Tag Archives: Credit Cards

November the First


Hmm. I don’t write on here so much anymore. This makes me sad. So I shall begin anew.

I suppose I would do well to update you all on everything that’s been happening in the last, well- the last really long time. But in the words of Inigo Montoya: “No, there is too much. Let me sum up.” –

My baby is a seven months and a little bit old. Holy shit.  And even though I lost every bit of weight I gained when I was pregnant with him, I do not find myself motivated enough to lose the extra 50-60 lbs. I had before that. So sadly, I have not yet reached my goal of ultimate M.I.L.F. status. But, ya know- I’m still awesome. And I have the best kid who is so smart and funny and adorable. And I’m not even being biased. Let me prove it:

IMAG1125

 

Things between my Rockstar and I have not been the stuff of romantic comedies of late. Unless you’re thinking of the part in the movie when the couple argues and breaks up. No, we haven’t broken up; in fact, I suppose technically we’ve never even argued- you can’t argue with a person who doesn’t respond to your gripe. But in recent times I find myself bitching to myself over his lack of interest and general laziness in the relationship. After having expressed myself to him, I realize I’m kinda over it. A person can only take so much disappointment. And since his daughter now lives with us full-time, I am not in quite as good of spirits as I once was. Boo.

On a lighter note, I now work with an adorable hot chic that says I’m her favorite, and I have been approved for six new credit cards in the last two months, which is something I’m not quite sure is a good thing yet- other than the fact that finally after six years, I actually CAN get approved for things. Sadly, in those six years, I have not learned restraint, and also not-quite-but-almost maxxed out all said credit cards. BUT! I have a beautiful new copper loveseat in my perfect library that’s sitting in front of my very expensive electric fireplace I ordered with my Menard’s card.

Also, my most amazing friend Delightfulness is almost engaged, and apparently has a ridiculously large wedding budget that I get to help her plan with. Such a wedding will have no room for chubby bridesmaids, so I must force myself to not eat in the coming year, which will help with the whole M.I.L.F. thing.  Life is good.

Too, I am completely re-inspired to finally finish writing my book, though since I have an adorable little boy who has inherited my need for attention, the only time I have to write it is after work, when I sit down in front of my computer and get distracted by Facebook and Pinterest. Aye, me.

XOXO

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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

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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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What We Need


 

I just bought a $5 coffee from Caribou. Which means I had to work for 45 minutes in order to pay for it. That was very frivolous of me. Luckily, I have cut it down to once or twice a week. There was a time not too long ago when I stopped at Caribou Coffee every day on the way to work. In the age of  designer coffee, you are just not cool if you don’t get one every day, right?

I will maybe never be one of those people who makes a 6 figure salary, but if I am, I will remember those days when I was making $12,000 a year and maybe that will remind me of what I really need. I admit, I have a fetish for shoes and books, which tends to make me a bit short on cash at the end of the month, but I always make sure to have toilet paper. I also make sure I have enough dollars to buy groceries so I can cook  semi-decent meals for my Beloveds. It may seem like a small thing, but I don’t mind passing up a pair of leopard- print heels so I can take care of my family. I know that matters more than what I have on my feet.

When I was a waitress, I always had cash on hand, which many times resulted in me buying $20 worth of candy. (Candy is my favorite food) I was quite incautious with my money, which has really come back to bite me in the ass. I am proud to say that I never acquired a credit card with a $20,000 limit, although I DID end up owing $2800 on my Victoria’s Secret card. (That’s alot of lingerie.) It wasn’t until I left my husband and was living in an apartment sleeping on pillows that I had realized how remiss I had been in my saving. I am sad to say I haven’t really gotten much better since then, but I haved vowed to work on it. Basically, I urge every one of you wther you make $5000 a year or $1,000,000,  to think about it the next time slap down a credit card to buy a pair of $250 shoes or spend $100 at a fancy restaraunt. They say money doesn’t buy happiness, and I believe it, because I’ve known a few wealthy people who have just as much worry about bills as I do. Remember to go outside and check out the sunset, or to relish the feel of a lover’s kiss, and always give hugs, because those things are free, and you will feel better than if you have someone compliment the outfit you spend oodles on. And maybe, after you bask in the delight of the little things, go and get a $5 coffee with extra whip cream. XOXO

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