Five Years

Hey there, Strangers.

It’s been a long time. If you, my lovely readers, and I were in a relationship, you’d have every right to toss me aside for someone who doesn’t neglect you as I have the last few months. But, let me tell you something- after five years, relationships tend to go through a stale time before they get stronger. For yes, WordPress has informed me that it has been five years and a few days since I did begin a little online rant called sparklebumpsthebookwhore. Said action forever changed my life, I believe, completely for the better. It is hoped that it did, too, change all of your lives for the better. My histrionica convinces me it most certainly did.

Though I have not yet found life-altering fame, I will say that I am taking baby steps (sometimes very literally) to expand my horizons and experience new things I’ve never before experienced. I’ve thrown my best friend (who I met through my blog several years ago) a rather fabulous bridal shower, and just this past weekend joined her and her other favorites for a bachelorette party that included a horse-drawn carriage ride through the city. (Numerous Uber rides were also a first; I shall never forget the four of us piling into a Ford Fiesta driven by a friendly individual resembling Austin Power’s Fat Bastard. Good Times.)

My life has vastly improved in the last half-decade; this is mainly due to a little man who  resembles me too closely at times- mostly when he’s butting his head against whatever’s nearby when he’s pissed off. Yes, I have the mental maturity to not actually smash my head against inanimate objects, but, I promise, I’m doing it in my head constantly. Perhaps this is the reason I sometimes forget what I’m saying mid-sentence, and find it hard to focus on pretty much everything….

Yes, my Babe is too much like his mother, but in some ways, that’s great. (in my opinion.) His constant growling and attacking his stuffed animals and the dog proves that his wild imagination is intact, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Things with my Rockstar are less sexy that I’d necessarily wish them to be, but that will happen when there’s a toddler about and our work schedules are completely opposite. He still has amazing hair, and a habit of buying very expensive guitar gear. Ah, well. Boys will be boys.

My Rockstar’s Daughter is now officially a high-schooler (cringe), and I have come to realize that for the most part, we will have to ignore each other for the next four years for both of us to make it out alive. That’s all I’m going to say about that for now.

I’m still masquerading as a waitress until I finish my book, but as of this week, I got a $3 an hour raise, so I can’t really complain…even though one of my joyful “managers” refers to me as a “stupid fucking cunt”  to whomever will listen. Let’s just say the feeling is mutual. Even if he is a dude.

I am making more of an effort to use my time more wisely toward writing, which should go swimmingly unless they add an unknown season of Sons of Anarchy on Netflix, so you shouldn’t have to wait so long again for me to entertain you again. We’ll have to see if being a mother has drained me of my general amazingness.

XOXO,

Sparklebumps

A Period Piece

I have vowed that no topic shall ever be taboo on my blog; however, the following post for some reason completely makes me shudder. But I must ask the question that needs asking, because I truly am asking for opinions.

How truly disgusted are guys when they fuck girls that are on the rag? and

Is asking your boyfriend to fuck you while you’re bleeding out of your cunt just too disturbing?

As you may have figured out, I am suffering from that truly revolting sickness that plagues womankind every month. (For normal women, anyway.) I myself am lucky enough to only suffer the flow of moon blood every 3 or 4 months. (which sounds like a great thing, but actually results in horrific cramps not known by normal women.) Because of this fuck-up in my monthly flow schedule, my period tends to last much longer than it should, (as in usually 10-14 days, or a month on occassion.) Because horniness is a side-affect of bleeding out of one’s cooch, I find myself humping door-frames and other stationary objects.

Because my ex-hubby was pretty much disgusted by my non-hemopheliac pussy, the idea of sticking his boner into my bleeding one greatly disturbed him. And so, I fell into the habit of not expecting sex during these times. Now that I am with my Rockstar, I have grown too accustomed to being embarrassed of mentioning my being on the rag in the presence of men, so we generally do not do It either. (To be clear, I am not one of those girlfriends who leaves my man high and dry at these times; there is a reason I excel at blowjobs.)

I have asked several men their opinions on this subject, and have been met with a variety of answers- everything from “When I want sex, my girlfriend better be ready to do me, even if she IS on the rag,” to “My girlfriend’s on her period, so ew; there’s no sex this week.”

I realize that this would be a matter simple enough to clear up by just asking my Rockstar, but for some odd reason, this is something I cannot discuss face to face with someone I’m in a relationship with. The thought of it makes my face burn.

And so, I ask you, my Lovelys, to enlighten me. I expect to hear from EVERY man that is subscribed to my blog, as well as the women; because I entertain you daily with my (haha) wittiness, and this is my hour of need. Do I dare ask my Rockstar to fuck the bejesus outta me while I’m suffering from womanness, or is any bit of romance we have going to fly out the window if I do?