Two

There are so many great things that come in two…

Burgers on a Big Mac, eyes, hands, elbows, boobies (since we’re on body parts), balls (unless you’re Lance Armstrong), twins, high heels…

… and my kid. There are not two of him, but he is now two.

Like, seriously, where the fuck did those two years go?!

I suppose they were lost in the melee of diapers, animal flashcards, and Playdoh. As much as I’d like to admit that I’m mostly the same person that I was before him, I really am not. I talk to other mothers about their kids now, (sporadically) and get a ridiculous thrill out of the fact that my boy mimics every word that comes out of my mouth. (I still retain my sailor’s vocabulary, but at least only I realize it when my kid is yelling “FUCK”. )

In other ways, I am still me. I don’t like to cook still, and very closely resemble Cher’s character in the movie Mermaids when it comes to preparing meals. (Finger foods, finger foods.) I still enjoy whiskey at times, and other assorted adult beverages, and sometimes wonder if, as he gets older, my kid will recognize the tell-tale signs of my tipsiness.

I am glad that I now have a little person to drag around to fun things like the zoo and the science museum, as I did not exactly enjoy coming off as a creeper/pedophile when frequenting such places before motherhood. Too, I like this having a young one to throw themed birthday parties for. (We just had a Dr. Seuss one.)

Clearly, I have lost my edge when it comes to writing, because it seems that I am rambling now, and have written a post of little or no interest, so I think it’s time to say goodbye for the night.

So farewell for now, dear readers. I just wanted to let you know I’m still around.

XOXO

 

Celebrity Showdown: Salma Hayek VS. Penelope Cruz

So we all know that Salma Hayek is (crudely stated) “super hot”. It is also known that Penelope Cruz is also “uber sexy”. True, there are many other equally inviting Hispanic actresses out there, but none that have acquired such American fame as these. Even though these women are great friends, today, we shall pit these two ravishing dark-haired beauties against each other to see which one comes out on top. (Technically, Penelope  already played a Woman on Top, but nevermind about that.)

Salma Hayek has showed her boobies in Desperado.

Penelope showed her boobies in… well, too many movies to list.

Salma’s boobies are nicer.

1 point to Salma.

Penelope Cruz has a beauteous face.

As does Salma Hayek.

Penelope’s face is prettier.

1 point to Penelope.

Penelope has a habit of playing mysterious, sensuous characters in her movies.

Salma played a drug lord in Savages and a vampire in From Dusk Til Dawn.

This is a tie, because there is no way to gauge how a plethora of enigmatic roles measures up against a drug lord and a vampire stripper. No points are awarded.

Salma played Frida Kahlo, my favorite artist.

Penelope played no real life person I admire.

1 point for Salma.

Penelope played the exact same character in two movies- Open Your Eyes and the American version, Vanilla Sky.

Salma has done no such thing.

1 point for Penelope.

Penelope is married to Javier Bardem, who is sexy in a creepy sorta way.

Salma is married to some French guy. (Who is not sexy.)

1 point for Penelope.

Salma has directed a video for Prince (who is awesome and from Minnesota.)

Penelope has no reknown Minnesotan friends.

1 point for Salma.

Salma also has been credited with three singing performances on films.

Penelope is apparently a mute Spanish bird.

1 point for Salma.

Penelope won an Oscar for her performance in Volver.

Salma has no golden statue.

1 point for Penelope.

Salma is dyslexic.

Penelope knows four languages.

No points are awarded at this time, because we cannot discriminate or show favoritism to either party.

Salma is an spokeswoman for aids.

Penelope likes to help stray cats.

1 point for Salma.

Salma has been voted one of People‘s 50 most beautiful people three times.

Penelope has been voted so only once.

1 point for Salma.

Salma has done the voice over work for an animated cat in Puss in Boots.

Penelope has had the most memorable line in a movie concerning cats from Vanilla Sky: “In another life, when we are both cats.”

1 point for Penelope. (Point so awarded because I have used said line on several occasions.)

My Rockstar is secretly in love with Penelope Cruz because of her sexy love scenes.

He does not even know who Salma Hayek is.

1 point for Penelope.

We have come to the conclusion of the celebrity showdown, and as sad as I am to say that there are no amazingly- hot Spaniard-like women lying in front of me in need of medical attention I would willingly give them, I am happy to announce that the points have been tallied. Oddly enough, both Salma and Penelope have accrued an equal amount of points, so this celebrity showdown has been a complete waste of time, and I have come to the realization that each person must make their own decision on the level of these women’s hotness based off of their own personal preference. There you have it.

 

What If Those Last Five Pounds Are in my Bra?

The other day, I was vegging around being almost completely useless, when I decided to torture myself by browsing on the Victoria’s Secret website. For those of you who know me a bit better than those of you who don’t know me at all, you will understand  how this is a somewhat self-masochistic act. As I continue to pay off the $2800 I owe to dear Vicky, I have vowed not to spend a dime there until she is monetarily sated.  However, I am in desperate need of a Boulder Holder I can wear to work that is not falling apart and poking me with an exposed underwire.

As I clicked and clicked away on the website, I reminisced about the days when it seemed I had unlimited funds to spend on over-priced lingerie and  designer shoes. Did you ever notice how perfectly all the clothes fit on those models? I am convinced that just looking at Adriana Lima and that Alessandra chic convinces women everywhere that they are a size two. Luckily, though I am clearly NOT a size two, the jeans from Victoria’s Secret fit surprisingly well on me. And even though I’m certain I could find that booby-enhancing sweater in my hometown mall for a fraction of the price, there’s just something about seeing it on Douzan that makes me want to pay more for it.

While I am completely at home in my body, (after all, I DO have wonderful breasts to play with) I have made the decision that I could lose a few pounds. Sadly, the smell of French fries in the afternoon is enough to make me forget any such decisions. But as I fantasied about over-filling my virtual cart with designs worn by the most beautiful women in the world, I snapped out of it and said to myself, “No! No, Self! You don’t deserve any new clothes until you gracefully fit into all the cute ones you’ve never worn that hang in your closet!” And with a decisive finger, I clicked right on over to my unfinished novel, feeling only slightly powerful that I did not buy the clothes that I couldn’t afford.

The thought of losing weight is never far from my mind, but the thought of exercising is. When my Rockstar suggested last week that the reason for my chronic tiredness was lack of exercise, I calmly looked at him and retorted with, “But think how much MORE tired I’d be if I ran a mile or did situps!” Because of my chestly heritage, even if I DID lose some weight, the chances of my… ahem, upper portions fitting nicely into a size Medium sweater are slim to none. When doctors are weighing the heavy-chested, do they take into account that that extra 20 pounds they’re carrying around just might be in their bra?

Since I have no shortages of men lusting after me, it’s safe to say that I practically perfect at the size I am, but it IS frustrating when I go to try on clothes and nothing fits. So I will once again make a firm decision. I must learn to sew.

Fat Ass

So I was going about my business last night at work trying to get my shit done and get the hell outta there, when Little Miss Attitude (the 18 year old manager who sucks ass that I fully intend on taking all managerial hours from) started a conversation with me.

Sidenote: Little Miss will talk to ANYONE, even me who is almost completely unresponsive to her voice, simply because I do not wish to have my ears assaulted by imbecility. She also lacks the knowledge of a 4th grader, believing Asia is a country- but we will not get started on that.

Little Miss: So I burned 356 calories before work, plus I did a bunch of crunches, and I might work out when I get home.

(For your informations, she also ate 4 meals during her 7 hours shift)

Me: *refusing to state what I just did above*

Little Miss: Do you work out?

Me: Nope. I hate excercise and there are many other things I’d rather waste my time doing.

Little Miss: Wait. Do you like your body?!

(This question was asked in such a way that there is no doubt in my mind that she was implying that I shouldn’t like my body.)

Me: It has it’s good days and bad days, but my clothes still fit and I still have people begging to touch my body.

Little Miss: Well, clothes will always fit. It just depends how big you want your clothes to be.

(Apparently my size is completely offensive to this little bitch, and she is not going to desist in commenting so.)

For some more of your informations, this chic comes to work in a size 7 pants, when she should actually be wearing a size 11. (Which is what I wear) This is a constant source of conversation amongst the employees when she isn’t around, because the squeezing of her fat into too-small of pants makes her look as though she is a balloon on the verge of popping. I, on the other hand, wear the size of pants that actaully FIT me, and do not look like my body is made of plastic-encased pudding.

As I no longer deemed Little Miss’s comments worthy of response, I went about my business once more, but I continued to ponder what she said. This is my un-edited rethought response to her question- “Do you like your body?”  :

My upper arms may look better in a shirt with cap sleeves than sleeveless, but they are able to carry my 85 lb. almost-stepdaughter into bed when she falls asleep in my lap. They are also able to carry 100+ boxes of books up a flight of stairs without any help. They are also capable of giving amazing hugs.

My ass may not fit perfectly in a pair of low-rise jeans, and it may not look like a Victoria’s Secret model’s in a pair of lacy thongs, but it’s just the right size for my Rockstar to have something to grab onto when he’s feeling frisky, and just looking at it drives my boss insane with desire.

My thighs may be the size of Arnold Schwarzzenegger’s torso, but I can proudly take any buff dude to the gym and kick his ass on the squat-thrust machine. They also have faded stretch marks from when I was a chubby kid, but that just reminds me that I’m not as awful looking as I used to be.

My boobies may not be as perky as Pamela Anderson’s implanted ones, but they are still more than a handful for any guy, and I don’t need a Wonderbra to make cleavage because I have more than enough naturally.

My twat (I love that word!) may be “fat” and too completely capable of getting camel-toe, but the surprised response of “You’re so tight!” seems like the one a girl would want to hear.

My calves may look like they belong to an Olympic weight-lifter, but they look great in heels and a skirt, and these legs of mine can walk me to California, or Antarctica,  if a Zombie Apocalypse ensues and we run out of gas.

My lips may not be Angelina-esque, but they are just the right size to keep bullshit and idiocy from falling out of my mouth.

My hands may be calloused, and I will never be able to be a hand model, but they prove that I can work hard and I don’t expect someone else to take care of me (although that would be very nice). The fingers on my hands are surprisingly short and child-like, but I bet your fingers cannot bring people to tears by playing Beethoven’s Grande Sonata.

My shoulders may look like a line-backer’s. but they are just the right size for an 85 lb. 9 year old to sit on.

My neck may not be long and slender, but it’s strong enough to hold up my skull, which encases the most important part of me- my genius brain. This brain is capable of great imaginings, and is full of trivial facts- one of which is that Asia is, in fact, NOT a country.

Yes, I like my body. So there.

A Letter From God

Dear Sparklebumps,

I decided to send you a letter since you are one of my Beloved Children. I don’t usually do this, but I’ve noticed you tend to keep any letters, notes, etc. that people send to you. That was one of the great ideas I thought of when I was creating you; I thought maybe you’d keep everything, so when you become famous (as I have decided you should be) you can make one of those books about your life that have all the little pull-out parts that include letters and pictures and shit. I’d like you to include My letter, so anyone who wants to read about the famous Sparklebumps realizes it was I who made you what you were.

About the picture thing- you know you’re not very photogenic. I will tell you why I decided to make it that way. I made you adorable and smart, but I figured it would be a bit much if I added photogenic, because I know you would have gotten a big head. Also, given your tendency to take nudey pictures of yourself, I figured it was probably best if your face didn’t look great in photos, that way you won’t end up in Playboy or something. I admit that Playboy is a perfect study of the wonderful female form that I created, but it’s not for you. I plan on you making your living from your wit and your way with words, (and possibly your singing voice, if you can convince your Rockstar to start a band) NOT with your semi-hot bod.

Since I brought it up- yes, I gave you big buzooms. I did that because I know you’d be able to handle the attention that comes with them gracefully. Dolly Parton is another one that I made like that; she hasn’t forgotten about Me, and I know you won’t either. I give you permission to take advantage of your boobies, after all, why else would I have given them to you? But at the same time, don’t forget it’s your brain, and not your bra size, that makes you who you are.

I want to give you props for abstaining from all the temptations I’ve sent your way lately. You know I just like to fuck with you, right? (Heh heh) You’ve done good at only doing the sex with your Rockstar , and no one else; I know how you likes the sex and all. I also sent a few hot customers your way for you to just admire from afar, because I know you like to look at pretty things.

The Rockstar thing? You’ve figured out that I made him specifically for you. He, on the other hand, is kinda being a dumbass about the whole situation. I honestly gotta say that I made the male species REALLY bird-brained. What was I thinking? Anyhoo, I’ll try to put a bug in his ear about the whole marriage thing, but he really does love you; he’s just not trusting Me enough. He thinks you might be too much woman for him, so he’s terrified to pop the question.

If you noticed, I sent you a couple new friends, (Delightful, H.E., HR, Hotspur, Brainrants, John, and Megan) They’re kind of a fucked up bunch, so I knew you’d get along with them great. Also, I made sure Delightful lived close to you so you had someone to go to that fabulous coffee shop with. If you make an effort to stay in contact with them, I’ll make sure they make an effort with you, so they don’t end up like all your other friendships.

I wanted to talk about tithing to Me. I know you’re kind of broke right now, and so I’ll let you get away without giving me any offering. You make up for it by playing beautiful piano music to honor Me, and I’m ok with that. BUT. In the future, after you have your castle, I expect 10% of your earnings. In exchange, I’ll make sure the IRS gets off your back.

I haven’t decided yet if I’m going to bless you with children. You kind of have your hands full with your Rockstar’s Daughter, and anyway- you have alot of shit to do before you become a mother. It’s up to you to get started on all that before you reach menopause. You know what They say, “God helps those who help themselves.” (For the record, that’s not in My Word; I’m not sure where it came from.)

I guess that’s about it. You know I made you one of those people that are easy to love, so get out there in the world so they can love you. (NOT in a sexual way. I guess I didn’t make that clear to your stalkers. Sorry about that.)

Your Heavenly Father,

God (or I Am)

P.S. I haven’t quite figured out how yet, but if you keep serving Me, I’ll make sure you get to boob-squish Chris Meloni someday.

Sparklebump’s ABC’s

A is for Attitude, some say I have it;

To them I shall say, “Suck my armpit.”

B is for Books, full of beautiful stories,

and also for Boners, I always want more-ies.

C is for Chris- hot Chris Meloni;

DDD is the size of my magnificent boobies.

E is for Eric, also known as Rockstar,

I likes him  best when his Boner is hard.

F is for Fuck, the most versatile word,

as in dumb Fuck- a noun; Fuck me- a verb.

G is for Grumpy, that’s me in the morning,

H is for Heels, and also for Horny.

I is intelligent, (in other words: me)

J is for substantial and sparkly Jew-el-r-y.

K is for Kisses, the French kind are best,

L is for Love, what men feel for my chest.

M is a Mustang, I’ll have one someday,

and also for Music my Rockstar will play.

N is for Nothing- there’s Nothing for N,

but O has got Orgasm; Orgasm’s my friend.

P is for…. Pizza Slut, which is a job that I do;

(You were thinking Penis and Pussy, but I sure fooled you!)

Q is for Quirky, I’ve been told I am such;

R is my Rockstar whom I love so much!

S is for Sparkles, and Shoes, and also for Sex,

my three favorite things all begin with an S.

T is Thesaurus, my favorite book,

if you want to be smarter, you should come take a look.

U is for Undies, I wear some of the time,

but I like life best with a naked behind.

V is for Vittles, I DO so love to eat;

French Fries, and candy, but please, Sir, no meat.

I like to drink too; so…. let me just see,

W…W…W…. I’ve got it! Whiskey!!!!

X is a toughy; nothing starts with X!

except X-rated movies that have lotsa sex.

Y is for Yes- what you always should say,

because I hate to hear No; I want things MY way.

That leaves us with Z, the very last one.

A trip to Zimbabwe! Now wouldn’t THAT be fun?

Boobs Rock

I found this little blog post floating around in google land and wanted to give it it’s proper due. It had me laughing so hard I almost pissed myself. I think the Alliance will agree. 🙂 http://iloveboobies.us/other-items/the-meeting-of-the-bloggersalliance/

Somewhere in the outskirts of Kansas at a compound designated by Brainrants, the Bloggers Alliance gathers for their general meeting.  in attendance is Edward Hotspur, Lifeinthefarcelane, Sparklebumps, Verynormal, Tinkerbelle, Sandylikeabeach, Imonthebandwagon guys, Sightesnbytes and Kayjai.  Kayjai allows Archon to join, but warned him to keep his Newfie slurs to himself, or the Beiber tirade will emerge.  He sits quietly, dispensing the beer. Brainrants takes the helm as the designated Chairperson.  He’s the one that drives the tank, after all.

Brainrants: okay, people let’s get this show on the road.  I need a minute taker.   Who wants the job?

Rants surveys the room and waits for someone to volunteer.  the group is situated at a big round table in a shed out in the wilderness.  as Rants waits, Sparklebumps removes a stiletto, inspecting the damage from walking in the soft ground to access the shed.  Imonthebandwagon guys are taking way too much time discussing the night’s gig and Tinkerbelle is incessantly chatting to Verynormal about America and their trip to Disneyworld the following morning.  the rest of the group looks around at each other, no one volunteering for the job.

Rants: People!  Come on we have a lot to discuss!  Hotspur!  Where’s Hellis?!

Edward Hotspur who conspicuously places a recording device in the centre of the table looks up at Rants, stunned by his being centered out so early in the meeting.

Hotspur: how the crap should I know?!  Uh, late?

Rants:  Don’t get snippy, Hotspur.  It’s not you!  Sparkle, where’s Hellis?

Sparkle looks up at Rants and gives him a smile and a wink.

Sparkle: Oh, come on Rantsy she’s just late.  give her a break, will ya?  Maybe Junior tried to punk the VP and got caught, or she’s doing a book tour or she’s trying to find some SPaM material…

Just then, Hellis storms in with her hair disheveled and her boots caked in mud.

Hellis: Hey! sorry, I’m late but this place is farther out than my place!  Rants!  What are you doing with those tires?  want me to stack them and organize them for you?

Kayjai: Oh, God.  just don’t ask him if he wants you to do his laundry for him.  He apparently HATES other people doing his laundry. If there’s anything…

Kayjai: What?  It’s true…what?  you gonna make me do pushups or something?

Rants:  *pointing to the ground* 25!

Kayjai:  Hahahaha…shit!  You’re shitting me, right?!  Ugh… okay.  *drops down on knees and begins pushups*

Rants:  Hey!  This ain’t the Canadian Army, KJ!  Full pushups!  Not wimpy-assed ones.  go!

Kayjai moans and begins full pushups mumbling under her breath about keeping her mouth shut and wishing she had begun her Crossfit training with HWSNBN.

Rants turns to Hellis:  And, no thanks. I can stack my own tires.

Hellis:  you gonna make her do all those now?   *asks while pointing to Kayjai*

Rants: no, but it’s kinda fun watching her try.

Kayjai: Hello!  Tired Canadian here!  Hellis!  Pass me a beer will ya?

Hellis throws KJ a beer as she takes her seat beside Lifeinthefarcelane, who tells Hellis about her date the night before with a handsome billionaire.    Sandyonthebeach takes out a writing pad and begins scribbling and Sightsnbytes gives her some bottled moose to try.  She politely declines and suggests he try her cucumber sandwiches and coconut cake, instead.

Rants: okay, let’s get started.  Hotspur, I’m assuming by that recording device on my table that is the instrument by which you plan to use to transcribe said meeting.

Hotspur:  Yeah..as usual.  I transcribe all my shit.  And I mean all of it.  Not just some of it, all of it.  And by shit I don’t just mean…

Rants: okay, Hotspur.  I got the picture.  you can record it, but burn it after you transcribe.  I don’t want any blogger-gate tapes floating around the internet.  Kayjai…get off the goddamned floor, please.

Kayjai: okay, but can I have a turn at driving the tank?

Kayjai: Oh, come on.  just a little jaunt around the tires?

Rants: There’s no such thing as a ‘little jaunt’ in a tank, KJ.  And no.  just no.

Kayjai: Shit.  I tried.

Kayjai gets up with beer in hand and takes a seat wearyingly beside Archon.  She gives him the secret Canadian hand signal and he immediately jumps up and gets her another cold beer.  She smiles.

Rants:  okay, I think we can all agree we’ve had our daily dealings with fuckwits, asshats, fucktards, and shitheads, but there’s always more dickweeds to make fun of.  I think we should continue with that line. as for political correctness, can we all agree that shit is a fucking waste of time?

The group nods in agreement.

Hellis: I think we should all agree that the fuckwits that run things are getting in our way.

The group listens.  then from the corner, giggling can be heard.

Rants: Verynormal, what’s so funny?

Verynormal: So sorry.  Jowett and Mike are making fun.

Jowett: sorry, mate.  Mike here has some issues with the term “monkey-boy”.

Hotspur: I mentioned that in one of my posts…

Mike: Yeah, mate.  funny shit.

Mike winks at verynormal who winks back.

Hellis:   SHE’S 18!!!!!!!

The group stares in amazement at the outburst.

Hellis:  I’m just sayin’….

Verynormal: I have a boyfriend….Ben…he’s sooo…

Rants: okay, sorry to interrupt, but we need to wrap this up.

Sparklebumps: okay, everybody so we’re just continuing with our shit and keeping up with the sarcasm, wit and general fucking around that we all think is funny.  Generally, boobs rule.  Gotcha.

Rants: I love boobies….

Hellis: Yeah…we got that.

Rants: okay, meeting adjourned.  everyone remember to meet back here in another month.  Hellis do you need any assistance reaching the handle to the door?

Hellis: That’s fucking hilarious, Rants.  Oh, look what I found!  Keys…I wonder to what?  Maybe the tank that’s sitting out back?

Hotspur: I call shotgun!

Rants: There’s no ‘shotgun’ position in a tank, Hotspur and Hellis is NOT driving it!

Hellis: like shit, I’m not!  you have to catch me first!

She explodes out the door as the group follows her, watching her race to get inside the tank.  Rants stays behind and clears the table.

Rants to himself:  She can’t reach the fucking door….

I’d like to thank all my blogging friends for allowing me to poke fun and maybe share a laugh.  You guys rock!

Brought to you by Shaney jo Darden and I Love Boobies. You are too funny girl.

Whiskey Kisses

The following post has not been rated due to the mature content. So by all means, keep reading!

I think it is really no secret that I loves the Sex. I love to watch it; I love to do it; I love to read about it; and I love to talk about it. Perhaps this is due to the fact that I was raised to NOT talk about it, to NOT do it, or to NOT even think about it. Who knows, but I do believe the morals my parents tried so desperately to instill in me backfired. At least just a little bit. That is not to say that I in any way resemble the girls from Sex and the City, because I could count on one hand the guys I’ve slept with, it just so happens that I have decent taste in men, so there has been no need to dispose of them as quickly as those girls do. Alas, my first relationship was somewhat devoid of mind-blowing Sex. Not completely- we DID do it once in a parking garage inside a step-side stickshift regular cab Ford ranger. (Yes, it was a tight squeeze.) But fortunately, with my Rockstar, I now have pretty fun sex quite frequently. I am a bit more adventurous than he is (no butt sex or spanking for him!) but really, that’s quite aright. I am just open to more things. But yes, he would be just fine sharing me with another girl (what guy wouldn’t?) Anyhoo, I am getting off track.

My Rockstar and I have a good time drinking, as well. I don’t know if this is normal in a relationship (as I have only been in 2), but we can entertain ourselves quite well, especially with a little whiskey or peach schnapps. Tip a few back, turn on some tunes, and it’s a mosh pit.  Also, whiskey is very beneficial in educating a person. I have learned that you must be careful jumping around on the bed with a microphone near your face,  heard numerous stories of past Exes, and found out that my boyfriend sings like Vince Neil. (At least he did when I was drunk.) I have also realized that we make a huge mess in the kitchen when we are drunkards. C’est la vie.

Porn is also very fun to watch when you are inebriated. I don’t know about you, but I love porn! I have been fascinated with it ever since me and my used-to-be friend Catherine found her dad’s Playboys. At least you men out there would agree with me- BOOBIES ARE FUN! It is also fun to find out you are the first person to give your 40 yr old boyfriend a blowjob while watching porn. Yay, me.

Basically, if you have never spent a night drinking with your significant other, try it! You may get to talking and learn somethin about them you never would have otherwise, or you may end up having sex in a different way, or maybe you will just end up having a steamy make-out session. And even if that’s all you do, just remember, at least you were probably too drunk to care if he had whiskey breath. XOXO