Category Archives: Entertainment

Living Dead Girl


It started with my kidneys. One day I woke up and they just weren’t there anymore. I don’t know how I knew. I mean, it wasn’t like that urban legend where the girl wakes up in a tub of ice to find a massive gash in her lower back that’s been stitched up after someone removed her kidneys. I woke up in my own bed, not in ice, but actually with my body temperature high because of my lime-green-and-fuschia-striped comforter. I panicked, and called Riley, my boyfriend at the time, at work.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” he had asked when I told him about my missing kidneys. “Are you high?”

When I said no, and tried to explain the situation, he blew up at me and told me he was busy at work, and that I needed to quit making stupid shit up. I realize now what an asshole he was, because he didn’t seem the least bit concerned that my body parts were beginning to disappear, even when he came over that night after work and saw how freaked I was. He stuck around for a few more months, but when I wouldn’t let it go, and then my pancreas disappeared, he told me he’d had enough of my shit. By that point, I wasn’t really sad to see him go.

I know, you’re wondering how my body can still function without kidneys and a pancreas. I don’t have an explanation, except to say that I’m not actually alive anymore. My shrink says I’m hallucinating; that if I take a minute and really ponder it, I might realize how silly it sounds that I’m still walking around and going about my life if I’m actually dead. My response to her was, “Why don’t you  think about how silly it sounds that a living person is functioning without the necessary body parts?”

Yeah, she didn’t like that. So she wrote me another prescription that I didn’t fill.

My sister was with me when my lungs disappeared. By then, I was pretty much resigned to the fact that I’d never be an organ donor, what with all my parts vanishing, but I let her know anyway, in case we happened to run a marathon and I came up short of breath. She knew about my other body parts, so she was sufficiently sympathetic. She offered to drive me to the clinic, and seemed relieved when they presented us with X-rays that clearly sported a healthy-looking set of lungs. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that they’d done that before- gotten my X-rays mixed up with another patient’s. I want her faith in our medical community to remain intact.

After that, I kept that fact that I dematerializing to myself. It’s bad enough that I’m dealing with the fact that I ceased to exist. I don’t need my friends and family aggravating the situation by telling me I’m more unhinged than Kanye West at an awards show. I may be missing internal organs, but my feelings are still there. I’m just hoping my heart dissolves before it gets broken, because at least that won’t hurt. I’ve always heard a broken heart is a tough thing to deal with. The real question is- can my heart still break if I’m already dead?

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A Letter to a Modern-Day Adonis


Dear Charlie Hunnam,

As I have stated in my post title above, you, Charlie, are a modern-day Adonis, and so must be the recipient of my latest letter. Kudos to you.

It is true, you are best known as the tortured soul Jax Teller from Sons of Anarchy, and while I have not been privy to much of your other work, I do believe the multitude of sex scenes with delectable ass shots in SOA may have had something to do with that. (It’s like two scoops of butter pecan ice cream…) I must admit, there are very few nude males that I would gladly torment my eyes with, (as I am very much a boob gal, and do so adore a good titty display) but you, kind sir, are welcome to remain naked in front of my vision indefinitely.

It is still a bit disturbing to me that you hale from Newcastle upon Tyne. As well-read as I am, I had no idea what the fuck that meant, but investigated enough to find that it was somewhere in England. Cheeri-o, mate! I actually hope to never hear your original accent, which I assume is British, because you seem to be so down-to-earth and not at all pompous as generally English people tend to be. However, if you ever decide you wish to share your man-meat with me in a carnal fashion, I will allow you to adopt whatever foreign crappy accent you deem appropriate. Just know that I am not quite certain what my reaction may be if I hear, “Tha’ wus fookin’ gright, love.” after we’ve spent ourselves. I may be forced to shut you up by sitting on your not-quite-shaven face.

You may be delighted to know, too, that even my very straight Rockstar has taken notice of your perfectly-sculpted physique. He does not blame you in the least for incessantly posting shirtless pictures of yourself on your official Facebook page. “After working out like hell to look like that, can you blame him?” were his exact words. I think you may just have a chance with him…

I seem to recall having watched a little-known movie a few years back starring you, in which, I’m sure, you were superb. Sadly, I do not recall you being naked, and so it was not noteworthy. Do not get me wrong, oh Gorgeous One- you need not be bare-assed for me to adore you. I can prove it is true by saying I’ve had two dreams in which you starred, neither of which you were nude in. (Sadly.) I must ask: why weren’t you naked in my dreams? I mean, for real. What the fuck?!

I do not think you are aware of my ….fetish for long-haired men. Let me only say that when your hair is of a shorter ilk, I would not so readily do you. But, if you were there lying naked in my bed, I suppose I could lower my standards a tad so as not to waste a good boner.

I applaud you for turning down the role of Christian Grey in the movie version of Fifty Shades. As beautiful as you are, not even you could have saved it from sucking balls. Although, if you had retained the role, I would have, of course, rushed out to buy the DVD no matter how terrible the film was, if only to see you shirtless and spanking someone. Do not be discouraged. I will write for you a well-written smutty book that can be turned into the biggest blockbuster of all time.

In closing, I would like to say that you, Charlie Hunnam, have almost cured me of my insane love for Christopher Meloni; I haven’t dreamed of him since you came into the picture.

Always yours, (even if it is only in my dreams)

Sparklebumps XOXO

 

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Survive and Thrive Workshop: Prompt #3


MM.

How many times did you autograph that monogram

and wonder,

What if they realize I’m not really

Her?

They’ll be so mad when they find out

that this piece of paper

isn’t worth a cent.

I know.

I know what it’s like when people think

you are someone you’re not.

Sure, I’ve never exactly obtained the fame you did,

or been described as the ultimate “sex symbol”.

But,

I guess I’ve had my moments.

Yes, I get it;

Wanting to drown your sorrows in a bottle of gin

so deeply

that you forget the real you

and actually become the glittering figure

They believe you are.

They say you were either

the greatest actress that ever lived

or the biggest joke ever to grace

the silver screen.

Having great tits

tends to make people not take you seriously.

And yet,

you pursued your search for love,

still working toward your goal of becoming a

“real actress”;

even in the end,

you had Them fooled.

As the ambulance drove  your adored body away,

They continued to refer to you as

Marilyn Monroe.

But I know the truth.

You were so much more than that.

 

 

 

 

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Survive and Thrive Workshop


One of the really good reasons for having a best friend as an English major is that you get invited to join in such things as writing workshops on occasion. This is one of those times.

Our writing prompt for the day was this: What are your two most prevalent inner landscapes and how would you describe them?

My response?

My inner landscapes…. I’m not really sure they can be separated.

After all, can a person separate a piece of themselves from himself? There’s certainly a farm, although it’s been many many years since I’ve actually spent a goodly amount of time there.

As if that matters.

It is as vivid in my mind as this afternoon’s lunch.

There’s a hill across the gravel road that always seemed huge to me, which in reality is probably much more considered a grassy knoll.

Forgive me. I was small when last I saw it.

A barn, where countless hours were spent shoveling cow manure to the musical ramblings of The Judds and Alan Jackson.

I do wonder now why shoveling shit held such glamorous allure for a ten-year-old. Odd.

Over there, an almost matched pair of classic Chevy trucks are parked, given new life by a cousin I always thought was “the coolest”.

Behind the barn sits a row of pig huts, and beyond that a rather unimpressive cattle pasture seemingly bare of grasses, but still entertaining enough that I spent hours wrestling boulders the size of my head up,catapulting them onto the barely crusted-over cow pies.

What glorious explosions of leafy green poop!

I grin to myself, remembering the thrill.

That was then, a simpler, more innocent time, but it’s still here within me somewhere.

Moving on.

The landscape of now is rife with imagination; mixed, too, with the stress and unease of humdrum, everyday life.

Oz, Neverland, Wonderland, and Willa Wonka’s Chocolate Factory all appear at times, though my yellow-brick road is sometimes blocked with piles of unpaid bills and regrets.

No. No regrets. I must remember there are no regrets, only choices that have taught me more than I might otherwise have known.

To my left is Ireland, because who DOESN’T want to go to Ireland?

It is, after all, the place where all the epic fantasy movies are made.

Alice’s white rabbit runs past, late as always, across the moors of England to my right.

You know- the ones Eustacia Vye spent so much time on.

It depends on which day you are here, what other places you might see.

New York City is never too far, the night lights of which rival Vegas, which is just there.

You see? Don’t mind the mostly nude women walking about- we all need something pretty to look at.

If you prefer, I can point you in the direction of the menagerie.

The unicorns and mermaids will be awake by the time you get there.

Of course, it snows on occasion, because I AM from Minnesota; our weather here can be….fickle. worries. The sun will come out tomorrow.

A little red-headed orphan told me so.

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New Year, New Me


…As if I really needed to improve on me in the first place.

I did decide that I need to be a little bit more focused, but oooh! Look at the pretty Christmas lights across the street! OK, so being focused is something I might really have to focus on. At least I’ve realized that much. It is hoped that becoming a mother this year may help in that department just a little. I do not wish for my son to see me as a flaky person. (I shall do all in my power to hide the fact that I am from him.)

As far as my blog goes, I know how much of a disappointment I have been in the past year, and I resolve to do better. No more all-day marathons of Glee or The Tudors until after I have written on my blog. And just to test me, Netflix has found it necessary to make ten seasons of Friends available for viewing. Bastards.

Too, I find it necessary to finish writing at least one book this year. It would make sense for said book to be the one I’ve gotten the most work done on; however, I feel that authoring and illustrating a children’s book may be in my nearer future. But, since I have no child-like inspirations that come to mind as of yet, I resolve to work on my already-begun book for now, at least two hours a day. (Two hours is many hours for me to stay focused these  days. Perhaps after the Babe is born, I shall jack it up to four hours a day.)

As most normal people do, I ,too, resolve to lose weight this year. The really awesome thing is that I get to wait until April to work on this one. (The second-best thing about being pregnant.) To ensure that my initial goal to be the hottest mom ever is reached, my Rockstar’s Daughter has hinted that she believes I will forever be fat after the baby is born. (Perhaps only in hopes that she can have my never-worn, too-small little black dress.) After telling her how rude such a sentiment was, I silently thanked her for reinforcing my intentions of amazing hotness.

I thought that perhaps I would choose a resolution that would make me a better person- namely, to be kind to those certain individuals that irritate the piss out of me. I then thought better of any such ridiculousness, as I am not so good a person that that objective would ever be met; too, it is just so much easier to ignore such peoples. Luckily, one of these unfortunate souls is no longer employed at my place of business, so any behavior considered rude by my scorning of this person is forgiven already. Yay me.

For my last resolution, I do so intend to be the book whore I so claim to be, with the help of Amazon’s list of 100 Books to Read in a Lifetime. I was a bit saddened that I had read only twenty-nine of these life-changing books, but I intend to make a good-sized dent in the remaining seventy-one. I was, however, excited to find that though I hadn’t read many off the list, I own a surprising number of them. Yay me once again.

As for you, my fine readers, I have found this video to wish you all a wonderful New Year. (My Rockstar has a man crush on Kid Rock, and laughs his ass off at this video.)

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For Grampa


I noticed the sky this morning,

the morning you left us.

It was beautiful;

rose-colored and coral.

I thought of the old saying-

you know the one-

Red sky at morning,

sailors take warning.

And I started to cry.

It wasn’t warning sailors,

and I knew it.

It was warning us,

all of us that are left

that the world would be a little bit darker soon,

because you were going Home.

I knew;

that was why I held your hand maybe a little bit too tight

right before I had to go.

I figured it might have hurt,

but I knew you wouldn’t mind.

You would have done the same

if you’d been able to.

Now I have to figure out

how exactly my little boy is going to

grow up knowing just what a great man you were.

He’ll only see pictures of you,

the ones that prove me right-

that you were the best-dressed man that ever lived,

and so handsome.

(More handsome than all your brothers. Shhh.)

When he grows up,

he won’t get to remember what it was like

to wander through your garden with you,

admiring the stunning array of flowers

you and Gramma worked so hard on.

My son will never watch

Gramma, with the most tender of touch,

comb back the glorious strands of white and grey

from your forehead.

You know, I didn’t mind it a bit

when you missed a haircut or two.

There are far too many balding older men in the world.

It always seemed a shame to clip

the admirable abundance of hair you retained.

I’ll tell you a secret now.

Don’t be mad.

I always hated your favorite hymn.

In the Garden was never quite grandiose enough for me.

But you know I’ll play it for you anyway,

when it’s time to say goodbye.

The words, I really don’t mind, though.

And when I am digging in my own dirt,

I’ll sing them to myself

and think of you.

“I come to the garden alone,

when the dew is still on the roses…”

I maintain my opinion that

Crystal Gayle was always prettier than Loretta Lynn.

I keep saying it,

hoping you’ll come back and argue with me.

Loretta never knew what she was missing,

but all the rest of us will,

until we see you later.

 

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A Response to a Hater


Almost a year ago, a wrote a letter to Tara Knowles, the fictional character in Sons of Anarchy, HERE. It seems there were many SOA fans who agreed with the contents of that letter; so many, in fact, that it has become the single most shared of my posts on Facebook. Sadly, we cannot all agree on how wise and generally hilarious I am, which leads me to my next post, a letter to “Tara’s biggest fan”, the person who left this comment on that post just the other day:

Tara’s biggest fan!

Fuck you and this post. Tara loved Jax more than anything. He chose the MC and his ‘mommy’ over a girl who could have and should have done way better. But instead trusted her heart that she could wait out and he would change. Became a mother to his first son while he left her alone to have his second while he was in the pin. Because of him and his false promises she lost the use of her hand that provided an out for their family, lost the love of her life to his club and bitch slut control freak druggie mom…and chose to raise her sons HIS sons so much she was the clear conscience he couldn’t be she was loyal to her role as a mother over herself and her piece of shit cheater ass husband. She lost her life trying to do what he wanted but couldn’t. She went to jail for his club duties and see how being loyal to her husband and the mc got her….it turned her into gemma which was the level she had to get on….to protect her sons from their father just like gemma did. She was the best thing that ever happened to jax, those boys, the mc, & charming! She’s the only thing that DID make sense in that show. She sacrificed everything for love and just when her husband decided to be a man and take credit for all the shit he’d caused her to do and become… once again crack hore slut bitch mom protects her baby boy….

For u to say she is ugly and deserved to die.. you must be a gemma skank ass bitch that gets off by homewrecking real relationships and it helps you sleep at night because you have NO respect or pride for yourself. If u hate her so much you must love Wendy. Well, I hope you are the pussy jax runs too and have a mother in law like gemma that stalks ur ass and leaves u know room to be alone wirh ur man or ur kids and u get stuck between becoming a bitch or serving as an old lady with no place ro speak ur mind if a man doesnt allow it…. u must think porns a real buisness of respect and killing innoscent people for sport is fun too huh?

I just thought I’d be the one to stand up for Tara and what she stood for on a page that everyone seems to have lost their minds and be Gemma themsleves. you must be a gemma skank ass bitch that gets off by homewrecking real relationships and it helps you sleep at night because you have NO respect or pride for yourself. I wish u the best in your life…because tight pussy and a pretty face only gets you so far until youre used up stretched out and he throws ur wringly ass out. Then what do u have to show for respecting urself??

I must respond, and defend my “tight pussy and pretty face that will only get me so far.”

Dear Tara’s Biggest Fan, (and hater of Gemma),

I respect your opinion and your devastatingly noble devotion to any fictional character, namely one Tara Knowles.

That being said, your comment gave me great pleasure, and continues to give me great pleasure as I respond in kind to it. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Firstly, I would like to address the bluntness with which you begin your comment. “Fuck you and this post.” You say. Being an eternal fan of the ever satisfying “fuck you”, I must say that I admire your quick and unadulterated use of the phrase, however, might I suggest that in the future, you refrain from beginning any lengthy rant with it, as the unfortunate timeliness of using it thusly can put the recipient on edge, and anything written thereafter will be received with ill feelings, and convince the reader that you are, in fact, not of a well-read or intelligent ilk. In other words, save if for the end. If it’s the first thing you say, it is likely no one will care one wit what it is you have to say after.

As I read further, I was again struck by your commitment to, might I repeat, a fictional character, as well as the loathing you have for some of the others. ‘Tis true, my contempt for Dr.
Tara Knowles did inspire me to write a letter to her, which, in some circles might be viewed as an act of absurdity. But not at any time did I address or insult a real person in my letter as you have done in yours. You must be a gemma skank ass bitch that gets off by homewrecking real relationships and it helps you sleep at night because you have NO respect or pride for yourself, you say. I suppose according to some, I may be a “skank-ass bitch”, though if I have wrecked any real relationships, it is solely because I am more adorable and funnier than the women in said relationships. (I must state at this time that I have never partaken of the man-fruits of these wrecked relationships, only made these men realize not every woman is as bitchy as their current girlfriends.) That being said, I clearly haven’t an issue with self respect or pride; I expect my histrionic personality disorder has something to do with that.

I do respect those who are comfortable enough to be employed in the porn business, because who among us at one time or another have not whored ourselves out for money? Perhaps not sucking cock and taking it up the butt, but surely everyone out there has stayed at a job they hate for money, while mentally getting fucked in the ass by their boss, or taken a pay raise to do something they detest. I applaud those of the porn industry who have given many hours of pleasure to many people who have partaken of their whorish efforts. As for killing innocent people for fun, I’ve never considered doing it, but I have it on good authority that many angry men in our country sign up for the armed forces to have a chance to do just that. I do not speak ill of our Nation’s army, for I understand the urge.

I will not address you, Tara’s Fan, quite as harshly as you have addressed me, but I must at this time mention the dreadful spelling errors and obnoxious punctuation mistakes in your tirade. You seem to think Gemma was not actually Jax’s mommy, as you have mentioned her as ‘mommy’. Apostrophes are used to show possession; I believe mayhap you had meant to use quotation marks, which really wouldn’t have made any more sense, since Gemma was, in fact, Jax’s mother, and referred to in that way throughout the show by your beloved Tara. Sadly, there are many instances in your rant which lack the proper use of apostrophes- far to many to mention. Your repeated use of “ur” and “u” suggest that perhaps you have the spelling mentality of an ever-texting teenager; your copious other spelling errors lead me to believe you spend more time watching TV shows and becoming obsessed with their fictional characters than you spend reading books, in which case, I feel sorry for you, and can only hope things change for you sooner, rather than later.

I wish u the best in your life…because tight pussy and a pretty face only gets you so far until youre used up stretched out and he throws ur wringly ass out. Then what do u have to show for respecting urself?? In response to this last bit of your angry diatribe, I assure you that I have not at any time possessed a “wringly ass”; I don’t exactly know what that is, but I assume it is not something most people want. As far as being stretched out- it will never happen. I take my Kegel exercises very seriously, and my Rockstar assures me there are no worries of my ever having a vagina that resembles a hallway having a hotdog thrown down it. If by chance it does happen, I have the knowledge that I will always use the proper spelling of “yourself.” There is no greater self-respect.

Have a nice day,

Sparklebumps

 

 

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