Hello There

“It’s been seven hours and fifteen days…”

Or more like seven months since I last posted. And for that, I am sorry.

I’m sorry because what devoted readers I did have have probably forgotten my very existence.

I’m sorry because I have found myself in a maelstrom funk that has continuously tried to drown any creativity out of me since I’ve quit writing.

I’m sorry because the drama of my life still exists, and you’ve all missed out on the daily dose of neurosis.

So let me sum up:

My child is now a cheeky little shit, who’s favorite thing to do is yell “SHIT!” at the top of his lungs and giggle uncontrollably, or to get right in my face and mimic a howling monkey. Actually, he’s a pretty good kid, who loves me more than anyone else, so all the other stuff is alright.

I took my Rockstar to Vegas for my birthday, where we mostly had a fabulous time, other than the moments following my  hour-long search for him during a concert, where he drunkenly cried, “Fuck you! Fuck you!” at me for no good reason. This was followed by my walking three miles down the Las Vegas Strip by myself in a tipsy rage, which was somewhat stabilized by the many offers of hugs (and money) I received. Whatever fun we did have was dampened by having a crazy man open fire on innocents from Mandalay Bay the very next day after we got home.

I’ve replaced my serving job with teenagers with a serving job with college students and am now suffering through the hell that is called Endless Shrimp. My coworkers all think I’m completely nuts, and I think they are not wrong.

I have in mind a new book series I must bring myself to work on, so it is yet to be determined whether my re-entrance to blogging will be successful.

To all of you that are still around, I’ve missed you, and will endeavor to try and get my muchness back.

XOXO

P.S. In the meantime, enjoy a Halloween picture.

Two

There are so many great things that come in two…

Burgers on a Big Mac, eyes, hands, elbows, boobies (since we’re on body parts), balls (unless you’re Lance Armstrong), twins, high heels…

… and my kid. There are not two of him, but he is now two.

Like, seriously, where the fuck did those two years go?!

I suppose they were lost in the melee of diapers, animal flashcards, and Playdoh. As much as I’d like to admit that I’m mostly the same person that I was before him, I really am not. I talk to other mothers about their kids now, (sporadically) and get a ridiculous thrill out of the fact that my boy mimics every word that comes out of my mouth. (I still retain my sailor’s vocabulary, but at least only I realize it when my kid is yelling “FUCK”. )

In other ways, I am still me. I don’t like to cook still, and very closely resemble Cher’s character in the movie Mermaids when it comes to preparing meals. (Finger foods, finger foods.) I still enjoy whiskey at times, and other assorted adult beverages, and sometimes wonder if, as he gets older, my kid will recognize the tell-tale signs of my tipsiness.

I am glad that I now have a little person to drag around to fun things like the zoo and the science museum, as I did not exactly enjoy coming off as a creeper/pedophile when frequenting such places before motherhood. Too, I like this having a young one to throw themed birthday parties for. (We just had a Dr. Seuss one.)

Clearly, I have lost my edge when it comes to writing, because it seems that I am rambling now, and have written a post of little or no interest, so I think it’s time to say goodbye for the night.

So farewell for now, dear readers. I just wanted to let you know I’m still around.

XOXO

 

I Know What It Feels Like To Hold the Sun Now

I know what it feels like

to hold the Sun now.

As I cup his beloved face,

my hands are warmed by

that smile,

the most brilliant of smiles;

my arms tingle with the heat of it.

The fire spreads through my body

and I feel like Icarus,

burning up from such close proximity.

The flames of this

Love

dance in my muscles,

causing me to hold him

a little tighter than I should.

His tiny doll’s hand reaches out

to hold my cheek,

and I wonder if he feels

the warmth

of the Moon,

reflecting the glory of his Light.

Five Years

Hey there, Strangers.

It’s been a long time. If you, my lovely readers, and I were in a relationship, you’d have every right to toss me aside for someone who doesn’t neglect you as I have the last few months. But, let me tell you something- after five years, relationships tend to go through a stale time before they get stronger. For yes, WordPress has informed me that it has been five years and a few days since I did begin a little online rant called sparklebumpsthebookwhore. Said action forever changed my life, I believe, completely for the better. It is hoped that it did, too, change all of your lives for the better. My histrionica convinces me it most certainly did.

Though I have not yet found life-altering fame, I will say that I am taking baby steps (sometimes very literally) to expand my horizons and experience new things I’ve never before experienced. I’ve thrown my best friend (who I met through my blog several years ago) a rather fabulous bridal shower, and just this past weekend joined her and her other favorites for a bachelorette party that included a horse-drawn carriage ride through the city. (Numerous Uber rides were also a first; I shall never forget the four of us piling into a Ford Fiesta driven by a friendly individual resembling Austin Power’s Fat Bastard. Good Times.)

My life has vastly improved in the last half-decade; this is mainly due to a little man who  resembles me too closely at times- mostly when he’s butting his head against whatever’s nearby when he’s pissed off. Yes, I have the mental maturity to not actually smash my head against inanimate objects, but, I promise, I’m doing it in my head constantly. Perhaps this is the reason I sometimes forget what I’m saying mid-sentence, and find it hard to focus on pretty much everything….

Yes, my Babe is too much like his mother, but in some ways, that’s great. (in my opinion.) His constant growling and attacking his stuffed animals and the dog proves that his wild imagination is intact, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Things with my Rockstar are less sexy that I’d necessarily wish them to be, but that will happen when there’s a toddler about and our work schedules are completely opposite. He still has amazing hair, and a habit of buying very expensive guitar gear. Ah, well. Boys will be boys.

My Rockstar’s Daughter is now officially a high-schooler (cringe), and I have come to realize that for the most part, we will have to ignore each other for the next four years for both of us to make it out alive. That’s all I’m going to say about that for now.

I’m still masquerading as a waitress until I finish my book, but as of this week, I got a $3 an hour raise, so I can’t really complain…even though one of my joyful “managers” refers to me as a “stupid fucking cunt”  to whomever will listen. Let’s just say the feeling is mutual. Even if he is a dude.

I am making more of an effort to use my time more wisely toward writing, which should go swimmingly unless they add an unknown season of Sons of Anarchy on Netflix, so you shouldn’t have to wait so long again for me to entertain you again. We’ll have to see if being a mother has drained me of my general amazingness.

XOXO,

Sparklebumps

The Vagabond (otherwise entitled Why Parents Need Cocaine)

My child is one. I suppose if you want to be technical, he is one and a little more. The point is, I haven’t slept in over a year.

Yes, ok, so that’s not exactly true. I just this afternoon slept for a good half hour while the Babe napped. And I guess my Rockstar watched him yesterday morning so I could sleep in a wee bit. But a whole eight-hour night’s sleep? Such things are the things of myths and fairytales.

I’ve been remiss in my writing of blog posts; a fact that is proven by my last post which was sometime in March, I think. Too, I find myself not a whole lot further in the writing of my book- because Pinterest is the Devil’s hippodrome, and he very successfully distracts me in his evil game of idle pin surfing. Spring has brought hours of yard work, and a kid who freaks out every time I attempt to Brazil butt-lift my saggy ass have also preoccupied me from becoming my most amazing self. On the plus side, my kid is ridiculously awesome and my exact mini male replica.

The thing I have learned in the past year? Anyone who has ever gotten hooked on cocaine must first have had a child. How else would you explain the need to be awake for extended hours and days at a time? How else would the dishes ever get done and the lawn mown and the laundry folded and the kids get fed and bathed and read to?

As I am generally not of the criminal ilk, I have opted for a more legal path. Diet vitamins and other assorted energy-boosting products. Along with reaching my goal weight, I shall now find the energy to create my most interesting characters.

I must admit, the true origin of buying such energy-boosting items stems from the fact that I’m just too lazy to exercise. But, ya know, maybe I won’t be after a week or two of partaking in legalized speed.

My real question is- how the hell does anybody get anything done with more than one kid?!

The Girl That Was

I suppose I am still Her, at least a little bit. That girl who blurbed on and on about mostly herself in all those previous posts that were so entertaining in a car-crash-sort-of-way. My biggest problem now is navigating WordPress’s new look. It has been many moons and a daylight savings time since I’ve thought much about my blog. Aye, me.

To say that I have the perfect baby would be a crude understatement. Yes, at least most mothers would say as much about their own spawn, but how many can actually say they are being honest when they say it? Of all the lies I will never admit I may have told in my life, this is not one of them. My Boy is the essence of everything good that is in me, and all the good that is not in me, too. He bears no hint of the darkness that resides in me, and is forever ready with a smile for anyone who pays him any mind. If there is any evil in him, it may only be heard in the demon shriek he has perfected, which he really only uses to entertain himself.

My life in other aspects is somewhat more bleak. In my previous post, I hinted of dissention in my relationship. ‘Tis not the stuff of beloved Rom-Coms these days, unless we are referring to the part in such movies where the lovers spat. Yes, it is safe to say that there is much spatting going on. Let’s just blame it all on the Rockstar’s Daughter.

Ok, it’s not entirely her fault, but I do believe her existence begets a black hole of exhaustion that sucks in everyone she comes in contact with. Even the dog is bone-weary. Ha. I made a joke there.

That being said, I felt the need to brief you all on the goings-on of your Bookwhore. I cannot say with any certainty that I will be back in any capacity closely resembling the former Me, but I have been feeling the need to once again take up my quill and write. (Something other than just my book, that is.)

Until We Meet Again,

XOXO

Sparklebumps

November the First

Hmm. I don’t write on here so much anymore. This makes me sad. So I shall begin anew.

I suppose I would do well to update you all on everything that’s been happening in the last, well- the last really long time. But in the words of Inigo Montoya: “No, there is too much. Let me sum up.” –

My baby is a seven months and a little bit old. Holy shit.  And even though I lost every bit of weight I gained when I was pregnant with him, I do not find myself motivated enough to lose the extra 50-60 lbs. I had before that. So sadly, I have not yet reached my goal of ultimate M.I.L.F. status. But, ya know- I’m still awesome. And I have the best kid who is so smart and funny and adorable. And I’m not even being biased. Let me prove it:

 

Things between my Rockstar and I have not been the stuff of romantic comedies of late. Unless you’re thinking of the part in the movie when the couple argues and breaks up. No, we haven’t broken up; in fact, I suppose technically we’ve never even argued- you can’t argue with a person who doesn’t respond to your gripe. But in recent times I find myself bitching to myself over his lack of interest and general laziness in the relationship. After having expressed myself to him, I realize I’m kinda over it. A person can only take so much disappointment. And since his daughter now lives with us full-time, I am not in quite as good of spirits as I once was. Boo.

On a lighter note, I now work with an adorable hot chic that says I’m her favorite, and I have been approved for six new credit cards in the last two months, which is something I’m not quite sure is a good thing yet- other than the fact that finally after six years, I actually CAN get approved for things. Sadly, in those six years, I have not learned restraint, and also not-quite-but-almost maxxed out all said credit cards. BUT! I have a beautiful new copper loveseat in my perfect library that’s sitting in front of my very expensive electric fireplace I ordered with my Menard’s card.

Also, my most amazing friend Delightfulness is almost engaged, and apparently has a ridiculously large wedding budget that I get to help her plan with. Such a wedding will have no room for chubby bridesmaids, so I must force myself to not eat in the coming year, which will help with the whole M.I.L.F. thing.  Life is good.

Too, I am completely re-inspired to finally finish writing my book, though since I have an adorable little boy who has inherited my need for attention, the only time I have to write it is after work, when I sit down in front of my computer and get distracted by Facebook and Pinterest. Aye, me.

XOXO

Thirty-Fucking-Four

Damn, I’m old.

Yes, yes, I realize that a good many people out there are much older than I, but having celebrated my birthday just yesterday and realizing I’ve accomplished not all that much has made me feel incredibly aged.

It is true, I’m much wiser than my 33-year-old self was, having experienced child-birth and having lived with an almost step-child every day for the past year. For this I suppose I am grateful. However, there are some downfalls to growing older….

I have less patience for mankind as the years go by- my theory that most people are assholes has been proven again and again over the past year. While I was willing to overlook such trivialities in the past, as the years go by, I more frequently find myself daydreaming of a time when  I can walk through a parking lot without having a farmer hanky blown in my direction, and the imbeciles on the roads are restricted from operating motor vehicles.

I realize how non-existant my will power has become- I am not my perfect goal weight. I have not finished writing my best-seller. I haven’t learned any languages, or trained the dog to quit barking, or finished painting the mural in my basement bathroom. Boo on me.

I feel like I’m eighty most of the time- this may have something to do with the fact that I am not at my goal weight. And that my diet consists of Caribou Coffee and French fries. And that my chosen form of working out is walking out to the mailbox daily to see if a million dollar check has arrived yet.

Whatever. At least I still look good.

My Boy

My boy,

I think you are most beautiful

while you sleep-

arms stretched “this big”

and legs splayed, frog-like.

But then you awaken,

and I see

how completely wrong I can be.

You smile,

and even though your mouth

is as empty as an old man’s,

that smile holds

the whole world within it;

and I cannot help but

hold your tiny grinning face

in my hands.

I can scarce believe

that without a single intelligible word,

you make me fall in love

over and over again.

There are times

when I’ve felt a failure;

but looking into your beloved face,

I realize that whatever may come,

I’ve already succeeded.

Elegy for a Crayon

I saw you lying there

Used up and broken.

Your flaming shade

the color of blood-

I half-expected to see

a pool of scarlet oozing

from your stubby ends.

Your wrapper

had been peeled away

completely from one of your pieces;

the other lay in shame

very like a rape victim,

in tattered vestment.

Your identification had been

ripped away.

Only the bold letters OLA

remained.

As I cleared the table,

I placed my hand over you

quickly

To conceal your

wretched state.

I recall a time

when I had adored ones

such as you,

and would never have thought

to leave them in

such a pitiful condition.

I wonder how many more

rainbows you would have

created,

had fate not sent you such a

vicious end.

I toss your remains

into the trash,

apologetically,

and I think to myself.

Children can be so cruel.