Monthly Archives: September 2011
It is a grand tradition at my Rockstar’s work to have an annual Holiday Party. In past years, the party has been accompanied by a hefty bonus check for each employee. Sadly, in the last few years, the bonus has been replaced with a better Holiday Party and fishing shirts embroidered with the company logo. This may be the reason why my Rockstar is so bitter about about this year’s festivities. I shall elaborate…
The boss decided to have the party early this year, so next week, he is paying for an all-inclusive night at a bed-and-breakfast, complete with a Mystery Dinner for all his employees. (I believe this is at least partly because he doesn’t want my drunken crazy self anywhere near his house like last year.) When my Rockstar found out, he came home and slammed his lunchbox down and said, “Look at this stupid bull-shit he’s got planned.” I read the brochure, and being the up-beat, fly-by-my-seat gal that I am, exclaimed what fun it would be. My Rockstar said we weren’t going. I was sad.
A while later, he told me he had, in fact, signed us up to go. I was ecstatic, as any excuse to wear heels NOT to work is cause to celebrate. I asked what I should wear, and my Rockstar, knowing me as he does, to;d me, “You don’t have to dress like a prom queen.” Boo.
A week ago, we received invitations suggesting attire. I have been selected to play a bookish Agatha Christie- type, and was told to wear a long flowing dress. As I, like any other girl, looked into my closet and saw nothing to wear, I went to the store and found a last-year’s prom dress for $10. What luck! I brought it home and swished it around excitedly for my Rockstar. His response? “I already told you not to dress up.”
Now dressing the part is not mandatory, but if you get the chance, why wouldn’t you? In the least, I would have expected him to be thrilled to show off his much-younger girlfriend (me) in a long flowy gown complete with DDD’s. Wouldn’t you? So the question is, do I be the fun, fashionable girl I am and wear my fabulous dress when it sounds like most people AREN”T dressing up?
I, for some reason, find your middle-aged, still- buff self completely magnificent. Perhaps it is the fact that you are so invincible in the character of Eliot Stabler on Law and Order SVU. So many nights of mine have been devoted to watching SVU marathons on the USA network, just to catch a glimpse of your seductive scowl. I just want to say, you may cuff me and have your way any time. One episode in particular (which included a scene with you sans shirt) will forever be burned into my brain as the episode that sparked my much-appreciated Chris Meloni wet dream. (Hallelujah!)
I do not only appreciate you as Eliot; no- I appreciated the many delicious ass-shots the HBO show Oz supplied to me to further boost my obsession. I was, however, a bit disappointed the writers had your character in love with a man in that show…
My ardor was some-what disgruntled after seeing your bizarre performance as the fridge-humping cook in Wet Hot American Summer . (A not-well thought out career choice.)
The flame of my passion for you was further fueled when you played the single father to an almost-zombie girl in the movie Carriers.
Just the thought of your alluring Man Presence sends shivers straight to my secret places. Perhaps in the future, you will trade in your Amazon of a wife for a short girl with DDD’s? I can only hope. XOXO
P.S. If any bloggers know Chris personally, feel free to let him know that sparklebumpsthebookwhore pines for him endlessly; and that I have a pair of panties for him.
P.P.S. This ode is for humorous blogging purposes only, and no Meloni was stalked in the writing of it. However, the words in this post are completely true, and I find Chris utterly scrumptious.
Hello, My Lovelys. Today I have decided it’s about time that I reach 1000 views on my blog. (I personally think I should have reached this about a week ago, but perhaps I am not as utterly entertaining as I believe myself to be.) Even so, I when I logged in this morning, I found that 19 people had already viewed my site today, even though I hadn’t yet posted anything yet, so at least I have a small following. By the way, I love you all who read my blog, whether it’s every day, once a week, or you are new to my site. XOXO
So, I only need 179 views today to make me famous, (in my own mind), so if you feel the need to spread the word about this “life-changing site”, feel free! To do my own part, I shall delve into the deep and twisted recesses of my mind to bring you a story that is just too bizarre not to be true. It is a story about life, love, friendship, stalkerism and me. (All my favorite things to write about) To prove to some readers (Trask Avenue) that Creeperville seems to follow me wherever I go, this is my story….
Once upon a time, Sparklebumps had a friend we will call Carebear. (Carebear has been mentioned in previous posts as the friend who pussy-whips her men.) When I left my husband and had gotten an apartment, Carebear was in the middle of dating a man named Chaqd. (FYI, the “Q” is silent. Chaqd had low self-esteem in school so he made up a way to stand out by adding a “q” to his otherwise normal Chad name, and he gets very upset when you don’t acknowledge the “q”.)
Carebear and Chaqd had a very tumultous relationship, mainly because Carebear wished to be married (as she was the only one of her friends not yet) and Chaqd was a hopeless romantic who believed in Karma and Fate and all that fun stuff. Because Chaqd was also emotionally unstable, he freaked out quite frequently when Carebear would tell him to get a “real” job and quit being such a baby. There were many conversations about Chad with a Q between her and I, and being able to see more clearly than she, it seemed to me that Chaqd was just a slightly more-neurotic ex-alcoholic female version of myself. Carebear had even said several times that he and I would be perfect together.
During the course of their relationship, I only met Chaqd once, and he seemed nice enough. He tried really hard to be the kind of boyfriend Carebear required him to be, but his excessive emotionality irked her. That and the fact that she didn’t find him in any way remotely attractive. When I told Carebear that I had left my husband, she immediately dumped Chaqd, thinking that now we could be the not-as-skinny Midwest version of the gals from Sex and the City. I had not yet told her that I had a red-headed Fuck Buddy who had incidentally become my boyfriend. When she found out, she called Chaqd up and he came back to her like a moth to the flame.
After a week or two, she decided she didn’t want to deal with Chaqd’s hysteria anymore, and dumped him for good. This resulted in Chaqd’s descent into what we call Stalkerism. He hacked into her Facebook account and would show up at her house in the middle of the night banging on the door and begging for Carebear to take him back.
One night during all of this nonsense, I was working at my bookstore, as I do, when Chaqd came waltzing in the door. He stated that he had come in to get my advice on how to get Carebear back. Being the blunt and honest person that I am, I said, “Dude she doesn’t want you back, and considering the good things that I know about you, you probably deserve someone nicer. You need to get over it and find a good girl. And quit acting like a crazy nut.” (This may seem very un-friend like of me, but as I said before, Carebear is a great girl- I would never in a million years want to marry her.) This got us talking about Carebear’s less-than- desirable qualities, the main one being that her desire for material things resulted in many over-time hours, keeping her from being available to her young son.
When it was time to close up, Chaqd walked me out to my car, and we were babbling about whatever non-stop, so since my apartment was only a few blocks away, I invited Chaqd to come over for a bit and hang. (In hindsight, if I would have thought about the Stalkerisms he had committed, I would not have done this.) For a few hours we talked about life, and Chaqd, being a histrionic like me, told me all about himself. (without me asking him to.) We talked about the ironic fact that we both want children desperately and don’t have any, and about art and Prince. ( Because I was alphebetizing my CD collection.) I told him it was time for me to sleep, so he had to go, but if he needed a friendly face, I was around. He stood in my doorway and said, “You know, Carebear said we would be perfect together.” I was some-what surprised she would have told HIM this while they were still dating, but I was happily dating my Rockstar, so I told him, “Yes, maybe we would have been if I didn’t have my Rockstar.” We said goodbye and he left.
The next day, Chaqd texted me and told me he was so happy that we had had the lovely colloquy that we’d had, and that he wanted to go out for lunch if I wasn’t busy. I thought it a bit odd, but at times I suffer from bouts of dumb-assedness, so I told him ok. We went out for lunch and Chaqd told me he was leaving for a trip to Vegas with his dad the next day, but would think about me the whole time. He asked if he could text me while he was there, and I suspiciously said he could.
The entire next week, my phone was bombarded with texts from the Chaqd, many of them coming in the middle of the night, as he was staying up all night in Vegas. He proceeded to schmoogle me with text of his undying almost-love, and how he couldn’t believe we were so alike. I continued to remind him that I had my Rockstar, and although I didn’t mind being a friend to him, he needed to understand that not anything romantic was going to come of our relationship.
The night he came back from Vegas, he showed up at my apartment building at 3 AM and text me that he was outside with flowers. I told him that I would not buzz him in, because his behavior was borderline dilirious. He spent the next hour texting me from downstairs, trying to convince me to let him in so he could just “lay in bed with me while I slept.” I shut my phone off.
In the next week or so, I found out that Chaqd had been talking to Carebear again, and twisted everything around to make it look that I was persuing HIM. She called me up, furious, asking me how I could do that, and why was I going after Chaqd when I had my Rockstar. I explained the situation, and since she had had her own Stalker behavior from him, she understood. Unfortunately, Chaqd had also mentioned our conversation about Carebear being a less-than-admirable mother (Oops.) She and I ended up having a huge fight, telling each other all the things we actually thought about each other that we had never said in 20 years. I admit that I shouldn’t have told Chaqd what I thought, since Carebear was my friend, but I guess we got it all out anyway.
We spent the next days in a terrible three-some text war, Carebear, Chaqd, and I, with alot of he-said, she-said going on. In the end, we deleted Chaqd from our lives and slightly forgave each other. Our friendship is no longer what it used to be, although I know if I called her today, Carebear would be there for me. Unfortunately, if I called Chaqd today, he also would be there for me.
So this is the story of how my honest and too- big mouth got me in trouble with someone I love. May this be a lesson to you all. XOXO
P.S. Make me famous today!
So there is a book you may have heard of entitled The Five Love Languages. Working in a bookstore, I have come across this book from time to time and scanned through it. (As actually reading it would take more time than I am prepared to commit to.) In moseying through this book, I have come to figure out that my Love Language is Touch. Of course, I probably could have told you that WITHOUT reading the book. So now begins my story.
My family is excessively huggy; meaning if I bring you to a family gathering, you will probably receive a hug when you leave, and if I were to bring you back again, you would receive yet another hug upon arrival. I had never really thought of this much growing up, since it was just the way of it.
When I began dating my ex at 18, I quickly found out that his family was NOT this way. I believe part of it was due to the fact that they all worked together in the family restaurant, so they saw each other every day, but I also believe they all had an underlying weird semi-dislike for each other. Anyhoo, I found out I got the affectionate one of the bunch. Though he was not blatantly throwing himself at people for hugs like I do, my ex (we will call him J) would surreptitiously slip his hand around mine while we were watching a movie, or slide me by my belt loops over to him in the bench seat of his truck. After 12 years together, he was accustomed to giving goodbye hugs and kisses, hello hugs and kisses, goodnite kisses, and nighttime holdings. I didn’t realize having a person hold me at night was a big deal until after I left.
(To interrupt my story for a moment, I just the gate to my store and a man walked by, rubber- necking. He came back in a few minutes. This was our conversation.
Him: Hey, what are you hiring for? (We have a help wanted sign up)
Me: Just to run the store, process book buys, you know. You want a job? (Yes, I realize I set myself up for that one.)
Him: (raising an eyebrow and grinning) Why? Are you offering?
Me: (Flashing a flirty smile) I’m not the boss. I don’t hire people.
Him: Well, if I got hired, I would spend all my time lookin’ at you. (Gag me)
Me: Yes, well most people do.
Him: What are you doing tonite?
Me: Going home after work.
Him: Well, that’s a really nice outfit, I’ll be keeping my eye on you. (Like that’s not creepy.)
The End. I wonder if it was actually my outfit or because I dyed my hair Jessica Rabbit Red that he stopped.)
OK. So back to my story. When I left my hubby and got a lonely lonely apartment, I was not yet officially dating my Rockstar, (he was still just my Fuck Buddy) and I was actually toying with the idea of dating his co-worker Kieth, who he had introduced me too. Kieth was all about hugs and touching and saying what you feel, which appealed to me greatly, but it bordered on the edge of obnoxious. So I had a conversation with my Rockstar about it and he told me, “If you expect me to be all huggy and affectionate like Kieth, I have to tell you that I’m not like that.” Aside from that fact, I really did want my Rockstar to be my boyfriend, because we have an awesome time together. And up to that point he had been sufficiently affectionate with me.
In the next few months, I went through a tough time, realizing that I didn’t have my hubby anymore to hold me at night, and realizing that my Rockstar had slept in his bed alone for the last 8 years, so he was not yet prepared to have someone invade his side of the bed. There were many nights I stayed at his house which ended with his sleeping on the couch because I resembled a victim of the Titanic using him as my life-jacket in bed. On the nights I stayed at my place alone, I would stay up all night texting anyone who would respond, as the lack of a warm body next to me prevented me from sleeping.
About a year ago, I moved in with my Rockstar, which I believe at times he has regretted solely for the reason that I hold him at night and take up his side of the bed. In the past few summer months, that has discontinued because of the heat. I have finally grown accustomed to staying on my own side of the bed.
So in the past week or so, I noticed something ironic. My Rockstar is now the one scootching up next to me at night. In fact, last night we fell asleep in a tangle of appendages because he was trying to be next to me. Perhaps we have been together long enough now that he is willing to let his own neediness show, or maybe he is finally learning to speak my Love Language. I thought it was sweet when he would grab my hand and hold it as I was drifting away in sleepy bliss, but when I woke up last night with his arms latched onto me, I thought to myself, “Get on your own damn side of the bed!”
FYI, I still prefer being latched onto while sleeping to lying in bed alone.
P.S. So the remember the bitchy woman who I mentioned brought books in yesterday? She came back to sell the same books today that she wouldn’t sell to me yesterday. WTF?!
By now you know that I generally feel all warm and fuzzy toward my bookstore customers, (frickin’ Lip Lady) so today I shall enlighten you with our process of buying books and the ummm.. “splendid” customers I get to deal with.
The policy at our bookstore is that a person may bring in their gently-used books at any time and we will go through them, figure out what we can take, and give the customer a choice of either store credit or cash. Our store is somewhat small, so we are unable to take a copy of a book if we already have one in stock. When this happens, I politely tell the customer that they are welcome to try bringing those books back at another time, because it’s quite possible that we would be able to take them then. The most we offer for any one book is $3, but most often it is around a $1 that we give. Our bookstore is here to make money, not to make other people money.
So probably the worst type of book-buy customer I get is the Cat Hair People- those individuals who bring in a box or two of books and as I’m pulling the books from the box, cat and other assorted pet hair is wafting up out of the box. Really?! Yes, I SO wish to purchase these books covered in fur; I bet we could even charge MORE for them! After all, people pay big dollars for fur coats right? Why not for furry books? The dead bugs and spiders in the bottom of the box are always a plus too. Let me just break out the Benjamins for your shitty condition books. And shame on you for treating lovely books that way!
The next kind of customer are the Crank-Ass Money People- those citizens looking to make as much money off of their books as we would. I had the distinct pleasure of dealing with one of these this morning. She brought in books, and I made her an offer. She looked at me in disgust and said, “That’s it? NO, I’m not going to take that because THIS (she picked up a title) is a brand new book, and I brought in THIS (she pointed to a copy of The Help) book last week, and you gave me $2 for it, and NOW you are selling it for $16.” I explained to her that THAT particular copy of The Help was a specially ordered new copy we had gotten, which was why it was marked so high, and that HER copy of The Help we would have sold for $7.98. Her reply was, “Well, MY copy was a NEW copy too.” At which point I wanted to ask her why she sold her copy to us for $2 if it made her so distressed. I also wanted to tell her to “Suck it, Bitch, and get the fuck outta here before I pound you.” But I just smiled and said, “Have a nice day.”
The final crapper customer I get is the one who steals a cart from SEARS and brings it filled with boxes of books, and then parks their stupid faces right in front of my counter, and observes me going through and scanning every book, even when I have told them it will take a bit for me to go through them. Some will try to up-sell their books by saying, “Oh that’s a great one, and I just bought it,” or “See? I take really good care of my books.” Others will be completely obnoxious and ask , “So how much are you going to give me for that one?” after EVERY SINGLE book I scan. But the most awkward are the ones who just stand there. Stand there silently and just watch me work. Grrr.
I realize I bitch alot about my job, but I do believe I would bitch alot about ANY job, and this one is really the best job I could have because the presence of books gives me a high me. I just have to take the good with the nasty punk-assed customers that come with it. XOXO
Today I shall ask the question that confuses me greatly. Why are there so many men who are completely pussy-whipped? Don’t get me wrong; I believe pussy is a perfectly valid incentive for men to do what they do, but to elaborate, why are men completely pussy-whipped by bitches?
I will admit, I am very selfish and think I should have my way essentially always, but having my way does not generally in any way hinder my man from having his way, except for the occasions when he wants to take naps. (I understand as one get older, a person may need a nap, but at 40?) What I am talking about is when women try to change a man in such a way that only benefits themselves, and NOT the man. And why do men put up with that?
For example, my ex-hubby has a friend who is in this situation. Perhaps a year after he was married, this friend, (who we will call “Bob”) came over to drink with us at my ex-brother-in-law’s. I was carrying on and having a lively old time when my hubby came over to me and told me I should go give “Bob” a hug because he was crying in his beer. (literally) So I went on over to “Bob” and gave him a big ol’ Sparklebumps hug, and he proceeded to bitch about his wife for the next little while. He carried on about how she yelled at him all the time, and how she never wanted him to have any fun unless she was there, and how he was going to be in trouble tomorrow because he was out drinking tonight without her. In my drunken state, I nodded and gave my honest opinion, “Yes, well, you have to realize that not every girl is as fun as me.” This seemed to make him feel better, (because he was drunken and of course it made sense) and the next day, he went home to his wife and told her we did It. (which was not true and most definitely NOT my point) Anyhoo, that story is for another time. The point is that instead of divorcing her nagging, controlling ass, he moved on to have 3 more kids with her. Maybe he likes her better now, or he just realizes that if he was to leave the child support payments would be killer, but what possessed him to stay in the first place?
Another example is my friend, whom I love dearly, but after listening to her bitch about her boyfriends for the past 12 years, I would never consider wanting to marry her. She is a great girl- she’s pretty, indepedent, and has a great job, but every single boyfriend she’s ever had she has tried to change and control, (which is why I believe she is not yet married). Perhaps they were just not “The One”, who knows.
A few years ago, she was “dating” (fucking) a man who was from a different country, and who had stated in the very beginning he would never consider marrying her because his family wouldn’t approve. Yes, he was a momma’s boy, but if a man told you that would you stick around and try to change his mind? The entire relationship was spent in a cloud of argumentative bliss, she trying to convince him to be a better boyfriend, and then reprimanding him passionately when he refused. She broke up with him, he broke up with her, they got back together… you know. The point is, why would any man in their right mind put up with that? She has since found a new man, but bugs him constantly about buying her a ridiculously uneconomical engagement ring.
A final example is my ex-hubby. No, I am not referring to his time with me, as I have already proved that I won’t stay around if someone doesn’t want to change for me. (And anyway, I’m awesome) I am speaking of his current relationship. I occasionally get texts from him, in which he informs me of the latest going-ons, and he has stated to me that she runs a tight ship and he’s not sure he wants to marry her because she is that way. WHY WOULD HE STAY WITH HER?!
There are just as many a-hole men out there too. (Just to prove that I’m not being sexist.) But seriously, what makes a man want to deal with a bitch?I believe that men (and women) should indeed compromise and change for their partner in ways that are beneficial to both parties. I don’t think one should ever “be the boss” of the other, as that seemed to spark resentment, and anyway, if you wanted to spend your life being bossed around, why wouldn’t you just work? I don’t think a man should ever have to say, “She won’t LET me.” XOXO
I don’t know about you, but I prefer my beverages without floaties. I’m not really sure why ANYONE would wish to have chunks in a drink. So perhaps this is why I am utterly baffled that the mocha I order from Caribou Coffee comes with pieces of Snickers on top. What if someone choked? Wouldn’t there be a lawsuit? You would think that this company would take very precaution to keep something of that nature from happening. But apparently, until they realize how dangerous a piece of chocolatey peanutness going down someone’s throat could be, I shall have to order my drink WITHOUT snickers.
It is my own little tradition that I stop at Caribou on my way to church every Sunday. The hour long drive compels me to have something to sip on. So when I stop at the same Caribou Coffee every Sunday, at the same time EVERY Sunday, you would think they would get used to hearing, “No, I do not wish for a fresh breakfast sandwich. I would like a Large Turtle Mocha with milk chocolate, extra hot, and NO Snickers.” The obnoxious question that follows, “Would you like a muffin from our bakery or something else?” makes me want to pulverize the speaker box and scream, “NO! IF I WANTED ANYTHING ELSE I WOULD HAVE ORDERED SOMETHING ELSE!” But what irks me more than anything is when I am looking forward to that first titillating sip of whip cream and coffeeness that almost induces sexual climax, and instead, my orgasmic state IS INTERRUPTED BY THE CHUNKS OF PEANUT THAT I SPECIFICALLY ASKED NOT TO HAVE. Seriously?! Perhaps Caribou should hire individuals who are NOT imbeciles. I realize that everyone makes mistakes, but when it consistently happens EVERY Sunday. I believe that the people working are truly just fucking stupid. I know what you’re thinking, “Why don’t you go back and say something, or go to a different Caribou.” These are valid questions, to which I will answer- “Why should I have to pay $5 for a coffee, and then go out of my way to complain when the frickin’ asstards that screwed it up in the first place are just too busy yapping to each other?” I just can’t even talk about this anymore, it makes me so incensed I have to be done right now. Goodbye.