Category Archives: Work

No, You Should NOT Have Passionate Kisses, Mary Chapin Carpenter


This letter is to you, Mary Chapin Carpenter,

No, you are not a dear, Mary, and so I cannot address this letter thusly. Let me begin by explaining the reason I am composing this letter.

I have long despised your mediocre talent, and even more has your choice in song recordings galled me for many years. Songs such as He Thinks He’ll Keep Her and I Feel Lucky have irritated the beJesus out of me since childhood, but none of these “hit singles” have caused me to cringe and my ears to fold in on themselves quite as much as the song Passionate Kisses.

I know not whether it is the unmusical tone of your voice, or the even less harmonic rhythm of the song itself, but, oh evil songstress of country, how I loathe thee. Let us look upon the unpoetic lyrics of said song for a moment, shall we?

Is it too much to ask
I want a comfortable bed that won’t hurt my back
Food to fill me up
And warm clothes and all that stuff
Shouldn’t I have this
Shouldn’t I have this
Shouldn’t I have all of this, and

Passionate kisses
Passionate kisses, whoa oh oh
Passionate kisses from you.

While I do not deny that we all at one time or another crave a bed that doesn’t cause our backs to ache, and I myself want more food than is necessary to fill me up, I must point out that these very commonplace wants do not, in my opinion, cause you stand out enough that you should deserve such things as passionate kisses from me or anyone else. Moving on….

Is it too much to demand
I want a full house and a rock and roll band
Pens that won’t run out of ink
And cool quiet and time to think
Shouldn’t I have this
Shouldn’t I have this
Shouldn’t I have all of this, and

Passionate kisses
Passionate kisses, whoa oh oh
Passionate kisses from you.

I might mention here that, to be honest, you are not a performer of such caliber that you are in the position to be demanding of anything. If you were, you would not be needing to ask for a full house for your rock and roll band, because it would already be sold out. Too, you would have enough money to buy pens that have ink in them if you were able to sell tickets to your shows. Maybe it is your entitled attitude that causes people to not want to see you in concert, hmm? Or maybe they just realize that you will ask just anyone for passionate kisses, and do not want to run the risk of acquiring herpes labialis. Anyhoo, I digress.

Do I want too much
Am I going overboard to want that touch
I shout it out to the night
“Give me what I deserve, ’cause it’s my right”
Shouldn’t I have this (shouldn’t I)
Shouldn’t I have this (shouldn’t I)
Shouldn’t I have all of this, and

Passionate kisses
Passionate kisses, whoa oh oh
Passionate kisses from you
Passionate kisses
Passionate kisses, whoa oh oh
Passionate kisses from you 

Did you ever think maybe, just maybe, if you quit yelling at whoever it is you want to make out with so desperately IN THE NIGHT while they are trying to sleep that they might actually want to kiss you? Maybe if you ever shut the fuck up for one goddamn second, and quit whining about passionate kisses, someone might actually desire to smush their lips against yours?!

I have come to the end of this atrocious song, and find that I have nothing more to say to you, Mary Chapin Carpenter. You may blame my place of work for playing this song frequently, because having had to listen to it on a regular basis has made me quite certain you will never, EVER be getting your coveted “passionate kisses” from me. To be clear, your tiresome neediness is the reason you lack affection.

Goodbye,

Sparklebumps

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Filed under Entertainment, Humor, Life, Love, music, Sex, Uncategorized, Work

Lost in a Sea of Teens


My new serving job is amazing.

I can go to work, and not worry about “corporate standards” as I had to as a Pizza Slut. I’m quite certain that I (who very rarely wore my nametag) could provide you with better service than any of those ninnies who insisted on wearing their nametags because it was a “standard”. But enough about that.

I can go to work, and not worry about an inspector showing up and ruining my shift. Not because an inspector is not likely to show up at my new place of business, but because I am no longer in a position of power, so if there is something amiss, it’s not really my problem. Is it weird that I revel in my lack of power?

I go to work, and have never left with less money than I expected to make on any given shift. In fact, I have been pleasantly surprised by people’s generosity. I will absolutely brag about the fact that I received not one, but two $20 tips from tables who’s bills were less than $90. Yay me.

My longest shift is now not more that seven hours long, (unless I choose to stay longer for one of the many teen girls who lack work ethic), and my managers do not poopoo my opinions, but listen to them wholeheartedly.

That being said, there was one issue that I thought would bug the crap out of me.

The oldest server I work with on a regular basis is 22.

Imagine me, upbeat(most of the time) Sparkle, seeming to have like, OMG, no energy whatsoever when surrounded by my coworkers. No, I have not jumped on the depression bandwagon; it’s just that such younglings are brimming with such life and promise, and talk of prom, that sometimes I feel like an old dried-up spinster. There is one thing that makes working with such innocents bearable: they are actually all nice.

There is also an upside to having such coworkers: the Glee-like drama is interesting to observe, indeed. Now, instead of watching such scenes from the comfort of my own living room, I now get to play the part of the older, much wiser (ha) woman these youth might one day look up to or come to for advice. I would actually advise them NOT to do that.

Anyhoo, since high school is long behind me, I had forgotten what stock teenage girls put in their looks, and their weight, and their weekends. Yep, I’ll work for you so you can go out with your fake ID with your senior boyfriend on Friday night because I have a $600 electric bill to pay. Sure, I’ll stay late for you so you can go find a pair of perfect shoes to go with your $600 prom dress daddy paid for, because I have to buy groceries for my beloveds.

It’s weird, because I thought I was shallow. At least I have pretty people to look at when I go to work.

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An Open Letter To All Things Pizza Hut


To the general presence of Pizza Hut,

Since I am no longer a slave under your employ, I feel it completely necessary to release the vile feelings I’ve been forced to keep inside for the past two-odd years concerning you. I must warn you that while the composition of this letter will be remarkably therapeutic for me, it may be at times inelegantly written, and show no signs of the self-educated woman that I am. Let me begin with something that I’ve been waiting to say for some time:

FUCK YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Ahem. Now that I have gotten that off of my sizeable chest, I will move on to everything that is wrong with your corporation.

Let me first say that the customer is NOT always right. Especially in the case of your customers. Yes, there may have been an occasion or two where extra cheese was not administered as requested,  or tomatoes were placed on a super-supreme pizza (which is completely inappropriate), but I stand by the fact that I did NOT jip you on your toppings, and every pizza made by my own two work-worn hands was properly spec-ed and lovely to behold. Because your company has the policy that you should give the customer “whatever they want”, you can surely expect that at some point you will run out of money after giving away free food to all  the trashy motha-fuckas who lie to get a comped meal. To this I say- it is your own goddamn fault.

Secondly, it is shameful that you pay your shift managers such low wages. Truly, when promoting your team members to such a status, you should include in fine print this:

We promise to work you until you bleed, if not outwardly, at least until you suffer from stomach ulcers because of stress. You will be forced to work all holidays and weekends without any thanks, and if you refuse to work any of the afore mentioned days, you will be shunned by our district managers and dramatically have your hours cut. You will NEVER receive any type of raise until you are so frustrated that you find a new job, at which time, we may consider gifting you with  our feigned appreciation and only a miniscule raise- enough to keep you in our chains. If at any time you tell your overseeing managers exactly what you think of them or their performance, even if it perfectly accurate and politically-correctly stated, you too will be shunned.

To the Pizza Hut customers,

I will admit that there are a few of you who are endearing and affable. To you, I show my utmost appreciating for having made my stay in Hell a little less horrifying.

To the rest of you, the entire uncivilized lot of you, I must once again show how uneloquent I can be.

FUCK YA’LL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

To those of you who would seat yourselves, completely ignoring the sign that distinctly states, “PLEASE WAIT TO BE SEATED”, as well as overlooking the fact that I and my fellow coworkers are human beings, and will greet and seat you at your convenience, I must say that you are pitiful creatures, and it is my hope that at some point in your despicable little lives someone treats you as though you are not worthy of basic consideration.

To those of you who insist on no pork coming in contact with your food, and a clean blade being used to cut your halal food, I will say that if you asked once, and politely, and in no way treated me as an inferior person, I followed your requests religiously. (I even wore gloves.) To those of you who made such requests in an incredibly rude and obnoxious manner (i.e. repeating said request as though I were in some way deaf or not listening, using an outside voice though we were clearly indoors, acting as though my female anatomy deemed me unworthy of human decency) even though I had helped you in the past and could clearly tell you were Muslim by your burquas, I will tell you that my hand may have once or twice slipped into the nasty, dirty, unkosher pork before touching your chicken pizza. I just can’t remember for sure.

To a certain district manager,

To quote every employee that ever came in contact with you who were not of the naïve and unknowing variety:

“You’re a piece of shit.”

I will admit, in the beginning, I was one of these naïve people, and was momentarily distracted by your lovely masculine height and vibrant blue eyes. In fact, I recall turning down a job at an amazing craft store when you asked me to because I felt bad that your beautiful little boys would not grow up knowing their dad because you were so overworked and would be even more-so if I were to quit. I did not realize then that the lack of general managers in your district was only due to your own egotistical,  self-absorbed, castigating style of managing. Yes, I realize that you know not what castigating means, because at one time, you asked me to use common and ordinary words that were easy to understand. I refuse to demean myself because you are too busy being Big Boss Man to read a fucking dictionary. You very recently stated that it was in the best interest of the restaurant and all the employees that I be demoted; to that I say, “It really wasn’t, because now you will see what the store truly runs like without one competent shift manager.” You will never, NEVER have a completely-staffed district, because you refuse to focus on what it truly takes to run a successful restaurant, but instead nit-pick at stupid shit that doesn’t matter. Perhaps if you begin treating your employees like people, instead of like the smushed Italian sausage that is on the bottom of your over-sized shoe, you will truly find success. Because you certainly don’t have it now, and you know it. Also, your wife is ugly.

This all being said, I release now my demons and will never again think of Pizza Hut in any way, even though the remaining employees who worked with me will think of me at least a little bit every single day.

Fuck you very much,

Sparkle

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Ten of Life’s Little Disappointments


As much as I’d like to say that every day is a Zippity-Doo-Dah one, there are just a few small trials we all must suffer through that cause a person to cry “Ay me!”

1. After consuming a particularly scrumptious McDonald’s meal, you reach into the bag from which such foody decadence has emerged and realize that there are no squishy, almost-cold bag fries to complete your meal.

2. When trying on clothes in your preferred department store, you realize that your butt is too large to fit in that pair of jeans you found on clearance, or your belly is in the way of zipping them up, or your boobs refuse to be contained in that adorable top you found, or your boobs are not sufficiently ample to fill out that fashionable frock you discovered. This experience is only made worse when you force yourself into said garments, and after discovering they don’t fit, you cannot remove them from your bloated body because your tits are too big and you are forced to call the shopgirl for assistance.

3. When you are daydreaming all day at work of feasting on a delicious bowl of Lucky Charms when you arrive home, only to notice that the milk is expired when you pull it out of the fridge.

4. When you go out for a nice dinner, and are excited to find that there are many hot and attractive female servers on duty, but you are gifted with the one gay guy as your host for the evening.

5. When you work and slave 60 hours a week, only to receive a check that is $200 less than you expected because those fuckers FICA dipped into it.

6. When you drink a lot of whiskey, or rum, or vodka, and have a thrilling and  quite amusing time, until you realize that a lot of whiskey, or rum, or vodka was actually too much, and you spend the rest of the night laying in front of the toilet.

7. When you find out Lady Gaga is finally bringing her tour to town, but the tickets are $160 for nosebleed seats.

8. When you get on the scale.

9. When your alarm clock goes off.

10. When you motion over that stripper that looks so hot on that guy’s lap over there, but as she gets closer, you realize she has a butterface and buck teeth.

Have a nice day.

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Cover Letter


So, I’ve never really written a cover letter for any resume I’ve handed out, but I did for this personal assistant job. Ok, so I know it wasn’t as professional as it should have been…

 

To Whom It May Concern,

Hello! And welcome to my cover letter! I’m so glad you made it this far! You’ve asked your applicants to list five things that would make them stand out from the rest. Since I adore talking about myself, this shall be an exciting exercise.

1. I am the hardest worker you will ever meet. This may seem presumptuous, but I am that also, so we’ll just get that out of the way right now.

2. I am brutally honest, and do not shy away from saying what is the truth when it needs to be said.

3.  Whatever skills I possess, are excellent ones. Whatever skills I don’t yet possess will also be excellent when I finally get them.

4. I have a sense of humor that makes working with me great, but it in no way interrupts or prohibits me from doing my job amazingly well.

5. To prove that number 2 is as true as it should be, and despite the fact that it is completely unprofessional and really has no bearing on whether I am able to perform the needed duties, the final thing that would make me stand out from your other applicants is my 38 DDD chest. Because it most certainly stands out, and whether or not anyone will admit it, it would probably come to mind when processing your interviews.

I look forward to working with you!

Thanks so much,

Sparklebumps the Book Whore

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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.

 

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Unfinished Business


I painstakingly try to wrestle my unruly curls into braided pigtails before swiping on a layer of ruby red lipstick that rivals the sparkle of Dorothy’s legendary heels. I crack my knuckles, preparing my fingers for the flood of words they will soon type.

And then I sit here and stare at my damn computer screen, without one hint of an idea of how I’m going to do this.

Remember how I was all gung-ho about NaNoWriMo? Yeah, well that was three days ago.

I am stubborn, the stubbornest of the Stubborn, yet I have this little problem called never finishing anything. Seriously. I think the only thing I ever finished was my first short story in the third grade about a pet squirrel named Chippy who unfortunately had to be released back into the wild. I actually skipped recess to finish that story.

I WILL finish this book I’ve started that has no clear outline written or end in sight, and maybe after that I will find the strength to finish my many other unfinished projects- the 5 paintings sitting forlorny in the corner, the book I started writing almost a decade ago, the book-page wreath my Rockstar doesn’t understand. Maybe I just need everybody to go out to recess so I can finish…

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Saying The Things You Shouldn’t Say


I’ve been accused more than once of being unedited. Hell, I’ve even been fired from a job for writing the things I was thinking in my head. Sometimes, I just get really tired of people not saying what they’re thinking, so I will be the one. Sadly, by the end of this post, I may come off as a huge bitch. But sometimes a long bout of holding in what I’m actually thinking results in a bad case of virtual verbal diarrhea.

People be having some UGLY babies- Am I the only one who thinks all these babies people are having on Facebook aren’t as cute as they should be? Let me be clear- the premature ones don’t count, because they just wanted to hop outta the oven before it was time. I’m talking about all the other ones. And when people keep commenting, “Oh, I’m so happy for you, your baby is adorable!” and “What a cutie!”, I just want to comment too (in a Spanish accent, of course), and say, “You keep using those words. I do not think they mean what you think they mean.” I know people don’t have control over what their kid looks like, but GEEZ, I don’t think I want one if the majority of them look like Gollum.

If you’re completely miserable with your spouse, or boyfriend/girlfriend, be done with them- This may seem harsh, and if you have children with this person, it’s a bit harder situation to get out of, but no amount of drinking or bickering or pretending is going to do any good for your kids. Yes, marriage is supposed to be a life-long commitment, but there are just some people who were silly enough to marry someone they didn’t like very much, with the idea, “Hey, it’s ok. I’ll just go out with my friends a lot and drink to drown the fact that my wife/ husband is a complete bitch/ asshole.”  Well, enjoy your perfectly pretended life. As for you all who are not married to your asshole, dump him/her immediately. And no, I am not going to be the person to make your life better with amazing sex, because I am smart enough to be with someone who does NOT annoy the shit outta me.

That chic shouldn’t be wearing that/ or SHOULD be wearing that- sometimes people shouldn’t clothe themselves the way they do. Yes, I’ve preached tirelessly about fat people in stretchy pants, but I am also including here the sermon about skinny girls with love handles who continuously wear low-rise jeans. Just ’cause you ain’t got no cushion for the pushin’ don’t mean that you’re toned. As evidenced by the cellulite once sported by my size 00 ex-sister-in-law. And Miley, put some damn clothes on, already. Yes, we get it. You’re edgy and controversial. Or suffering from multiple drug addictions.

Kids are sometimes not your entire world- I realize that since I have borne no offspring from my loins, I cannot fully understand how a child changes you and makes you devote your entire being to them; however, I have known enough people who have little to no patience for their humanoid cubs, and would rather be out partying with their friends. I know that no parent is suppose to come out and say, “I’d like a day off”, but I urge each and every one of you to realize that it’s ok to admit parenting is at times a trying and monotonous task, and is sometimes best replaced with a stripper pole and a shot of whisky. This doesn’t mean you love your children any less, it just means you have not joined the Stepford community.

Why don’t we let educated people into America?- I realize Lady Liberty is all about giving refuge to the starving and the destitute, but wouldn’t our country benefit a little by letting in someone who is not hungry and can actually support themselves? Instead of giving a bunch of monetary support to people who don’t even bother to learn our language, why don’t we give free visas to people who ALREADY know our language and have their own money? I’m not being prejudiced. The uneducated are welcome too, but they should be given the same opportunity as I- that is, the opportunity of working more than one job just to make sure I don’t have to move to Florida in order to sleep outside and not freeze to death because I am homeless.

 

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A Sparkly Housekeeper


I don’t know if it is a normal habit of people unsatisfied in their current careers, but I spend a shameful amount of time looking at the job ads on Craigslist. I generally look under the restaurant listings, as I am more likely to make the most dollars flashing my smile while catering to people stuffing their faces. However, during my perusal of Craigslist, I’ve sent my resume to a bank, a law firm, a nanny agency, and a plethora of other odd jobs. I’ve even considered applying at the Fantasy French Maids agency I discovered is in my town, but I wouldn’t want to put all the other French maids out of business, so I refrained.

I’ve found in my scrolling of hopeful jobs, that I seem to gravitate to the housekeeper type positions. Perhaps it is my unintentional goal to become Mrs. Doubtfire, or maybe I just don’t want to deal with the pain of having to work constantly with fucktards. Either way, I began imagining myself as some wealthy person’s maid, and I was not at all repulsed by the idea.

How fuckin’ weird am I? Most people dream of having a mansion on a hill with a yacht parked in the marina that they can drive to in their Porshe. I’d be content cleaning that fucking huge-ass house for $15- $20 dollars an hour. At least until I finish writing my bestseller and get my own castle. I wouldn’t even mind wearing a frilly, bust-enhancing maid’s costume while I did so.

Is this what I aspire to? Picking up after some arrogant CEO and his children who are being raised by a nanny? Yay me. (Sense the hint of sarcasm.)

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The Things We Must Do


Surely I am not an advocate for doing things you don’t want to do. I believe if you go through life doing things that are not necessarily of your own volition- if they are things other people want you to do, or things you feel obligated to do, you will just end up angry and frustrated and ready to shoot everyone in your path with an AK-47 or a flamethrower- kinda like Michael Douglas in the movie Falling Down.

Anyhoo, I was thinking of things of this nature this morning when I woke up, and I got to realizing that there are really quite a few things that we really MUST do in order to function acceptably in the world and not be thrown in with the crazies.

1. Wearing pants. Or really, any type of clothing that covered your gender parts.

As much as I adore walking through,  and sitting in, my apartment sans clothing, there are times when one simply must don vestments in order to keep from being arrested. Walking out to the mailbox, weddings, work- really, any time there are other humans about. It’s really toilsome to have to ensure clean and fashionable attire, especially when you just want to waltz around in your birthday suit.

2. Refraining from screaming out “I really fucking HATE this job!” while you’re at work.

Especially when you really fucking hate the job.

3. Paying the IRS.

Believe me, I have, perhaps unintentionally, tried to get away with NOT doing this. Sadly, Big Brother is a omniscient, and will TAKE your money out of your paycheck, or your bank account, or your property, if you try to screw him over. Dammit.

4. Compromising.

Let me be clear- one must solely compromise in order to keep friends and/ or relationships alive. If you are quite content growing into an old cat lady or lonely old man, feel free to refuse to compromise on where you should go out to eat, or where the TV is placed, or whether three times a week is enough for sex or not. I’m sure you’ll be happy being an old man who never goes to Olive Garden, sitting at home in front of the TV with a glare from the window jAcKiNG OFFWITHYOURHANDONCEAWEEK!!!!

5. Refraining from flicking people in the forehead when they’re annoying you.

As satisfactory as it sounds to do so, at some point, this may be considered harassment of some kind. I am still appalled to find that annoying people are not considered some kind of harassment yet.

6. Eat with your mouth closed.

Because even if I am not within earshot of you, I GUARANTEE there is someone sitting close by listening to you smack your lips in an ungentlemanly fashion who is inwardly cringing while secretly plotting how best to dispose of your newly-butchered body.

Well, I think I’ve gotten a pretty good start on educating you all on things you must do in order to be a little bit acceptable, however, if you promise to chew with your mouth closed, you can hang out with me sans pants anytime.

 

 

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