Category Archives: Work

Pest Control


I arrived at work today with my favorite new drink from Caribou Coffee- a large sparkling peach black tea- to find the pest control guy awaiting me. Not only was the normal dude there, but I was lucky enough to be allotted TWO pest control guys on this very special of days. (To be clear, it is not because my restaurant is overrun with bugs, but because the old guy is letting go of some of his responsibility.) I was momentarily distracted as I wondered what possessed people to become pest control personnel in the first place, before I let them in to go about their buggy rounds.

I began my work day with my mind wandering about pest guys and bugs and traps before I unintentionally came up with the most outstanding of ideas. There should be a pest control company for PEOPLE!

Sure, the traps would have to be live traps, so as not to have any type of homicide law suits on one’s hands, and instead of fumigating said humanic pests, perhaps only tranquelizing. But think about it!

Everyone has that one really annoying person at work who is very loud, and who unremittingly will voice their opinions without being asked for them. They usually are quite vocal about following the rules, and are quick to point out those who are failing to do so. Generally, this pesty person is so busy pointed out everyone else’s transgressions that they have little time to complete whatever work it is they are getting paid to do. Wouldn’t it be lovely if you could just call up your designated Homosapien Pest Control team and have them come out to tranquelize your little problem?

Too, the noisy, rude people you sometimes see in stores who are ranting endlessly that they have been wronged in some shopping botheration? Not a problem! Just activate the newest app on your Iphone 7 and watch that loser be carted away to a padded room until they’ve calmed down enough to realize that they were blowing shit out of proportion.

The live traps would be solely for the unintelligent of our human races, the people who are annoying because of their complete lack of brain cells. Perhaps boxes could be set up around various street corners, filled with sparkly things or copious amounts of money- something to lure the brain dead inside. Announcements could be made ahead of time, letting people know that said boxes were traps for the non-bright of our species. That way, there could be no wrongful deaths and/or entrapments, since people were warned. What to do with these dumb dumbs once they have been captured is still an issue.
Whatever the case, I must say that this idea must be further developed.

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Boozehound


Who doesn’t need a drink

after the Big Boss shows up

at work?

Luckily,

the liquor store is located

across the street.

How many times have I

looked longingly through the finger-smeared windows

during a crapper shift and thought

how much better work would be

if flasks were mandatory?

I sit for seven long minutes

trying to cross the street in my

yellow truck;

Finally,

I’m wandering aimfully

through the wine aisle,

choosing my poison based on

how many proof the label advertises.

I’ve noticed the strongest alcohols

have ugly labels,

so I make a point to buy a

bottle of wine sporting

Norma Jean.

 

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We’re All Mad Here


I received a visit from the people who bore me this morning. While normal family gatherings are complete with hugs and mashed potatoes and maybe a beer or two, this one seemed like more of a covert encroachment.

I may not have yet mentioned that a few weeks ago, I decided to in not such impolite words tell my parents to fuck off. I admit, I was not raised to so forcibly express my emotions to my elders, (the whole, respect thy mother and thy father thing) but I had decided that since my parents didn’t have the balls enough to tell my half-sister they no longer wished to know her, I would show them mine and tell them I no longer wished to know them. After all, don’t we all get to blame our parents for our fucked up lives at one point or another? In actuality, I didn’t blame them for a thing, because really, if they hadn’t been the way they had, I wouldn’t have turned out as delightfully disturbed and amazing as some of you all think I am.

Anyhoo, I was in my car for a moment when I saw their desert-colored Chevy and mini camper circling me in the work parking lot as one would imagine a shark would circle. They parked, and I took in a deep breath to prepare myself for the onslaught of “we love you”s, and “we pray for you every day”. I was not to be disappointed.

After receiving a hug from my upset mother while receiving a pitying look from my father for my eternal soul, they asked what it was that had happened to cause the riff I had specifically created between us. I told them that they have three other children, none of whom want to see them, and though I had not exactly been rude about it, I agreed with their decisions. My parents then went on to say that my siblings chose the lives they live, and that it was not my parents job to fix them- to which I silently wondered why I myself was not allowed such luxury.

Then, my mom announced that they had been informed by a family member of a certain blog I had created- a blog of such filth and pollution that it could hardly be named. After asking why I would call myself “the bookstore whore” (because they so closely read and interpreted my insane ramblings), my mother asked if I was, in fact, possessing of multiple personalities- because the sweet little church girl I was FIFTEEN YEARS AGO was nowhere apparent in the last 2 of 446 posts I’ve written. I nodded, admitting that yes, there is no way possible that I could be possessing of only ONE personality- one of a girl who was raised in church and then left out in the real world to make her way.

“Well, maybe you need some help; maybe you need to talk to someone.” They had chosen that moment to announce that this was an intervention- the time to save me from my fucked-up and histrionic self, the time to rescue me from my back-slidden ride into eternal damnation. My father alternated between trying to hold his tongue and sporadically bursting out with reassurances that God loves me and the like. My mother broke the news that all my aunts and cousins are “deeply concerned” about me, because I am living a life of apparent derangement with my Rockstar (a title at which my dad scoffed condescendingly at) and working as a Pizza Slut while playing piano on Sundays at my Auntie’s church, and writing about it for “the WHOLE world to read!” (They seem to think that I am up for any naughty deeds with any man who asks, despite the fact that I mention my Rockstar and our relationship on nearly every post. I do not deny that I am up for anything, but as far as with who- I choose my Rockstar until he chooses otherwise.)

I began to realize at that moment that while my parents are maybe partially right to be concerned over my supposed lunacy, that the fact that we were having such a conversation in the parking lot of a mall in the blustering wind while I was supposed to be working was, in fact, madness incarnate. I announced that there was no need to further our discussion, for the crazy don’t know they are crazy, and will forever argue with a person that their opinions are correct.

I do not know what will happen from now on, but I have been assured by the people who see me on a daily basis that, while I am quite kooky in my own way, I have a long way to go before I am tranquelized and made to wear a straight-jacket as my fashion statement.

As for multiple personalities, I don’t think I’ve had one yet that people haven’t found charming.

 

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Six Words Only


I was at a loss for mental fodder to pen tonight, so I stole an idea from Jennie at Tip of my Tongue. Sum up your life in six words. Apparently, Hemingway did it once or something, and it’s all the rage these days. I couldn’t decide exactly what direction to go in, so I went in all of them:

You want a fantasy? I’m her.

Leave me alone. I’m busy reading.

Why can’t people be like me?

I’m ready for sex. And you?

Love me, or I’ll punch you.

Life is beautiful, except at work.

French Fries. Books. Stilettos. Sex. Boobs.

Who needs money? There are books.

Would you like top or bottom?

Love is best. Breaking up sucks.

I’m smart and busty. Lucky you.

Why is all the rum gone?

Ok, I could go on and on, but really, I’d like to see if you all can come up with six words about me. 🙂 XOXO

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As The People Sleep


The downside to working

the night shift:

The only people awake when you get off

are drunks, insomniacs, vampires,

and you.

Sleep would come

Unbidden,

If I bothered to lie down for a short second,

but being left alone for the weekend,

and wound up from unsatisfying work

leaves me awakened and

buzzed on exhaustion.

So I

partake in Alone Time Behavior.

Bad teen comedies are my guilty pleasure,

and I wonder inanely if your newly done

self pedicure looks as good as the girl’s on

the T.V.

Before you know it,

it’s 4 AM,

and you’ve got less than three hours before you

have to pretend

you’re a Church Person.

Just enough time to

masturbate.

 

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Wake Up, Dammit!


I adore sleep.

I find it to be one of the most relaxing things a person can do with their free time. In fact, I find myself doing it quite frequently, sometimes even up to eight hours a day. When I’m bored, I think to myself, “I should take a nap.” When I’m tired, I think to myself, “Perhaps I should slumber.” However, I am very rarely bored, (because I have a blog and about 5000 books to read), and when I am tired, I cannot help but think that while I maybe need sleep, there are just too many other things I could be doing that may benefit my quality of life just a tad more than napping might. (Passionate hard-core sex and watching marathons of Law and Order SVU come to mind.)

You may wonder why I have babbled on so. My Rockstar is in the process of sawing logs in a disturbingly loud manner even as I am virtually speaking to you. Now, I understand that he is on the edge of geriatricism, weighing in at a solid 42 years of age, but COME ON! It’s 6:42 PM here. (I need not mention that he’s been sleeping for a good half hour already, but I guess I just did.)

I can see my future life very clearly: While some women are afraid to end up alone with forty cats, I am afraid that I will end up alone with a permanently snoring Rockstar. Sure, I could pet him as one of the afore-mentioned lonely old women might pet her cat, but instead of an adorably contented purr, all I will get is a snarfling gargling loud goooooiiiiiiiouuuuuugh. (That’s the closest thing I could come up with for spelling a snore. Sorry.)

I must admit that I hadn’t any uber-exciting plans for the evening, (other than washing my snoring prince’s silky boxer shorts,) but a simple “How do you do, dear” would have been nice. I got home and hopped in the shower to wash off the pizza crud from work and exited the bathroom sans clothes only to find him having a team meeting with the Sandman. WTF. I didn’t know I was dating Rip Van Winkle.

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Versatility


versatilebloggernominationsVersatile:

adjective

def:

1. capable of or adapted for turning easily from one to another of various tasks, fields of endeavor, etc.: a versatile writer.
2. having or capable of many uses: a versatile tool.
3. attached at or near the middle so as to swing freely, as an anther.
4. turning either forward or backward: a versatile toe.
5. variable or changeable, as in feeling, purpose, or policy: versatile moods.
If you haven’t figured out by now, the lovely Dust and Soul has nominated me for the Versatile Blogger Award. As I adore being recognized (and talking about myself), I have cause to wanna give her a big ol’ Sparklebumps Booby Squish.
Since I have been the recipient of this award on several occasions, I decided to look up the definition. If you look above, these definitions perfectly describe me-
1.I most certainly turn easily from one to another of various tasks, fields of endeavor, etc. Which may explain why I have never finished one thing in my entire life, including my many books I’ve begun to write.
2.I AM capable of many uses, but I am most adept at uses of the sexual nature…
3.I swing freely on the park swing on a weekly basis,  but I not quite certain that’s what that definition meant.
4.Turning either forward or backward…. hmmm. Cowgirl or Reverse Cowgirl, anyone? I suppose missionary or doggy-style work too.
5.Variable is my middle name. Emotional is perhaps the synonym used more often for me.
According to the rules, I am supposed to mention the nominator of me- I luvs ya, Dust and Soul!
Then I am to list 7 things about myself…
1. I seem to think that the windows in my vehicle are magical enough to block outside drivers’ sight of me. In other words, if you confront me about jamming out to Metallica while alternately texting and applying Siren Red lipstick, I will deny, deny, deny.
2. I believe the world DOES revolve around me, at least some of the time. You just have to be standing next to me to notice it.
3. I secretly repudiate women with longer legs than I. While my little dwarf-sized gams are agreeably curvy, I think they will never be described as “sexy”.
4. I walk around naked in my apartment when no one is home. Unfortunately, I forget the neighbors are probably home and looking out their windows.
5. I believe I could comfortably live as Amish- provided I get a free pass to have sex.
6. I got out of dissecting a baby pig in 9th grade Biology by telling my science teacher it was against my beliefs to be part in the murder and dismemberment of the innocent.
7. Despite having worked overtime for most of my working life, I am incredibly lazy.
 #7 is the reason I’m going to fudge the last rule.
I’m supposed to nominate 15 fellow bloggers who are versatile and amazing, but as you can see from #7, I’m a lazy bitch. So, I urge you to click on Dust and Soul’s links, because I checked them out to see what kind of company I was included in, and I must say that I am completely humbled, for they are all better writers than I. However, I probably have bigger boobs. 🙂

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An Appeal to Lex and Terry


Lex and Terry are the creators of a totally awesome morning show that’s on the radio in Texas. They also happen to be aired anywhere that’s anywhere, which includes St. Cloud, where I live. I’ve decided it’s about time they knew about me.

Dear uber-sexy bald man Lex and slightly less-sexy-but-still-awesome-in-a-creepy-way Terry,

You are the Gods of Morning Radio, and should be told so every day. I love listening to you whenever I happen not to be a lazy ass and actually get outta bed before 9 am.

Lex, your voice is so silkily smooth and deep that I am forced to turn down  my radio when you speak, because it causes the bass speakers in my amazing yellow truck to rumble, and I do not want to be mistaken for one of those infantile morons who blows their entire paycheck on subs for their vehicles. I adore your perfectly-round head, and anytime I think about it, I want to rub my hands (and perhaps some other choice body parts) all over it. You are like a shorter, slightly-less-buff Christopher Meloni. Morning radio would be forever jaded if you happened to wreck your vocal chords. (Or dent your impeccable head.)

Terry, I must admit that your radio voice terrorizes me on a daily basis- but it’s not for me to judge those who chose to put you on the radio. Clearly, you make it work, which shows us all how clearly awesome you are in other aspects; aspects I have yet to determine. I’ve come to notice that when you guys play Name that Tune off of your ipods, you happen to have just horrendous taste in music, and the fact that you would consider me obese based off of my weight makes me chagrined to meet you- but I think when you realize that 25 of that poundage is in my bra, you will quickly reconsider.

I want to applaud you boys for employing such a seductive creature as Dee. He and his big black ass are an amazing asset to your show, and when he makes me laugh during your Round Table Raps, I just wanna squishhimtodeathwithmyboobiesandsmoochhislittlehead! He won my heart when he did a spot on rendition of a Jet song awhile back, complete with verbal instrumentals.

The point of this letter is to  let you  guys know that I and my DDD’s would be a lovely addition to your show. I seem to remember you used to have Drunk Girl Friday. Let me assure you, I AM your Drunk Girl Friday. Technically, when I am home, I drink on Tuesdays, but if you flew me down every Friday, I most certainly be willing to adjust my libation schedule. I’ve been told that I’m quite entertaining when I drink, (although “entertaining” is perhaps not the word my Rockstar would use) and I believe your show needs a big dose of womanliness. (I was going to put femininity, but it doesn’t look right when I spell it.)

Which brings me to another matter.

You may have noticed I failed to mention the female portion of your little team.

I must admit that I question your judgement(s ?) daily for hiring Sarah as your radio gal. Her lack of personality is very apparent  on the radio, or perhaps she HAS personality that just isn’t apparent on the radio. Every time she mentions her lizards or carried on about her Love Boat boyfriend in the past, I just wanna climb through my truck radio and squeeze her little neck til her head pops off! I’ve been told that the women from Texas are the hottest in the world- I must be frank- Sarah is not one of them. Although she does have a very fun tattoo. I’m sure if I was to meet her, we would get along swimmingly. (Or tear each other’s clothes off, which I’m sure you wouldn’t disapprove of.)

Anyhoo, I’ve rambled on enough. If you guys feel like adding a few cup sizes and laughs to your show, let me know! I love ya forever!

Much Booby-Squishes and Ass-Slaps,

Sparklebumps

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Apply Now!


And I have.

I find it a little disconcerting when I’ve taken to applying  for jobs on my days off as a Pizza Slut. Can job apply-ery be considered a hobby? I believe so, especially when I can recite from memory the exact start and end dates of my last FOUR jobs. (My Rockstar was slightly impressed at that feat.)

It’s not that I despise my current job- ok, that’s a lie. So I despise my current job, but not for the reasons one may perhaps think. It’s true that the lack of tipping going on is at an all time high, and it’s also true that despite the fact that I told my boss last week that I’m no longer in charge, I still seem to be the only one who knows what the fuck is going on there. But if you were to ask me why it is I so desperately seek new employment, I would tell you it is because I wish to have a job that I shower at BEFORE I go to work, not after.

I remember now the reason I so had come to hate my old restaurant job. It is because the stench of grease and sustenance never fully washes away in the cleansing waters of the bath. I loofah (is that a verb?) like crazy, and yet I find myself sniffing my pits wondering if I stink as bad as I think I do.

This was never a problem at my bookstore. Sure, old books have a distinct scent to them, but not one that gone unwashed will make you smell like an athlete’s jock strap.

And so, I decided today during my search for the perfect job that isn’t writing, I shall not lower my standards to apply at any job that causes me to break a sweat on a daily basis. (It’s disturbing how completely lazy that sounds to me.) Luckily, Barnes and Nobles is once again hiring, so that was my first application of the day. Too, I found that ULTA was hiring, and since the girls that work there are always beautiful in looks and smell, I said to myself that I must get that job! After pooh-poohing the idea of becoming a breast imager (while the concept sounds extremely interesting, I am certain there must be some sort of schooling needed there), I decided that I’ve had enough for the day.

Now I sit with fingers crossed, hoping no interviewers ask me the reason for my termination from the bookstore…

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Fair Credit Reporting My Ass


So my Rockstar and I met with a mortgage lady last week.

Since.. well, pretty much forever, this has been a painful and heartbreaking act for me. In the beginning, it was because I had no credit, because I was young, and unfruitful (in the money area). Later on, it was because I had too much credit (damn, you, Victoria’s Secret and your $2800 credit limits!) and just as unfruitful. In the past year, though, despite my lack of love for my job, I have made many dollars, a few of which I put to good use and paid off the four credit cards that were so shamefully taken away from me by their parent companies. Too, I paid off the $79 I owed to my once- amazing book club from about 6 years ago. Altogether, in the last 12 months, I’ve paid off over $5000 of my debt. So when my Rockstar FINALLY agreed to go to a mortgage lender, I was not in the least embarrassed by my low credit score, because compared to how low it was a year ago, or three years ago, it was phenomenal.

My Rockstar was dubious about his credit score as well, but for completely different reasons. It’s true he is immersed in debt, (thanks to his getting a loan for MY truck, and his over-used Guitar Center card) but his credit score is not in the least shameful. The problem there is his debt -to- income ratio, which would be acceptable were it not for me and my yellow truck.

Our mortgage lady was amazing- answering all our unasked questions, and not making me feel inferior in the least for my unworthy credit score. As she circled and marked the offending information on my credit report, I felt exactly as I did in 4th grade when I lied to my dad about knowing the 13 colonies and their capitals and I received my first and only F on a quiz. As she handed me my failing credit report with all the wrong answers marked, I shrugged and replied, “Well, I can only pay shit off as quickly as I make money.”

Mortgage lady agreed, and informed me that most of what she had marked were things that I’ve already paid off that just haven’t been removed from my report. She told me to give all those companies a call, and request of them that they remove the info from my credit report, since it was paid and it wasn’t doing them any good to keep reporting it anymore. I left feeling light-hearted, knowing without a doubt that the nice collection companies would do my bidding if only I asked.

It was not to be.

I just spent the last two hours calling those fuckers, and was  made to feel a  dumb bitch. Of the 5 places I called, only one- ONE!-  was courteous enough to (without a problem, mind you) assure me they’d remove their account from my credit report. The 4 others all argued with me, claiming that due to the fair credit reporting act, there was nothing they could do, and that their fucking stupid asses are going to be on my credit report for the next 3 to 5 years. When I told them that yes they COULD remove it (which is exactly what the mortgage lady told me to say), I was transferred, or hung up on, or told, “Im sorry ma’am, we just don’t do that.” When I asked WHY they just couldn’t do that, they replied with the unsatisfactory response, “We just don’t.”

What the fuck have I been throwing all my money at these fuckers if not to have them remove shit from my credit report?! I tell you, this does NOT re-inforce my will to further pay off any other bills that have accrued on my record. If I can pay over 60% of what I owe off, and still be denied house dollars, what’s the fucking point? I’ll live in a squalid dump for the rest of my life and buy infinite amounts of books before I hear one more condescending non-American voice tell me,

“I’m sorry, ma’am, we just can’t tell people you paid shit off a year ago. That just wouldn’t be fair.”

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