Tag Archives: Drinking

Ohhhhh, Canada…


Do you have a story from your life that is just a bit too bizarre for people to believe? A story that includes a friend or two, that when it comes up, they shake their heads and say, “Ohhhh, yeah. I remember that.” A story that, to an outsider, may be somewhat un-interesting, but perhaps in some little way shaped the direction of your life? Here is mine…

When I was 19, I was dating my now ex-husband, still had a friend or two I hung out with, and was not yet a jaded, disenchanted bitch. I was living in my first apartment, and learning the ins and outs of relationships, and of life.

One day, my friend Carebear called me up and told me of a grand idea she had come up with. It was to be her 20th birthday, and she had decided that she and I must make a journey to the frozen land of Canada to go drink. (Because the legal drinking age is 19 there). At that time, I had not yet become the raging alcoholic that I now am- in fact, I distinctly remember reaming my ex out for having stashed his Bloody Mary ingredients in my kitchen cupboard. Anyhoo, since Canada is only a 4 hour drive, I said, “Wooo! Road trip!”, though I made it quite clear that I would not be imbibing any spirits once we reached our destination. Carebear responded with, “Good. You can be the DD.” And so our planning began.

Because it has been many years since I took a geography class, and I tend to live in my own world where places move inadvertantly, I cannot tell you to which province we went; it was whichever one is directly above Minnesota. Anyway, Carebear was at the helm of her Buick LaSabre and I ran the map. We finally arrived in Canada unscathed, schmoozing our way through customs without a hitch, at around 11 P.M. We found ourselves in a little armpit of a town known as Fort Francis. (I say armpit because the town sports a paper mill, which lent it it’s lovely bean-burrito fart smell) We located a hotel, booked a room for the night, (while exclaiming how cheap everything was in Canada) re-applied our glittery going-out makeup, and proceeded to cruise town looking for a drinking establishment.

After a half hour of unsuccessful searching, Carebear happened to see two men stumbling along the side of the road. “We should ask THEM where a bar is!” She exclaimed, already pulling over behind them.

“They could be rapists! You don’t know what kind of people are in Canada!” I replied in horror.

“Oh, whatever. It’s already 11:30. We aren’t even going to get to drink if we don’t ask them. Hey!” She had rolled down her window and yelled at the dudes to get their attention.

The two guys sauntered up to the car, drunkily, and the cuter of the two popped his head through my open window, leering at me, which caused me to hunker down in my seat. “Helloooo, pretty ladies. What can we do for YOU?” He slurred.

Carebear took control. “We were looking for a bar. It’s my birthday, and we drove up from Minnesota to drink.”

The guy leaning in her window smiled goofily. “OOH! It’s her birthday! Well, we will show you ladies a good time.” As though transmitting thoughts through their liquor breath, the two guys immediately hopped in the back seat. Carebear and I looked at each other and shrugged. Off we went.

When we arrived at the bar, the guys asked what we would like to drink. Being the non-lush that I was at the time, I ordered a Diet Pepsi, and the cuter of the two, Dan, proclaimed, “You don’t drink?! Wow. You’re different.” (So I’ve heard) Carebear proceeded to get plowed on gin-and-tonics, while flirting with Dan’s friend who’s name was Sam.

After Dan had whispered to Carebear that he thought I was cute, she presented him with one of my senior pictures (it was only 6 months after I graduated) and wrote my phone number on the back. She informed him, “She has a boyfriend, but he’s a tool, and you’re cuter.” I tried a desperate attempt to retain said photo, reprimanding Carebear for giving my number away to a strange man. She laughed.

After bar close, I assumed my post as Designated Driver, asking where I could drop our Canadians off. Carebear, in her drunken state cried, “They’re coming up to our room! Duh.” Alrighty then. I didn’t really know how to respond to that, so I just drove.

When we got back to the room, Dan and I decided to head on down to the lobby, since Carebear and Sam seemed intent on having naked fun time. We spent 3 hours drinking coffee and talking, and then returned to the room, assuming that any sexual activity would have been completed by then. Sadly, it had not yet begun. I lay down on the other bed, and Dan asked if I would mind if he lay down beside me. I thought fleetingly of my boyfriend back in America and then decided that lying next to another man was not committing any cardinal sin. Dan and I spent the whole rest of the night talking, while trying to tune out the drunken sex that was going on in the next bed. When the morning sun began shining through the window, Dan whispered, “I know this is really weird, but I think I love you, Sparkle.”

Sidenote: Ok, I realize that was probably a line, but at the time, I was a dumb kid, ok? I realized he was probably lying, but at the same time, I AM kinda awesome. Maybe one night with me IS all it takes…

“Oh, ummm, ok, I don’t know what to say to that.” I was immediately nervous and got up. After rolling Carebear and Sam outta bed, we went for breakfast.

We had originally planned on only staying one night, but Carebear had had such a lovely time with what’s-his-name, (no, she never DID remember his name) and I had had good conversation with Dan, so we stayed another night. The two drunkies again got smashed and tussled in the bed next to us (Oh, the joys of hearing, “Oops, sorry. I didn’t mean that to happen. I’ll get a towel”) And Dan and I talked again, though there were a few attempts made to get his hands into my drawers. We left the next morning with good will, and Dan once again proclaiming his surprising love for me.

Carebear never again talked to Sam, but at the time, she was dating a Marine who was based in California, and she eventually told him what had happened in Canada. They spent many many hours on the phone in heated conversations, breaking up and getting back together. When they were together, and mention of Canada (such as Clearly Canadian, Labatt Blue, or Shania Twain) would induce the Marine to uttering, “Fuckin’ Canada” in an ominous way. After 9/11, he signed up to go overseas, and in the end, they ended their relationship. Whether it was Canada’s fault, we will never know.

As far as me and Dan goes: we exchanged phone calls back and forth, (because Carebear gave him my number) the entire time while Dan proclaiming what a “perfect woman” I was and how he had “never met someone like me”. After a fateful weekend when I tried to give my boyfriend my virginity and he refused (WTF?!), I took me and my rejected twat back to Canada for another weekend sans Carebear. But that’s a story for another time.

Needless to say, when we arrived back from Canada, my boyfriend(ex-hubby) was irate that we had gone in the first place, especially when I told him we had picked up two guys. Though I assured him no hanky-panky had taken place in my nether regions, he felt betrayed, and hated Carebear ever after. Perhaps that was the beginning of my relationship’s end, but every time me and Carebear think about it, we just shake our heads and say, “Ohhhh, Canada….”

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Filed under Friendship, Humor, Life, Love, Uncategorized

Party or Bust?


So I got to wear my fancy dress last night at my Rockstar’s Mystery Dinner work party. Too bad I was drunk by the time I had to get dressed and couldn’t fully appreciate it. Oops! To tell the story of what ended up being a sucky party, I suppose I shall have to inform you of what happened at last year’s…

Once upon a time last year, Sparklebumps had a boyfriend who worked at a cabinet shop. (Because he’s very good with wood. HA!) Apparently, for some strange and mystifying reason, the Rockstar failed to mention his amazing and witty girlfriend Sparklebumps in any way to his co-workers. So when we went to the Christmas party, the company employees were immediately intrigued by this boisterous lush of a Sparklebumps who proceeded to get hammered in less than an hour. I will admit here that everything about my personality is magnified ten-thousandfold when I’m drinking, so that the funness I gush extends to those around me. (Yes, ok, I will also admit that I find myself completely amusing when I’m drunk, which in turn amuses other people immensely. I think.) So besides for getting to know everything about every one of my Rockstar’s co-workers (including that some of the guys’ women had bubbles that I invaded), I accidentally on-purpose happened to slap one or two of the guys, including the boss. (To which I announced to all the horrified employees “You know I just did what all of you guys want to do every day!”) Be assured, I apologized profusely to each and every person I slapped, and explained that I really did love them all and didn’t mean anything by it. I believed myself to be forgiven, as drunk people tend to be more exonerating than the non-inebriated. Anyhoo, I ended up cleaning up the whole party, (as I am wont to do when tipsy) hugged everybody goodbye, and went home with my Rockstar telling me how utterly “incorrigible” I am. He was amused by the whole thing, since he thinks he works with a bunch of idiotic AssHats.

This year, the party began outdoors with assorted alcoholic refreshments, and needless to say, because of my drunken antics of the past year, EVERYBODY remembered me. (And my DDD’s that they insisted were fake last year.) I noticed immediately that there seemed to be two cliques situating themselves far from each other- the dorkiest of the employees, and the slightly less-dorky. In highschool, it seemed I was one of those rare people who could mesh easily enough with the popular crowd and the misfits, so with my yum-yum Bacardi Diet in hand, I flitted from one group to another. I realized last night that dorky people are much nicer than less-dorky people, so yay for them that they were graced with more of my presence. Anyhoo, we then were instructed to go get changed into our costumes for the Murder Mystery Dinner.

When we all congregated in front of the dinner building, I believe my Rockstar was slightly embarrassed to find he was the ONLY one not wearing a costume. (I TOLD him!) Oh, well. We went inside and the silliness began.

I had the pleasure *snort* of getting to sit next to my Rockstar’s Boss. He was nice enough, though I think he remained watchful and gaurded in case I decided to slap him for some drunken reason. The dinner dragged on for at least 3 1/2 hours, in which time I entertained myself by getting to know the waitresses and asking the other costumed people for accessories of theirs that i thought they could live without. (I accrued a spelunking helmet, 1 cigar, 1 silken hankerchief, a top hat that I decorated with the edible flowers from my dinner, (which somebody ate) and one admonishment from a bitchy wife saying how I was worse that her kids about asking for stuff) I also got to sit straight across the room from my Rockstar, who I made googly eyes at and shared annoyed looks with over the ridiculousness of trying to getting a bunch of intoxicated people to figure out a murder mystery. After the dinner, (at which we discovered that I did NOT kill anybody) we went back to change into duds and then congregate around a fire pit.

I had the distinct pleasure to meet a few guests of the place who were NOT part of our party- two lovely sisters who were very sparkly, their mother who liked wine, and one of there husbands who had a distinguished suit coat on and carried a very debonair Louisiana accent. These happened to be the most interesting people I encountered all night. After I walked them all out to their car, (amidst many hugs and “I’m so glad I met you!”s) I marched on looking for the fun. I entertained myself by mixing drinks and pressing them into people’s hands insisting, “It’s really good!” and imbibing 3 ham sandwiches. I rushed from person to person, asking how things were going, and argued with the Boss on the many reasons I, as a non-company employee, deserved one of the cigars he was handing out. I even managed to obtain a cowbell someone had been rewarded, and sported it proudly between my busooms until someone took it away. (Boo.) The night took a turn for the worse while I was conversing very nicely with one of the guys, and then he belched in my face. I realize that people generally beomce more uncouth the drunker they get, but I maintain my manners at all times, and expect others to in the least not belch in my face. I slapped him and he got really pissed and told me I was, “A waste of air, and to go get a life.” I apologized for slapping him (though I still believe he was ruder than I) but he would have none of it. I asked one of the other guys what he was so pissed about, (as I do not believe my drunken hand could have slapped him THAT hard) and he said, “You know, when you showed up for the first time last year and slapped someone, we all thought about THIS much of you”(holding up fingers to indicate not much) “And now we think even less.” Well, la dee da. So I decided to go back to our cabin and take a jacuzzi bath.

I realize that I can be somewhat obnoxious when I’m drunk, but really, I just want everybody to have a good time. I don’t even attempt to talk to women anymore when I’m drinking, because all I receive in return are looks of disgust, and I don’t know if it’s because they think I’m nuts or are just jealous. I don’t try to steal their men, and I try to include everyone in conversation. But apparently, there’s something threatening about me.

While I took a bath, my drunken Rockstar kept me company and we gossipped about how un-fun everyone there was. (or as he put it, “I work with a bunch of dickheads, don’t I?” When I got out of the tub, we realized that everybody went to bed, (some partiers THEY are) and so he and I sat near the fire pit and just talked. I told him next year, we shouldn’t waste our time and should just stay home with our fun selves.

P.S. I stole a mammoth bowl of candy they had sitting out for everyone. The funny thing is, everyone saw me walk right out of there with it and didn’t say a thing, so obviously they didn’t want any. That was the highlight of my night. I have now enough candy to feed a third world country. XOXO

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Filed under Beauty, Entertainment, Humor, Life, Love, Uncategorized, Work

The Joy of Craigslist


This is an elaboration on a note I posted on Facebook awhile ago that I’m sure nobody read. So now YOU get to! 🙂

So, for those of you who find yourselves broke and sitting at home with nothing to do, my Rockstar and I have come up with an hilarious way to pass the time. My Rockstar is always looking on Craigslist for good deals, and one night I just happened to read one of the ads he was looking at out loud. Now this in itself does not sound overly titillating, HOWEVER, when you consider the fact that most of the people who sell things on Craigslist apparently had a rough time of it in spelling class, you will begin to understand. I followed the rule ” if you don’t know how to read something, sound it out”, and ended up laughing my ass off, as did my guy. Throwing in a little “Fargo” accent or a southern accent for good measure only authenticates the silliness of those selling their wares on Craigslist.

Going with a theory I have gained from a past life, that of believing those who buy Polaris and Chevy are not always of high intellect, I clicked on those ads first, which only confirmed my theory. It seems for the most part that those selling ATVs and other assorted expensive toys are the ads to look for if you are going to try this out. If you happen to have a few dollars to buy alcohol, this is a good thing. While one does not need to be inibriated to read a mis-spelled Craigslist ad out loud to find joy, a buzz definitely makes the experience all the more entertaining.

Perhaps we are easily amused, but seriously, if you have a few minutes to browse Craigslist, I think you will not be disappointed. Remember, reading the ads OUT LOUD is the key! Good times and many hours of free laughing to you all!

P.S. Thank you, all my Lovelys who have made me slightly famous (in my own mind). I consider it a trifling achievement that I have received 1018 views to my blog. XOXO

P.P.S. I went to a wedding this weekend, and my fabulous $6 polka-dotted dress and red satin heels were a hit!

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Filed under Beauty, Entertainment, Fashion, Humor, Life, Love, Uncategorized

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

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Filed under Humor, Life, Love, Uncategorized