Things I Can Imagine About Myself If I Don’t Look In A Mirror

I have a problem with mirrors. As in, I look great if I don’t look into one. My self -confidence is at such a level that I can sashay around feeling glamorous and stunning; until I look in the mirror ;then  my stunningness melts into a puddle around my 5″ heels. So I’ve decided, instead of telling you what I know about myself, to quote Anne of Green Gables- “If you let me tell you what I imagine about myself  you’d find it a lot more interesting. “

1. It’s easy to imagine I have the 42″ in-seam of Stacey Keibler, until I look in a mirror and realize my Short Length jeans are dragging on the ground.

2. I like to imagine I have the pale alabaster skin of Nicole Kidman, or Queen Elizabeth, until I look in the mirror and see that my pale skin is blotchy and uneven.

3. As I cannot look into my own eyes, it is easy to imagine the color of my eyes is cerulean blue (that was always my favorite color crayon), that is, until I look in a mirror and see that my eyes are, in fact, just a poopy brown color.

4. It’s nice to imagine that my Sweater Meat actually looks good under a sweater, until I look into a mirror and realize that I just look fat in sweaters.

5. To the touch, my thighs and ass compare to steel; that in no way helps me when I attempt to fit them into a pair of stylish low-rise jeans. (I come out looking like I have two asses)

6. I like to pretend that I have the curly flowing locks of a Bavarian princess (I don’t actually know if Bavaria has princesses, but it sounded good) until I look in the mirror and remember I need 4 different kinds of hair product to make the frizz on my head acceptable for public display.

7. It’s easy to imagine that I have a full desirable face and figure (like Scarlett Johanssen), until I look in a mirror and see that those little statues of Buddha and I have disturbingly similiar features.

8. I imagine my neck is one to be spoken of reverently in poetry, perhaps being decribes as long and slender, and then I look in the mirror and realize I should change my name to Sparklebumps NoNeck.

9. My boss Frenchie once described me as “having an hourglass figure”. I was excited until I looked in the mirror and realized he must have been looking THROUGH an hourglass  when he described my figure. (Because honestly, there is only a two inch difference between my waist and hips)

10. I like to imagine I have an attractive beauty mark that girls will one day imitate with piercings, like Cindy Crawford or Marilyn, but then I look in the mirror and see I display a multitude of “beauty marks” that will in no way be duplicated appealingly.

11. It’s easy to imagine I have a Dolly Parton rack, until I remember I don’t have as much money as she does to maintain it.

Oh well, at least my feet look cute in shoes…

If I Had A Million Dollars

For some reason, the fabulous Barenaked Ladies song of this title popped into my head this morning. Since I fully intend to earn a million dollars someday, (whether it be by my writing, my sexual prowess, or by my general awesomeness) I have given great thought to the question- “What would you do if you had a million dollars.” Let me just tell you what I’d do…

First of all, to keep from looking like a completely selfish bitch, I would buy my Rockstar the Gibson gold top guitar he’s always wanted. (The $5000 one, NOT the cheap version) Sadly, I think this guitar is wretchedly ugly, but it’s what he wants. (Silly man)

Since I would be at Guitar Center anyway, I would then buy my brother the most sparkly set of drum I could find, so he could get ready to join our band Carousel. They really should be purple, since that’s his favorite color, but my bass is purple, so that just would be too much purpleyness.

On the way back from Guitar Center, I’d have to make a stop at the Yamaha piano dealer and buy an Elton John limited edition Red Piano, because I need one.

I would be very hungry from making my musical purchases, so I would have to stop and get some French Fries from McDonald’s.

I would then stop by the house I always dreamed of having while I was growing up in my home town and offer them much dollars to sell it to me.  It is a pea-green version of the house in Anne of Green Gables and though it is not a castle, it would do quite nicely.

Since I would have a house, I would then go to the Humane Society and seek out the biggest cutest mutt puppy (anything mixed with a great dane or a St Bernard)  I could find. If there was more than one, I would probably buy them both; also maybe a kitty or two.

Let us not forget the Ford dealer! I refuse to go to the dealership in St Cloud, (because the salesmen  are fucktards and easily get distracted by my boobies.) So anyhoo, I would order my specially-designed fuschia 2012 Boss Mustang, and since I would be rich, I’d have to buy a beautifully-giant shiny candy-apple red F-350, with NOT tan seats. (Sorry, Rockstar. If you don’t like it, you don’t have to ride in it.)

I suppose I should do something useful with my dollars, so I would buy a little shop somewhere and open a used bookstore where I could wear what I want (heels and fun skirts) and display what I want (all my bloggy friends’ published books) and do what I want. (flirt with customers and read and write my books). It shall be a raging success.

In order to properly attire myself for business, I would have to go on a new wardrobe shopping spree. Just because I’m a millionaire doesn’t mean I would be rid of my thrifty ways, so I would still only buy things on clearance (with the exception of shoes) and I would use re-usable bags to carry my purchases out to my new Mustang.

After shoe shopping, I’m assuming there wouldn’t be much moneys left. So then I would go home.

 

 

Where I came from… or at least my blog name.

Happy Friday, People that I love! I would like to take this opportunity to thank each and every one of you who took the time to view my blog, whether you thought it was a waste of time or the most profound thing you’ve ever read. (Not likely.) I also would like to point out that I am no longer completely anonymous; I  subscribed to my co-worker’s blog. (thatgirlbehindthebook) Makes sense that I would lose my anonimity after only 2 days, as I am very bad at keeping secrets, but people seem to want to tell me theirs anyway. YAY me. Today I shall lay to rest all your minds and go into detail of the origination of my blog name- just in case you want to know more about me. If you don’t- TOO BAD FOR YOU. This is MY blog and I can do what I want! XOXO

I will begin at the near beginning, since I do not recall the process of being born, and anyway- I’m not David Copperfield. Once upon a time, my dad had a very tall friend who babysat me occasionally when my parents needed a break from my spoiled self. One time, I stayed at Very Tall Man’s lovely apartment and he spent the whole night trying to entertain me. I believe I was 6. For a 6 yr old, I was very well-read, and loved to read to people. With my Reader’s Digest condensed Fairy Tales in hand, I spent the next 3 hrs regaling Very Tall Man with stories of Little Mermaids and Frog Princes. Needless to say, I believe listening to a 6 yr old read can make a 40-something man quite bored. He suggested we find something on T.V. In the 80’s, there was this lovely little station called PBS, which provided good family entertainment. Up  popped a movie about a little orphan girl called Anne of Green Gables. I was immediately enthralled. For those of you who have never seen this epic movie, it begins with a redhead walking though the woods reading Tennyson’s “Lady of Shallott.”  Now, being young, I didn’t understand a single word of what that girl was reading, but the passion with which she breathed the words made me want to be just like her. Long story short- the girl grows up being the smartest kid in school and becomes an author. I do believe “Anne with an ‘e'” is the most influential person to me who never lived. Many, many hours were spent reenacting that movie and reading so I could be a intelligent as she.

Another instance that fueled my love for books: my mom was all about family entertainment. When I was 13 or so, she bought this movie “Shadowlands”, which was a biopic of C. S. Lewis. In it, he had a student who he went to visit. When he stepped into the boy’s apartment, all there was were piles of books. Everywhere. C. S. Lewis (who was played by the lovely Sir Anthony Hopkins) asked, “Where do you get them all?” The student who was very poor, replies, “I buy what I can; I steal the rest. I read them. I read them all.” I honestly don’t remember a thing about the rest of that movie- I only remember I wanted to have just as many books as that boy. I am a book whore because I have nearly every single book I obtained as a child; I am a book whore because I work in a used bookstore and have $600 worth of books stashed away in the back room to buy someday; I am a book whore because it does not matter what kind of book it is, I’m probably going to want it. This hasn’t really become an issue except for the fact that I seem to move alot, and books are heavy.

Sparklebumps. When you read that, what do you think of? Yes, it refers to exactly what your thinking it does. This nickname was given to me fondly by a co-worker I had when I worked at the Great Shithole known as JCPenney. My job was to unload the truck and sort the women’s clothing, distributing it in the proper area. This was a relatively easy job; alas, I am easily distracted by anything that is bright, shiny, sparkley, or ruffley. This became very apparent to those coworkers lucky enough to be within earshot of me as I unloaded any such garments. Exclamations of “OOH! It’s so PRETTY!” and “I must buy this sparkley shirt!” became an everyday occurrence. My sometimes-witty coworker (who did an  creepily dead-on impersonation of David Bowie in Labrynth) said to me one day, “You know, if I were to give you a nickname, Sparklebumps would describe you best.” This comment was due to the fact that my overly-ample busooms found themselves at times the object of conversation. ( Mainly when I came upon a sparkley shirt they would never fit in.) I have since moved on to bigger and better things. (Pun intended)

And so, My Lovelys, that is the story of sparklebumpsthebookwhore. Until next time, xoxo