642 Things To Write About #2: Trouble

Since it has been many moons since my last blog post, and I am feeling completely uninspired at the moment (due to the somewhat early hour of the day), I have decided to take another writing prompt from my handy book 642 Things to Write About. This shall be the second time I’ve used this lovely little writing aid, as the first time is posted HERE. My topic for the day?

Five things that always get you into trouble.

I’m sure that if I answer this with no filter, I will get into trouble. Is that what this question is supposed to do, I wonder?

Well, here goes….

1. My mouth.

And not even in the way you pervs are thinking, so get your mind out of the gutter! Ok, well, maybe in the past my mouth has gotten me in trouble that way…. but anyhoo, I digress. What I meant to say was, my mouth is like a moving box that’s been crushed and mangled and used one too many times. No matter how much you tape it up and try to get stuff to stay put inside it, stuff just continues to fall out, even when you put your hands over the top of it. Maybe it’s not such a huge deal now, but damn. I’m fucked if I ever become famous. Prepare yourselves for the continuous controversy of Shit Sparkle Said. I just hope people don’t despise me as much as I despise Kanye West.

2. My boobs.

You knew it was coming. Need I explain? Excessive boobage has caused dispute throughout history. Just look at Marilyn Monroe, Sophia Loren, and Anne Boleyn. Ok, that last one was a guess, but it is probably a good assumption that a well-endowed chest had something to do with Henry VIII’s decision to renounce Catholicism and dump his first wife.

3. My histrionic personality.

Which causes me to flirt incessantly, even with people I don’t necessarily find attractive, which in turn causes feelings of adoration and infatuation to fester into feelings of malice and hostility in people unlucky enough to wander through my fickle attentions. I would not consider  myself a heartbreaker, but I’ve certainly pulverized a few.

4. My book addiction.

And my shoe addiction. Which have both been detrimental to my wallet. Luckily, I have never suffered from buyer’s remorse.

5. I suppose, my blog.

Having been fired the one and only time in my life because of my online writing, and having appalled my parents and perhaps a countless slew of others, it is safe to say that my blog may justly be included in the list of five.

 

Random Boob Thought

I was just about to jump in the shower, when I realized that I actually had time to write a quick post, uninterrupted.

As I was standing naked in front of the computer, (shut up, you do it too, you’re just too scared to admit it,) trying to think of something profound or witty to type, I noticed that my right booby was just a little bit softer and droopier than on a normal day. I checked the left booby to see if mayhap there was just a little bit stronger pull of soggy gravity on my right side, and realized that Lefty too was just a bit less spectacular than normal. I became just slightly distraught.

I cupped the girls (which are quite a bit more than a handful for my child-sized hands) and squished them up, reminiscing of the days when they were perkier and younger. Then I shook them a little bit, just to make sure they were still bouncy. Reassured, I gave them a good talking to and let them know that being lazy and saggy was not an option, and that they had until the morning to get back to their normal, awe-inspiring selves.

Yes, I occasionally talk to my boobies, because, well, I can.

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

Unavailable

Ooh, Victoria’s Secret,

How I do loath the way you discriminate!

Yes, it’s true that I have drunk (drank, drinken?) a goodly amount of Three Olives Marilyn Monroe Strawberry Vodka, but do you so needlessly need to deny my succulent boobage support?!

I do not understand the source of your immeasurable hatred, oh Goddess Shop of Lingerie. I seem to remember a time when you so fervently provided me with a seemingly endless amount of credit. Is it because the credit you provided me on my sparkly credit card did INDEED end, and that I thereafter ceased to repay it? For that I am truly regretful, and feel you should no longer hold a grudge.

It’s true that my excessive breasteses make people jealous on occasion, but I see not the reason your website continues to deny me access to the adorable and ultra-sexy leopard-print multi-way bras by repeatedly telling me said cutesy boulder holders are unavailable in sizes that are 38 and DDD, which happen to be my size. Do you not see profit in charging such endowed women as I $62 per bra? I must urge you to reconsider.

I implore you, most decadent of stores, my body can no longer fruitfully function in less -than- designer booby buckets. My skin has made a clear statement that it shall forever hold an aversion to inferior bras; each night I return home from long hard days as a Pizza Slut only to find the alabaster skin beneath my boobies red with irritation at my cheap and unsupportive Walmart bras. I have more than once considered going sans bra at work, which, while that would not be a disappointment to my many fellow male employees, I would not at all feel comfortable pointing my teetage in their general direction.

And so, dearest Victoria, please cover my Secrets and desist from telling me my size is disconcertedly and permanently “Unavailable”.

Love Always,

Sparklebumps

And the Oscar for Making Their Boobage Disappear Goes To…

All I can say is a non-intelligent sounding text acronym: “WTF?!?!??!”

I, like billions of other individuals throughout the world, tuned in to watch the Oscars last night. Actually, after a heated discussion about whether to forego this week’s episode of the Walking Dead in order to watch the Oscars, my Rockstar somewhat unwillingly tuned in. (Boobs win, y’all.)

My Rockstar and I have made a habit of watching the beginning of red-carpet awards shows so as to comment between ourselves on the amazing fashion sense (or lack thereof) of famed and sometimes not so famed celebutants. We have jokingly agreed that we should replace Joan and Melissa with our very honest and sometimes harsh own fashion police show. Last night was no exception.

At the beginning of the evening, I thought perhaps it was only a fluke that the three Jennifers (Garner, Lawrence, and Aniston) were all wearing questionable gowns. Do not misunderstand- all three of their gowns were absolutely amazing, except for one huge (or not huge) thing. All three women looked as though they had suffered a mastectomy before donning their designer duds. It’s true, Jennifer Aniston is not the bustiest of celebrities, but I’m quite certain more than one lonely man sitting at home has jacked off to her quite acceptable B-cups when she was portraying Rachel. However, that Garner chic (who I always considered to be gorgeous until I noticed last night that Ben Affleck must have run her through the ringer) has had quite lovely cleavage in the past, and is not the fact that J. Lawrence not a skinny mini what makes her appealing?

I continued watching in hopes that maybe the designers were only playing such tricks on girls named Jennifer. Sadly, it seems the fad for this year was making voluptuous actresses appear waif-like and un-endowed. Anne Hathaway, (who’s lovely knockers rival my own) Renee Zellweger, (who only had titties to speak of really as Bridget Jones) and Reese Witherspoon (who’s demi-cut dress even made my Rockstar go “WTF?!” ) all seemed to be channeling Audrey Hepburn. Don’t get me wrong- Audrey’s lack of boobage has always been greatly admired by me- so much so that during my anorexic days, I seethed at the fact that my ever-present hooters did not diminish to miniscule Audrey size. However, NONE of these women have Audrey-esque Love Warts. In fact, the only person who’s cleavage was almost perceptible to the naked eye was Nicole Kidman. (A surprising fact, considering that even though I’ve actually seen naked boobs on her in past films, she has none to speak of.)

When did flat-chested come back in style? It’s true, high fashion caters to women who are not blessed in the breast department, but I think Jennifer Aniston’s gorgeous red ball gown would have been even just a little bit more gorgeous if it had been cut in such a way to let her Girls breathe. I’ve come up with the perfect solution…

Someone needs to get me an invitation to next year’s Oscars, and I promise there will be enough cleavage to make up for what we missed this year. 🙂

Funny

I just got one thing to say, since I guess I say it alot.

I’ve got boobs.

Have a nice day.

The Oscars MY Way

Aright, enough about me. I can see how multiple posts about myself could get irritating. And so, since the Oscars have just happened, and the most exciting thing to watch was Angelina pose awkwardly in her slitted gown, I have decided to hand out awards the way I think they should be handed out. This encompasses all of film and is not limited to just this year. There may be a few awards you’re not quite familiar with…

Best Romantic Comedy: Just Married– Before Ashton Kutcher was over-rated and before Brittany Murphy was dead.

Most Depressing Yet Inspiring Movie: My First Mister– A little more depressing than it is inspiring, I am quite melancholy for at least three days after watching it.

Best Rerun Movie: Independence Day- It also happens to have the best aliens.

Best Musical: Newsies– Before Christian Bale was Batman, he was in a little Disney movie where he sang with a New York accent.

Best Animated Film: The Little Mermaid– Because it is so colorfully wonderful and beautiful and I could never get sick of it.

Moving on to individual performances…

Best Boobs– Anne Hathaway in Havoc. I bet you thought I was going to say Angelina, didn’t you? Just wait.

Best Realistic Sex Scene-This is a tie.  Angelina and Antonio Banderas in Original Sin/ or Angelina and Ethan Hawke in Taking Lives. What can I say? The woman’s a natural.

Best Lesbian Scene– Here we go again. Angelina in Gia (The unrated version). (I’m really not biased, check it out for yourself.)

Best Vampire Performance- Tom Cruise as Lestat in Interview With A Vampire. He perfectly nailed the character, and it also happens to be the only movie I can stand him in.

Most Endearing Performance– This is for you, Edward Hotspur. Salma Hayak in Fools Rush In. Who WOULDN’T want to marry her in this movie?

Best Comedic Performance- Jack Nicholson in Anger Management/ and Jack Black in School of Rock. I believe these two characters should duke it out for the honor and have a Battle of the Bands in an Anger Management class.

Best Ugly Transformation- Charlize Theron in Monster. How did they get someone so beautiful to look so awful?!

Most Beautiful in a Performance- Audrey Hepburn in Roman Holiday. You find me one person in the world who says she doesn’t look stunning in the last scene of that movie.

Best Villian– Dustin Hoffman in Hook. And yet he is almost likeable.

Best Musical Performance– Gerard Butler in Phantom of the Opera. It doesn’t matter HOW he looked. His voice did the talking. (Or technically, the singing.)

Best Literary Character Performance– Megan Follows as Anne of Green Gables. Maybe she’s more famous in Canada, because I haven’t seen her since.

Best Supporting Actress- Shirley MacLaine as Ouiser in Steel Magnolias. “I’m pleasant, dammit!”

Best Supporting Actor– Mandy Patinkin as Inigo Montoya inThe Princess Bride. “You seem a decent fellow. I hate to kill you.”

Best Performance by a Child– Elijah Wood as Huck Finn. Also the only thing that he’s done where he hasn’t bothered me.

Most Dedicated Performance- This is a three-way tie:

Christian Bale in The Machinist. Because he really did get down to 119 pounds.

Heath Ledger in The Dark Knight. Because he, well, he died.

Christina Ricci in Afterlife. Because she went through almost the entire movie naked and didn’t even flinch.

Best Career Actress- Julie Andrews. Because anyone who can play Mary Poppins, a nun, a transvestite, Peter Pan, and the Queen of Genovia is frickin’ awesome. And she is still gorgeous, even though she’s 107.

Best Career Actor– John Malkovich. Because I cannot name one specific movie that he’s been in, but he pops up in the most unexpected places and always gives the performance of his life.

Ok, I guess that about does it for the Oscars MY way. I really think I should be part of the group who decides who gets what.

The “Perks” of Being 30

I am sad to say that through-out my 20’s, my excessive buzooms were never quite as perky as I would have liked. The term “nipping out” didn’t generally apply to me. Oddly enough, the girls have decided in their old age to change their ways. Apparently, they are planning on aging as gracefully as the rest of me, because for the past few months, my nipples have been saying, “Look at us! We exist! We will NOT be hidden underneath ANY kind of bra material or shirtness!”

Just thought you all would like to know.

Standing Out

Here was my autotopic of choice for the week:

In what ways do you stand out?

I could mention the obvious two (DDD’s) but you already know that.

So let me think for a moment…

I find myself to be very amusing to myself, which in turn amuses other people. Especially when I’m drunk. Only the people who’s bubbles I invade do not find me amusing.

I will always tell you what I think, but if it comes out before I can edit it in my mind, I will usually apologize for it and re-issue my opinion after further thought.

I will never be in a relationship based on the amount of dollars the man brings home on payday. I’ve considered rethinking this one, but I am much to impractical and romantic to change my mind.

I do not think that gold lame’ is only for Halloween.

My hair color changes very frequently. Oft times quite dramatically as well.

My Rockstar says I have the style of a New Yorker, which is unfortunate, since I live smack dab in the middle of Stretchy Pants and T-shirtville.

I play an instrument, and better than decently.

I can have sex like a man. (i.e. wham, bam, thank you, ma’am…or sir. I’ll call you.)

I have no bubble and I will hug…pretty much anybody. With their permission. Usually.

I prefer driving a stick shift; I can change a tire; and I know how to change my oil. (But I wait for my Rockstar to do it.)

I wore a pink wedding dress.

I’ve been told my face is different, unique, odd-looking, and ethnic. (Not all at once.)

I am maybe the only person I know who is trying to decide wether to join the army or go to beauty school.

I aced Biology, even though I didn’t dissect the rat. Or the frog. Or the piglet.

I would like to be friends with my Rockstar’s exes.

I would give my life for anybody if the opportunity presented itself.

“Life doesn’t frighten me, not at all.” (Thank you for putting my thoughts into words, Maya Angelou)

There are 47 other reasons I stand out, and they all fit on my feet.