Now, where was I before this flashback occurred? Um...oh yeah, lyrics. OK, I'm going to stray from this blog window to a new IE window so I can Google the lyrics to the song. Be back in a flash...
Back. OK, so I was close. It's:
Marconi plays the Mamba,
Listen to the radio
Don't you remember?
We built this city,
We built this city on rock and roll!
Oh, so it's Marconi playing the mamba, not my pony. OK.
But what the bleep is a Marconi?
Back to Google, bear with me...
OK, so apparently Marconi is a guy that invented the radio or, at the very least, the radio antenna (depends on who you ask, I guess)...anyway, something around those lines. But why is he playing the mamba?
But wait, what the bleep is a mamba? Isn't that a dance?
Hold.
A mamba is a highly venomous snake. The black mamba, rather. Marconi was a freak, playing that mamba when it very well could have killed him!
But I guess that's a testament to his bravery, playing with mambas. I hope it wasn't mamba #5 though!
Oh...mambo #5. My bad.
BARACK THE VOTE!
Weird--donuts and ice cream are quite possibly two of my favorite things in the world...food wise, you know.
So is the world counting on my specific vote? Why else would they lure me to the polls with such temptations?.
Very weird, if you ask me. Which you didn't. But who cares?
Not me.
I haven't voted yet, but that's because I'm at work and I had a lot of shizz to do today, including writing this blog. But I will vote for sure. At 2. Today. It's a historic day, potentially, and this is a historic post...
Well, it's a post nonetheless. But this blog is the shizz! Right?
I think so.
Are you still reading?
If so, good, because I have a story:
So last night for some weird reason, during a dream, the song "We Built This City" was playing like a broken record in my head, BUT, the part that kept repeating was something like this, "my pony plays the mamba, listenin to the radio..."
Now, I don't know if those are the actual lyrics, BUT apparently I needed to know them at that very moment, at whatever time of night it was which, I really have no idea because I didn't even look at a clock. But what's weirder is that I vaguely remember opening my laptop to try and Google the lyrics...mind you I'm SLEEPING while I'm doing this. I don't know if anything was accomplished at that moment but I do know my computer is in one piece...I didn't like drop it or anything and completely disregard the whole event.
FLASHBACK!
Back when I lived at my parents' house I made my bedroom out of a section of the basement. I cleaned the basement up, painted the walls (including the ceiling) and like, made it the coolest room known to mankind. I also had a ferret at the time named Charlette. Why I had a ferret, I have no idea, but I had one and she was the sweetest little thing ever. Anyway, so I was sleeping one night in my bed and apparently Charlette got out of her cage somehow and was playing around in my room. I was unaware of this, I was sleeping. You get the idea. Anyway, Charlette must have crawled up into my bed to like...snuggle with me? I'm not sure what her intentions were. But, it couldn't have been a worse time to do so because I specifically recall having a horrible nightmare about a spider crawling under my clothes and up to my neck. I freaked out and, in a moment of bravery, grabbed the spider and threw it across the room.
Well, that "spider" just so happened to be my beloved ferret Charlette. I didn't connect the ideas/perpetrators until I heard a "noise"...a big ka-thunk made by something that hit the wall across the room. I looked over, and sure enough, there goes Charlette running for dear life. The range of emotions I went through when I realized what I had just done went from sheer terror to utter remorse and endless guilt. If anything though, I was simply relieved to see that she was up and moving...god knows I wouldn't have been. She apparently went unhurt and unbothered by the traumatic event, thankfully...but if she would have tried to bite me every time I went to pick her up I would have understood, completely. She didn't though. She was sweet.
Now, where was I before this flashback occurred? Um...oh yeah, lyrics. OK, I'm going to stray from this blog window to a new IE window so I can Google the lyrics to the song. Be back in a flash...
Back. OK, so I was close. It's:
Marconi plays the Mamba,
Listen to the radio
Don't you remember?
We built this city,
We built this city on rock and roll!
Oh, so it's Marconi playing the mamba, not my pony. OK.
But what the bleep is a Marconi?
Back to Google, bear with me...
OK, so apparently Marconi is a guy that invented the radio or, at the very least, the radio antenna (depends on who you ask, I guess)...anyway, something around those lines. But why is he playing the mamba?
But wait, what the bleep is a mamba? Isn't that a dance?
Hold.
A mamba is a highly venomous snake. The black mamba, rather. Marconi was a freak, playing that mamba when it very well could have killed him!
But I guess that's a testament to his bravery, playing with mambas. I hope it wasn't mamba #5 though!
Oh...mambo #5. My bad.
BARACK THE VOTE!
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