Smell

If you were to ask me

“What is your favorite smell?”

I would smile,

and offer you a seat.

Such business

should not be discussed

in haste.

You would look at me

in disgust, maybe,

when I begin with,

“Raw onions and horses.”

It cannot be helped.

I wish I lived in the age of the

Wild Wild West,

just so I could bury my nose in

my trusty steed’s dust-filled mane.

There’s really no explanation for the onions.

I continue,

“When you’re performing some monotonous task,

like grocery shopping,

and a man, (or a woman) walks by

smelling of sensuous perfume,

and the only thing you want to do is

trail behind them throughout the store,

just so you can get one more whiff.”

You nod, and smile,

we are on the same page now.

The words fall out of me now.

“The smell of last night’s sex

when you wake up.

The odor of lilies on a breeze

when you walk through Gramma’s garden.

Burger King, and McDonald’s, and even White Castle,

when you drive by them starving.

Puppy breath, and baby breath,

both horrible, really,

until you connect them with

innocence and everything good

left in the world.

Bleach,

because it’s clean.

Mud,

because it’s dirty.

Old people,

who were once young,

and the smell of my lover’s skin.”

You laugh,

because you never expected

such a simple question,

to have such a complicated answer.

Chores

In an attempt to get my Rockstar’s Daughter out of my hair and into better habits, I suggested coming up with a list of chores with which to fill her summer days. I was surprised at her unexpected fervor for said task, and even more surprised when one of the chores she thought of was picking up dog poo. (A job not even the most dirty of people relish, I expect.) Of course there were the typical chores a child should learn to accept: washing dishes, cleaning their room, etc… As well as a few that consisted of a bit more fun- giving the dog a bath with the garden hose, washing my truck with the garden hose, watering the flowers with the garden hose. (There does seem to be a disturbing obsession with the garden hose.)

I got to thinking about how we as children are bogged down with such minimal tasks as these; usually with the expectancy of reward upon completion. Why is it as we get older, these tasks no longer hold promise of payment? I object.

In lieu of starting a riot over such injustices, I have composed a list of chores that I might accomplish that very well may result in acceptable annuity. I trust you all approve.

1. Blow jobs.

To quote Samantha from Sex and the City: “Buddy. It ain’t called a job for nothin’.” From what I’ve heard in passing conversations, (yes, most of my passing conversations consist of blow jobs and the like, so shut up) most girls just don’t like to give blow jobs. This is completely foreign to me, for I love giving them so! There’s nothing like having my Rockstar’s hard, throbbing cock shoved down my throat. But! This isn’t all about me and my favorite penis.

Since some girls detest the act, this could be one of those chores they go to with dread, in hopes of a nice big allowance afterward. A nice, big, throbbing allowance- one that you can ride on and get extreme pleasure from….

2. Cooking.

Some women like to cook. I am some of these women sometimes. It’s when it’s an everyday occurrence that I begin to detest it. (Trust me, there’s a reason I always end up working in a restaurant.) They say that a way to a man’s heart is through his stomach; I always thought it was through his dick- but I guess if his stomach gets filled because I cooked for him, and the end result is him making sweet love to me, that’s almost as good as a good hard fuck.

3. Laundry.

It should go without saying that if you wash a man’s underwear, there will be no surprises when you’re down there doing your oral business. That is reward in itself.

4. Reading.

Because there has to be something completely enjoyable on the list. And reading always comes with knowledge. And the more you know, the more you grow. 🙂

Ok, I’m bored of this list now. Goodbye.

 

Frozen Pizza, Pillows, Tiggs, Spiders, Robots, Color Sounds, and Dancing Ninja Grandmas

Welcome to the longest blog post title of all time. This is what comes of being completely uninspired.

I was chatting on Facebook to my boss from the grocery store, and asked him what subject I should post about today. The above title is what he came up with. (To clarify, my boss spends a goodly amount of his time in an alcohol haze, and rarely remembers any text conversations we have. That being said, he’s a pretty cool guy with above average intelligence.)

We will begin with frozen pizzas.

Frozen pizzas are gifts from the gods. If you disagree, you are either a heathen, or a vegan.

What should you eat when you’ve had a hard day at the office, swinging around on that silver pole, trying to fend off the pervs who only have ones, and your illegitimate child is starving and doesn’t want to wait for a lovely healthful meal? Frozen pizza.

What’s the first thing that comes to mind after you’ve pounded back a few beers and realize it would be safer to turn on the oven than to try to satisfy that late night drunken craving on the stovetop? Frozen pizza!

If you’ve just moved, and are looking for a quick bite to stop you tummy rumblings, but you haven’t unpacked the contents of your utensils drawer, what do you buy?

Pizza bites! (No pizza cutter required!)

Ok, enough about that.

Next subject. Pillows!

What would a nap be without a pillow? It would be a pass out, that’s what.

A pillow is the thing that takes you from a trashy drunk slut to a snoozing angel.

A pillow is the thing you long for while you’re slaving away, making minimal tips in a thankless job.

What fun would men (and some women) have without “dirty pillows” to lay their heads on, and squeeze and pinch and fondle?

(Sidenote: The Marriot is the hotel with the best pillows. If you have never experienced a pile of angel feather under your skull, the Marriot is the place to do so.)

Now it’s time for Tiggs!

I did not know what this was until my boss explained it to me, but apparently Tiggs are that group of individuals obsessed with Winnie the Pooh‘s Tigger. I must say that I have always found Tigger to be extremely creepy, and possessing of superfluous amounts of energy, so I exercise my right to plead the fifth on the subject.

Spiders, too, are a dreadful sight to behold. I’ve not much to say on the idea of arachnids, other than there should never be another movie featuring  spiders of the gargantuan sort, or a storyline that consists of hordes of the little buggers. Not cool, bro. Not cool at all.

I’m going to skip over robots, because soon enough the world with be run by them, and they will be the only thing we hear about. To be fair, I direct you HERE, where there is the beginning of a short story about a cyborg, which is basically the same thing.

Sounds of colors are the next subject on the list, and there is so much to say about this that it must be revisited in another post sometime in the future. For now, I will say that purple sounds like the Artist Prince, black sounds like any form of war, green sounds like a lawn mower, glitter sounds like me, and red is not, as Taylor Swift states, “loving you”, but maybe red IS the sound of me ripping Taylor’s unmusical vocal chords out of her scrawny little neck and shoving them somewhere the some don’t shine. Like under a bushel.

Dancing ninja grandmas is the best subject ever! Which is why I fully intend to be one someday, even if (to quote Phil Collins) “I can’t dance”, even if I have no grandchildren, even if I never have Chuck Norris come on over and teach me a few things. Imagine me, Gramma Sparkle, bouncing and capering around silently in my vibrantly colored ninja outfit. Booyah.

 

Torturing the Defenseless With Inedible Edibles

Ahoy, maties!

No, I have not turned Pirate during my long hiatus away from blogging. (Although, I think it would be really romantic to become a pirate…) I have decided that since I now have more blog followers than blog posts, it is my duty to once again take up my.. um.. keyboard, and defend you all against… utter and definite boredom. (OK, I probably should have thought that out a bit better, but whatever.)

To be honest, I’ve been busy boxing up my some 5,000 books (and my considerable though not quite as impressive shoe collection) for the big move to our new and not-yet-Sparkled-out house. Also, I have been accepted into the employ of a somewhat local grocery store- an adventure of which I will divulge a bit of right now.

 My official title I suppose would be considered “Overnight Stocker”. Now is the time for the perfunctory congrats you all have for me. I must admit at this time that, although it is not a book store job, I can honestly admit it is the best job I have ever had- namely, because I spend the night surrounded by almost nobody except my thoughts, and am required to greet and smile at customers minimally. (The latter alone makes having a fucked up sleep schedule completely worth it.)

Another reason this job is of such great interest to me is the fact that, until you spend eight hours straight in a grocery store, you are perhaps unaware of the plethora of fascinating and completely disgusting food items such places possess. I actually found kraut juice the other day. :o— (This is me vomiting just a little bit upon this discovery.)

I was in the baby food aisle last night, where I was required to stock a case of baby-friendly smoothies. This may not seem terrible at first, until I tell you that said smoothies were SPINACH, apple, and peach flavored. WHAT THE FUCK?! Are we now trying to get our infants to emulate Popeye, to grow big and beefy, by mixing a completely normal mixture of healthy fruits with spinach?! Not to be dissuaded, I continued on to the next case, only to be once again appalled by its contents. I have one question for any adults out there- would YOU eat blended apples and chicken? Not I, said the Sparkle.

I began investigating the shelves further. There, next to the quite-stylish re-useable Captain America grocery bag for 99 cents, were tiny jars of sweet potatoes with peaches, and itty-bitty meat sticks in water. Hot Dog Flavored Water, indeed.

Are we forcing the youngest of our species to graze on such abominations because once they are old enough to talk, they are coherent enough to deny such tortures? Why, oh why, would anyone buy a fruit food processed together with spinach for their littlest loved one? I’m all for trying new foods, but seriously, give the kid a chance to develop a normal palate before broadening his horizons!

I guess that’s all I have to say about that.

 

I’m Awesome, Or So They Say

Before you say that no one even knows who these proverbial They are, let me just say- this time, I can actually clarify who “They” , in fact, are.

It seems while I’ve been pretending to be too busy writing my November novel to write on my blog, I have become more popular than ever before, so much so, that I received two, yes, count them, TWO blog awards in the same day! Just a few days ago. I did not immediately respond, because I was sadly, working, and going to concerts, and masturbating. (Ok, I only said that last thing to make sure you were paying attention.)

Anyhoo, Archon over there in his Den bestowed upon me the You’re a Winner! Award, which requires me to do nothing but appreciate, which I most certainly do, since without Archon, I would only receive comments from one Pouring My Art Out, which is, in itself, not something to complain about, but I like to think that Archon and PMAO are fighting over who will eventually win my hand in virtual blogospherial matrimony. (Yes, that is my histrionica kicking in there.) Both are unfailingly loyal in being the only two bloggers to “Like” and comment on every single post I make. John used to  silently appreciate me, but he has more important things to waste his time on. (I know, I can’t think of anything either.) Whatever, the point is- Thanks, Grumpy Dude!

Too, I was awarded the Liebster Award by honeyimalesbian, a blogger who I am ashamed to admit I did not know existed until I received said award. (Isn’t it nice to be appreciated by people you didn’t know about?) I appreciate her just as greatly, and shall make an effort to further get to know the workings of her inner mind.

As always, there are rules that come with the Liebster Award, which I most certainly do not intend to fully abide by. Nominating fellow bloggers is one, where I will hereby direct you to the right of your screen to click on a blogger of your choosing from my blogroll. Secondly, I am to answer the ten questions asked of me by Honey, and here they are:

1. Where would you love to go on a trip?

Neverland, Wonderland, and Chicago. In that order.

2. What did you want to be when you grew up? Did you do it?

An artist, a writer, a rancher, an actress, a mother, a wife, a stripper, and then a writer again.

Maybe I will do it, if I ever grow up.

3.  When and why did you start blogging?

A little over two years ago, because a coworker started a blog and I thought I could do it better, and because I have a lot of opinions nobody wants to know.

4.  Are you a foodie?

I love food, it is my nemesis.

5. When was your first kiss??

I kissed a girl and I like it, when I was very young.

I kissed a boy when I was 15, and didn’t like it as much.

6. What do you read/ watch when you are in a creative funk?

Other people’s blogs/ Sex and the City. Because everyone else’s lives are much more desirable than my own.

7.  Introvert? Extrovert?

I am an introvert stuck in an extrovert’s body. Or at least my boobs are extroverted.

8. What is your favorite season?

The one when I get the most presents. Or feel like giving them.

9. Coffee or Tea?

I don’t think anything with whip cream, chocolate, and caramel added can really be considered coffee anymore.

10. Whats the nicest thing anyone has ever done for you?

Loved me even when I continued to be a neurotic, fucked-up, self-absorbed nincompoop.

Now, I’m supposed to ask 10 questions of my own of all the people I didn’t nominate, but I don’t have time for that shit. I have a book to write. XOXO

…. And I’m Back.

Please forgive my absence. I maintain that I was abducted by The Fourth Kind and forced to perform fellatio on little green men with luminous eyes and surprisingly large members.

Anyhoo, I have returned, and seem to have found the sparkly person who is myself once again. Whew, it was a LOT of work convincing those guys to forego the whole probe thing.

It is hoped that you have not all suffered as Julianne Moore did in the film The Forgotten- as in, you all didn’t go around wondering where Sparklebumps were, while having family members and shrinks trying to convince you I never existed. I have been, and always will be, thanks to a little thing called the internet. Not to worry.

This week has been filled with many dreams, and nightmares too. I’ve awakened in a cold sweat after dreaming about the looming $4.99 pizza buffet that is upon me, and dreamed that my old boss at the bookstore where I got fired was upset at the loss in sales, and issued me a letter begging me to apologize for my snarky comments about his brother-in-law, my former cock-sucking manager. In my dream, I was also accused of a torrid affair with said boss by his not-terrible-looking wife, and convinced her I would never stoop to such a level unless she herself were included.

Lastly, I had the pleasure of dining this evening on the gourmet cooking of Panda Express, and was delighted to read my, for once, good fortune: Your dreams of glamour and luxury will come true.

And to that, I have just one thing to say-

It’s about fucking time.

XOXO

 

Tagline

It’s true that I ignore my Daily Prompt on a Daily Basis. (Ha). But this one could not be ignored.

Often, our blogs have taglines. But what if humans did, too? What would your tagline be?

This got me to thinking. Mainly, because about 700 different things popped into my head, and now I had to figure out a way to put it all in one sentence. Hmmm.

Aright, here it is:

Welcome to a glittery world where everyone is mad (as in crazy, not angry), that is ruled by Queen Sparklebumps, a mermaid who has yet to earn her tail. It’s a nice place to visit, but beware, people who spend a lot of time here most certainly fall in love with the Queen, mostly because her imagination runs rampant, and a little bit because she has an impressive rack. Sex, humor, and candy are approved. Visitors are encouraged to feed the Animal.

Evading the Uprising

There comes a day in every adult’s life when he or she must make the choice to risk their very safety in order to use their carefully-clipped penny saving coupons. Today was that day for me.

I left work dreading the task looming before me. As if I did not already abhor grocery shopping anyway, the Cashwise in my city wickedly decided to advertise dollar saving deals on Doritos and other life-sustaining foodstuffs. I planned my assignment with the skills of a Navy SEALS ninja.

I seemed to have forgotten my riot shield, as I was not expecting masses of people stocking up for the approaching zombie apocolpyse, and so I hunkered down into a defensive pose as I laid my re-usable grocery bags in the seat of my cart, all the while clutching my purse, preparing to use it as a battering weapon if necessary. I looked down, refusing to make eye contact with other people crazy enough to try to get their two-for-one Oreos, afraid my own insanity would be reflected in their eyes.

I made  a pitstop at the coupon bin, keeping my cart between myself and the elderly lady frantically searching for the free Malt-O-Meal coupon. I found what I needed, and proceeded to bound through the fruit aisle at a self-preserving speed, stopping only long enough to pick up a seedless watermelon marked down to $4.98. As I did so I couldn’t help snickering to myself that I finally had a melon in my hand that was bigger than my own “melons”.

I repeatedly flipped through my handful of coupons, intent on not missing an item and having to risk backtracking through the money-grubbing throng. I debated on whether to get Hershey caramel chocolate coffee creamer or French Vanilla before madly tossing both on top of my free bananas and scotching outta there before I was rammed by the overweight man in the sweat pants.

I maneuvered my growing-heavy cart down the frozen foods aisle, ignoring the call of the new Cool Whip Frosting, and hastily grabbed two delicious looking tubs of ice cream, only to realize when I got around the corner that the tubs I had the coupon for were on the endcap. I threw my hands up before throwing the unwanted tubs in the place of the two I grabbed. (Shhh, you know you’ve done it too.) I zoomed past the candybar aisle, resisting temptation, before coming to a screeching halt in the shortest checkout line that sported a not-retarded looking checkout dude.

Sadly, in my extreme speed, I failed to notice the elderly couple in front of me who had been unable to locate said sale Malt-O-Meal. I looked on, pretending to smile politely when all I really wanted to do was shove grampa and gramma into their carts and push them off to the old people’s home. At last, their Malt-O-Meal was found, only to find out it wasn’t what they were looking for. Finally, I was cashed out and bagged up, only to realize when I got loaded into my truck that my endorphins were pumping, and I zoomed home in record time for absolutely no reason.

Loving Julia Roberts and Other Such Nonsense

There was a time “when men were kind, and their voices were soft, and their words inviting.”

Sorry, that wasn’t exactly where that sentence was supposed to go; just gearing up for my Les Mis audition.

Actually, what I was going to say was, there was a time when I believed Julia Roberts to be the best thing since the value menu at Burger King, but then I realized trouty lips don’t age well.

It’s been awhile since I posted, and there is really no good excuse for that, other than I was busy sleeping and reading The Help. I’m so sorry, my lovely followers who depend on me for their daily Special S, for I have let you down and not in the last weeks given you the fodder necessary to lose pounds from laughing your asses off. I shall do better, this I swear.

Anyhoo, back to Julia and her amazing platypus lips.

When I first saw Pretty Woman, I didn’t see a hooker in safety-pinned boots. I saw a tall slender woman with amazing red hair who was everything I would never be. At the time, I was not who I am now, mainly because I was a self-deprecating anorexic with bad hair. In the end, my point is that for a couple years, in my eyes, Julia Roberts could do no wrong. (Except for that movie Mary Reilly; it’s true not everyone can do period pieces.)

I had the entire VHS filmography of Julia up until the time DVDs became popular, when I then decided her best movies were My Best Friend’s Wedding and Runaway Bride. (The latter mainly because any glimpse of Chris Meloni still gives me chills in my drawers.) I opted to not replace all my Julia tapes with DVDs, and as they say in the Bible, I put away childish things, and never thought much about Julia again. (Partially because ever since she won an Oscar, she’s starred in nothing really worth seeing.)

This morning, I decided to watch Larry Crowne, and was again reminded why I fell in love with Julia all those years ago. Whether she is playing a dolled up hooker living a fantasy or a disenchanted community college professor in a failed marriage, she is absolutely believable. I must admit it was a bit disturbing to not see her trademark mile-wide grin until almost the end of the movie, but as she wallowed through her margaritas while mourning the lack of boobage her husband so desired, I could not help but identify with her.

It was then that I decided I was going to make carrot cake cupcakes.

I do not proclaim to be a domestic goddess, but in the past year I have felt the urge to bake cupcakes. Perhaps this is due to the fact that I watch Two Broke Girls on Monday nights. Whatever the reason, I thought that carrot cake cupcakes would be perfect for a post-Easter Monday.

I set about dirtying ever dish and measuring spoon I could lay my hands on, only to find right before I mixed that I hadn’t as many carrot shreds as my recipe called for. Not to be phased, I turned the dial on my hand-held mixer anyway, and produced extra-moist (I hate that word moist, blech) carrot cake cupcakeys that taste a bit more like pineapple than carrots. Ah, well. This is what comes of having my Rockstar pick up ingredients at the store.

P.S. I know you are wondering, “Rockstar? I thought she got rid of him?” Let us just say relationships are complicated. Welcome to my simple life.

Why I Really Just Don’t Care What You Think

I know, the title of my post sounds very rude. I certainly didn’t mean it to, but I have a serious case of the Fuck-its today, so too bad.

I’ve heard that a woman with confidence is something to behold. Men flock to them, and women want to be just like them. This second fact is the reason I would not necessarily consider myself a Confident Woman, because I am convinced only a completely insane person would wish to be just like me; however, I HAVE come up with a few reasons why I don’t completely suck, and why I really don’t give a fuck what people think. (But I still love you and think you’re all awesome! XOXO)

1. I know the definitions and correct spellings of such words as concubine, scintillate, and a plethora of other words many normal people don’t know, including plethora. I also know how to correctly pronounce oneiromancy.

2. I will dye my hair blonde, or red, or black, or orange, or pink, and just shrug when someone says it looks bad, because it keeps me from being bored with my otherwise normal-looking self. I also don’t mind resembling the Little Mermaid or Jessica Rabbit.

3. I can tell you who wrote Polonaise in A Major, when he wrote it, how he died, and if you wish, I can play it on the piano for you. Or I could play the theme song from Alice in Wonderland by Shinedown.

4. I can eat more than a family of four; therefore I do not waste food. Ever. Those starving people in Africa that your mother told you about? There’s nothing left for them when I get done.

5. I can work a 12, or 15, or 17 hour day and still give a shit what my place of business looks like when I leave it. But I am also not afraid to sit on my ass and do absolutely nothing and admit it when I have a day off.

6. I am the most stubborn person on the planet. Some of you may like to point out that this isn’t a good quality, but if we have a second Holocaust, or I am caught and tortured to give up the location of our nuclear weapons that could destroy the population, rest assured that the hidden Jews will be safe andhumanity  will live.

7. I can aim and shoot a gun, which doesn’t really do me any good unless a Zombie Apocolypse occurs.

8. If you are my friend, you will remain my friend, even if you are a complete Assface who treats me as a fair-weather friend and only call when you need something. However, chances are I may not answer your call the next time you need me to save you from a burning building.

9. I am not too hard on the eyes. I’m not saying I’m as pretty as Marilyn or Audrey, but I’m cuter than at least some women you know. And even if I think you’re more beautiful, I say to myself, “I’m cuter.” Even if it’s not true at all.

10. I can admit that I’m a complete dork, because I am also smarter than all those people who call me one. Including my Rockstar. (Don’t worry, he loves me because of my dorkdom.)

11. The final reason I just really don’t care what anyone think is because I can whoop their ass if they cock off. They just need to give me a reason. XOXO