Sparkle in Bloggerland

Where am I? All this seems so familiar somehow, as if maybe I dreamed it once. Or twice.

I thought I knew my way around this place, but clearly, I was mistaken, because it took me about ten minutes to figure out how to get to a new post page. Is this what WordPress has come to? Throwing in with the likes of Facebook and changing their format for us poor unfortunates who have been asleep for a hundred years and haven’t made it over here in awhile? Unheard of. Absurd!

Well, it seems my endless days of puking and suffering are finally at an end. In other words, I’ve had enough of these bad pregnancy symptoms and plan to only glow with glorious womanly fertility from this point on. I hope. Although I’m feeling a bit perturbed today, so maybe I’m not as zen yet as I’d hoped. Whatever, fuckers.

I’d like to take a moment and thank all of you who happened to remember me in my time of trial, as my stats inform me that I’ve received at least 20 visitors a day in my absence. (Yay me!) Considering that I’ve written very little of actual wit or interest in the past months, I see that as a good sign. Or maybe it’s just those bastard SPAM people. I guess we’ll never know.

Well, I dragged my ass to the computer today, which is a huge accomplishment for me these days, and as I really have nothing of inspiration to write, I must leave this once-again familiar place. I just wanted you all to know that I’m not dead (yet) and that my boobs have gotten bigger, so you can all rejoice. XOXO

Book Whore My Ass

I’ve been making myself sit down and actually work on writing my book every day for the last two weeks.

I don’t mean to toot my own horn but, “beep! beep!”

To those of you with published and self-published and hell, even completed novels, this may seem small and insignificant.

To those of you who think so, I say, “Well, fuck you!”

Just kidding. (But not really.)

Anyhoo, I don’t know how normal people go about writing books, but I think it’s safe to assume that the process is a lot of staring at a blank computer screen or getting distracted by many other things that shouldn’t be on your computer screen while you’re trying to work. (Get your mind outta the gutter! I don’t mean porn! But that’s only because since we’ve gotten our new computer, my Rockstar doesn’t want to get any viruses on it.) I’m talking about being logged in to Facebook, or Amazon, or WordPress.

Yesterday, while I was busy mulling over whether my main character should have an Irish lilt to her voice or not, I decided to look up a list of the top 100 books to read. Oddly enough, there isn’t just one, so I printed off the one that seemed the smartest, which was actually two. The Modern Library had their board make a list, as well as their readers. I readied myself to amaze myself with how well-read I was.

Amazed, I was not. Astounded? Absolutely. For after reading in their entirety the suggested top 200 books of all time, (several of which were on both lists) I came to the realization that I’ve read only two. TWO?!!?!?!??!? Are you frickin’ kidding me?! I own over 5000 books of every make and model, and yet I cannot  boast that I’ve read even five of the top 100 books of all time.

My shame is palpable.

P.S. At least I can say that I OWN 25 or so of them. Like that’s any consolation.

Creepin’

I be creepin’….

I feel like this is or could be the title to a great hit song.

In this day and age, you ain’t nobody unless you been creeped on by some random acquaintance on Facebook.

Which means: I just made at least six people Somebody.

I promise when I sat down at my computer, it was with the only intention of writing at least three hard-to-come-by paragraphs for my novel that will be finished in about ten years. Only, I signed in to Facebook, and after clicking on several alluring ads for $17 dresses, I decided to see what my not-so-close virtual friends looked like before I knew them, or after I knew them, and what their dogs look like, and let’s not forget all those annoying Facebook babies. This is what I found out.

Some people should go back to their natural brunette hair color. (I am aware that I may be one of these “some people”.)

Some people look just a little bit better than they did last year.

Some other people looked a lot better last year.

There are just way too many damn infants on Facebook. Apparently the entire population of Minnesota and some of Wisconsin have nothing better to do than fuck like rabbits nonstop.

All of Facebook is nothing but a ruse. I once thought all those people posting pictures actually DID stuff. Now I realize they are just taking pictures nonstop of themselves in their very ordinary lives. Well, guess what, people?! I can do that too!

There are very few people who actually throw interesting-looking weddings. I’ve decided if ever I have another wedding, there will be mermaids, belly-dancers, a unicorn, a rodeo clown, and at least two pirates. (Preferably the Johnny Depp kind, not the Somali variety.)

I realize that people are probably starting to get tired of seeing me post a daily pic of my new puppy. Because I am most certainly getting tired of seeing pics of their babies.

Some people should most definitely not start their own Youtube channel, because nobody really cares where some people come from.

Damn, I’m harsh tonight. Sorry.

Saying The Things You Shouldn’t Say

I’ve been accused more than once of being unedited. Hell, I’ve even been fired from a job for writing the things I was thinking in my head. Sometimes, I just get really tired of people not saying what they’re thinking, so I will be the one. Sadly, by the end of this post, I may come off as a huge bitch. But sometimes a long bout of holding in what I’m actually thinking results in a bad case of virtual verbal diarrhea.

People be having some UGLY babies- Am I the only one who thinks all these babies people are having on Facebook aren’t as cute as they should be? Let me be clear- the premature ones don’t count, because they just wanted to hop outta the oven before it was time. I’m talking about all the other ones. And when people keep commenting, “Oh, I’m so happy for you, your baby is adorable!” and “What a cutie!”, I just want to comment too (in a Spanish accent, of course), and say, “You keep using those words. I do not think they mean what you think they mean.” I know people don’t have control over what their kid looks like, but GEEZ, I don’t think I want one if the majority of them look like Gollum.

If you’re completely miserable with your spouse, or boyfriend/girlfriend, be done with them- This may seem harsh, and if you have children with this person, it’s a bit harder situation to get out of, but no amount of drinking or bickering or pretending is going to do any good for your kids. Yes, marriage is supposed to be a life-long commitment, but there are just some people who were silly enough to marry someone they didn’t like very much, with the idea, “Hey, it’s ok. I’ll just go out with my friends a lot and drink to drown the fact that my wife/ husband is a complete bitch/ asshole.”  Well, enjoy your perfectly pretended life. As for you all who are not married to your asshole, dump him/her immediately. And no, I am not going to be the person to make your life better with amazing sex, because I am smart enough to be with someone who does NOT annoy the shit outta me.

That chic shouldn’t be wearing that/ or SHOULD be wearing that- sometimes people shouldn’t clothe themselves the way they do. Yes, I’ve preached tirelessly about fat people in stretchy pants, but I am also including here the sermon about skinny girls with love handles who continuously wear low-rise jeans. Just ’cause you ain’t got no cushion for the pushin’ don’t mean that you’re toned. As evidenced by the cellulite once sported by my size 00 ex-sister-in-law. And Miley, put some damn clothes on, already. Yes, we get it. You’re edgy and controversial. Or suffering from multiple drug addictions.

Kids are sometimes not your entire world- I realize that since I have borne no offspring from my loins, I cannot fully understand how a child changes you and makes you devote your entire being to them; however, I have known enough people who have little to no patience for their humanoid cubs, and would rather be out partying with their friends. I know that no parent is suppose to come out and say, “I’d like a day off”, but I urge each and every one of you to realize that it’s ok to admit parenting is at times a trying and monotonous task, and is sometimes best replaced with a stripper pole and a shot of whisky. This doesn’t mean you love your children any less, it just means you have not joined the Stepford community.

Why don’t we let educated people into America?- I realize Lady Liberty is all about giving refuge to the starving and the destitute, but wouldn’t our country benefit a little by letting in someone who is not hungry and can actually support themselves? Instead of giving a bunch of monetary support to people who don’t even bother to learn our language, why don’t we give free visas to people who ALREADY know our language and have their own money? I’m not being prejudiced. The uneducated are welcome too, but they should be given the same opportunity as I- that is, the opportunity of working more than one job just to make sure I don’t have to move to Florida in order to sleep outside and not freeze to death because I am homeless.

 

I Am Proud To Announce: Nothing

There seems to be a growing trend on Facebook.

People are constantly getting pregnant and/or getting married.

I find this deeply disturbing.

Have people always been getting joined in holy matrimony and then proceeding to get knocked up? Where have I been all these years?

I realize that the world would have ceased to exist long ago if people had not been procreating, but have they always done so at such an accelerated rate, or is this just a contest to see who can accrue the most “likes”?

Too, doesn’t anybody ever just live in sin anymore? What the fuck is all this bachelorette party nonsense and wedded bliss bullshit? I seem to remember my bachelorette party consisting of me, my best friend (who happened to be the worst Maid of Honor ever), a pregnant co-worker, and a 52 -year-old woman who didn’t drink. And the wedding? Well, we all know how well the marriage turned out, but let’s just say it’s a good thing we didn’t have a photographer for longer than an hour. (The joys of being non-photogenic.)

As I page through my Facebook main page, I can’t help but notice that on a weekly basis, my “friends” (I’ll just put it bluntly, most of those people are people I haven’t seen in ten years or more) are forever announcing pregnancies, or engagements, or more pregnancies, or weddings, or even more pregnancies, or posting about how amazingly wonderful their lives are. I took a look at my own profile, and, at first, I was distraught at the list of life achievements I’ve apparently been unable to unlock in this virtual game called life, but even more distraught I became when I noticed how few “likes” my witty and amusing updates that have little to do with my life had amassed. Apparently, you are not somebody until you HAVE somebody growing in your belly.

I took a look back on the life I’ve lived thus far, and wondered momentarily if a divorce is worthy of a Facebook announcement, before tossing that idea aside. I admit that, while I may  appear to have an incredibly entertaining life, according to Facebook standards, I am incredibly dull. At least, that is what I felt for a moment, before I made a resolute decision. I DO have an announcement to make:

I am NOT going to be stupid enough to get married, because despite what all you Facebook fuckers may say, couples DO bicker sometimes, or piss each other off, and some cheat on each other, and are not always as happy as unwedded couples. I DO NOT have a child growing in my belly, and while this may make me sad at times, I will continue to concentrate on enjoying the company of the non-Daughter I’ve been lucky enough to have a life with. I DON’T hang out with my friends and take silly drunken pictures, but my one friend I do have loves me even when I don’t feel like hanging out. And if we are going on about accomplishments, let me just point out that I have bigger boobs than most people, I have a blog that totally rocks, and my Rockstar and I did It twice today. So na-na-na-na-boo-boo.

The Truth About Facebook

I have mixed feeling about Facebook.

Maybe it’s the fact that it’s just an excuse for everyone to say, “Hey! Look at me! I’m so great and wonderful and I post ALL these pictures to make you guys  THINK that I’m one of those people who DO stuff. I’m so beautiful and photogenic, and I fully intend to make you realize that!”

Yes, I am bitter.

I am bitter because no matter how many pictures my Facebook buddies post of me, EVERY SINGLE ONE looks like shit. I realize that I am not a skinny minnie, but for chrissake! Do they HAVE to post the pictures of me that make me look like I’m in the third tri-mester of my pregnancy with a whale?! These people are supposed to be my friends! What the hell?!

I am quite certain there are at least one or two good pictures out there of me, so why do my “Friends” insist on posting these horrendous photos? I will tell you why.

Because they want to make themselves look better.

I am their Facebook D.U.F.F.

For those of you who don’t know, a D.U.F.F. is a Designated Ugly Fat Friend.

I know this is what these people are doing, because I’ve had DUFFs in the past.

The difference is my DUFFs were not picked specifically to be DUFFs. They were my friends, and OTHER people informed me that they were DUFFs. I only saw them as my beautiful friends.

And I would NEVER EVER have posted pictures of them without their approval.

Moving on.

I have an appropriate amount of Facebook friends, I think.

Just over a hundred. I see no need to hike up my self-esteem by claiming every single person I’ve met in my life, including the woman who gave my mom the ultra-sound when she was pregnant with me as a Facebook friend. If I don’t still know you (or if you went to the same school as I did 10 years after me) I feel no need to approve your friend request.

And here’s the thing. I thought Facebook was a place to get in touch with people you liked. So why the hell do people go offline THE second I try to chat with them? If you don’t want to talk to me, then why the hell did you add me as your friend? If it was just to creep through my posted pictures, We’ve already established there are no good ones for you to look at. So just delete me already and be done with it.

Next- a confession.

Yes, I creep through people’s pictures. I especially find joy in looking through people’s wedding photos to see what kind of wedding they had. (I have a weird obssession with weddings. I’m quite certain that if they didn’t cost so much, I would have one every year.)  I do find it slightly disturbing that so many people are getting married nowadays- has this been going on for a long time and I never noticed? I also like to see photos of the boys I had crushes on, and the women that they ended up with; which I then think evil thoughts about in my head. (Such as- she has back fat. I’m cuter than her. I am also quite certain these women are saying the same things about me.) Also, do normal people always go on vacations EVERY year? Because I haven’t been on a real vacation since 1997 when I went to Tennessee with my parents and swam in a 4 person jacuzzi tub. Damn all you people and your fabulous vacations!

I DO like to look at my Facebook friends’ pictures when they are into photogrophy, or have gotten a new camera. After all, I love pretty things.

About the games- WTF?! Do you people have nothing better to do than feed virtual pigs and pretend to be mafia goons? NO, I do NOT want to help you get 7 more acres for your Farmville farm, because I would much rather go to work to save money for my own REAL farm. (Where I shall have a fainting goat and a peacock.) And anyway, shouldn’t you be having sex with you significant other, or learning to cook, or some other semi-useful thing?

I will admit, it is nice to see that Bob, or Henry, or Gloria have cancer, or have gotten engaged, or have died. Although, if I am not worthy of a phone call at these fine Life Moments, I have this feeling that you are somewhat dead to me already. Don’t you agree?

Lastly, it seems that Facebook is a place where any individual may go and blab all about themselves and their wonderful life, so I just don’t see the point. After all- I have a blog for that. XOXO

 

Facebook Freak

A month or so ago, I was checking out my Facebook when I came upon a friend request from a Mnde Mdba. Now this was not exactly her name, ( it was something very similiar) but she was from Turkey or some other country I have never visited, which confused me a bit as to why she would have requested my very important Facebook friendship. I do not have any privacy settings on my life (obviously), so I am assuming she was just cruising around looking for fabulous glittery friends and decided to pick me, so I thought “What the hell?” and approved her friend request.

A few days after that, I was on Facebook again, (promoting my blog shamelessly) when a chat box popped up from my new friend Mnde. Now I must tell you, chat boxes are a source of irritation for me, because I am usually the one causing them to pop up on OTHER people’s Facebooks, which in turn causes said people to quickly log off and pretend they didn’t see that I was trying to talk to them. If they didn’t want to talk to me, WHY the hell would they add me as a friend?! As I have said, I have no privacy settings, so any photo stalking or general cyber creeping is possible WITHOUT adding me as a friend. Anyhoo, that is for another post.

So the fact that anyone desired to actually chat to me was a thrill I rarely experience. This is how our little chat went:

Mnde: Hi.

Me: Hi, not that I mind, but why did you add me to your friends? (I can be very blunt sometimes)

Mnde: Because you sexy.

Me: (oh geez) Well, yes I know. So where are you from?

Mnde: Italy. I love sex.

Me: I HAVE heard that italians do. I do too. How very fun.

Mnde: You have webcam?

Me: No, why would I need a webcam?

Mnde: I want to do you. On webcam. You have pictures for me?

I must break here to tell you a bit about Mnde. It was quite obvious that her English was not highly fluent. Yes, I said HER, because when I checked out her profile during this little convo, I found out that according to Facebook she is a 15 year old cute girl from Italy who is a widow. Now, I am not so simple-minded to think all of this may be true, but I wasn’t feeling like flirting with a 15 year old anything.

Me: Aren’t you a little young? (testing)

Mnde: Yes, I am young. I LOVE sex, Sexy.

This reminded me of this little game a local radio station used to play, called Scared Straight. They would go into a chatroom and pose as a young girl and try to bait pedophiles into calling them, which they would then ream out on the air. I will state that I am NOT a pedophile, but how would this Mnde know this? I felt baited and deceived.

Me: That’s very nice that you love sex so much, but you should really wait until you hit puberty before you start having it all the time. I am going to delete you now, because I don’t need a horny little girl chatting at me all the time asking for pictures. Goodbye.

Mnde: You have pictures for me?

Obviously, Mnde doesn’t get it.

P.S. A few days later, I had another friend request from a person with a foreign name. I think they are out to get me.

A Guy Thing To Do

Thank you, everyone who read my blog yesterday, it was my biggest day yet! In the grand scheme of things, I shall always remember you when I am famous. XOXO

I have always appreciated beauty. And women are way more fun to look at than men, which is the only explaination I have for the following story. You may find it creepy anyway.

There is a gorgeous young woman who comes into my bookstore to sell books occasionally. She is just this tiny petite thing with perfect hair, a perfect smile, and a perfect baby that always has a perfect flowery headband on. When she sells books, she has to sign her name on our little sheet thing, and being the little-bit creepy person that I am, I decided to look her up on facebook. Now, this was not with the intention of finding out where she lives, or finding out what she did last Friday night. My sole purpose was to appreciate any very nice pictures that she had on her profile. And in my defense, if she really DIDN’T want anyone looking at her, she woulda put her profile on private. So there. Anyway, the other night when I was drinking, I confessed to my Rockstar this semi-creepy thing that I did, and showed him her pics so he could appreciate her too. He said, “That was totally a guy thing to do.”

I agree. No normal woman I know would ever look up a girl she didn’t know on facebook just to ogle her pics. But then, when have I ever claimed to be normal? This got me to thinking of the other non-feminine qualities I possess.

I suppose the first thing that came to mind is sex. Yes, there are many women out there that are just as horny as men. But They DO say that when women have sex with a man, there is a chemical in their body that wants more with that man, or something to that effect. I haven’t that chemical. Basically, I’m up for a little bit of cuddling after the big finish, but as far as one-night stands go, I don’t want to see the dude again. Ever. Thank you, goodbye. I found out this is not a normal reaction for a woman to have when my Rockstar was reading Nikki Sixx’s Heroin Diaries. He brought up a story about Nikki and Tommy doing some girls backstage, and he wondered, “I don’t understand how guys can just meet a girl and 30 seconds later be doing them. For me, it’s easier to get turned on when you get to know her first.” I know. You guys are thinking, Awww, that’s sweet. It IS sweet. But I blurted out, “I don’t know. I guess if somebody wants to fuck me that’s kind of a turn on in itself.” To which he replied, “Yeah, you’re kinda like a dude that way.” Hmm.

That brings me to porn. Porn is super-fun, and lots of girls like it. But for the most part I think girls like the nice fluffy soft porn. I like the gritty pie-in-your-eye porn where the chic is getting reamed in the butt. Although, I guess really I prefer to watch girl-on-girl vids. Also very guy-like.

The next thing I thought of was food. I love to eat. A LOT.  I have never been one of those girls who is watching her figure and will forego yumminess. Bring on the chocolate cake! This quality I have used to make my ex-hubby cringe, as he was 270 lbs, yet I somehow managed to out-eat him anytime we went out. I don’t know if I have worms or what, or maybe I’m just REALLY hungry. Anyhoo, now when I go out to eat with my Rockstar and his Daughter, he knows he can just shove their plates over to me when they are done. What’s  a doggie bag again? So now you are probably thinking, “Damn this bitch must have a fat ass!” I admit I am no skinny-minnie, and I should prolly exercise sometime, but I am proud to say I’m a size 11 and 175 lbs. And you must remember that at least 20 lbs of that is in my bra. Moving on.

Fast cars. (and big trucks) Mainly Mustangs. I honestly think they are the hottest thing there is. I drive through the Ford dealer quite frequently just to get a look at the sexy things. And when I see one at a stoplight, I kick it down just so I can listen to their engine roar. And if I had $60,000, I would have to choose whether I would buy a Shelby Mustang or a beautiful Ford F-350. That is a decision that would be very hard to make. I hear men buy big trucks to compensate for smaller things. I just want one so I can run people over without feeling the thump.

Very closely related: blow-shit-up movies. And action movies in general. I really do like romantic movies. For example, The Princess Bride is my absolute favorite movie of all time. (As you wish!) But a close second is Independence Day. Any movie that involves blowing up aliens is alright by me. And I really liked the Spiderman movies, except for the long drawn-out  love story that they included. And all you girls will hate me for this, but The Notebook was the most obnoxious and nauseating 2 hours I ever wasted. Oh, any time they show boobies in a movie is a plus.

Well, that pretty much sums up my mannish qualities. I have been described as “princess-like”- as in being in need of rescuing, but I can change a tire and drive a stick shift, and my Rockstar was the only one who helped me carry my piano up a flight of stairs. I still love sparkles and ruffly things, but maybe my Man qualities just make it easier for me to be “one of the boys.” And just to prove that I really am a woman, I do not in any way find farting amusing. XOXO

Let Love in.

If anybody was to ask me “What is the most important Thing in life?”, I would without a moment’s hesitation blurt out ,”LOVE!” Now, hold on, I know what you’re thinking. What an unoriginal,simple-minded, idealistic response, right? I agree with you. But think about it. Did the Beatles sing, “All You Need is Money”? I think not. Did Romeo spout to Juliet,”The more poetry I give to thee,the more I have”? Nope. After they had their romp in the back of that Model T, did Rose say to Jack, “Thanks, dude. That was a great fuck. Do you have a cigarette?” No. She said, “I love you, Jack.” (I personally think the first quote would have been MUCH more interesting.) My point is- yes, it is completely unreasonable to say that Love is all there is, but that’s the thing about Love. It’s not about being practical,it makes you do things you never thought you would- good AND bad-, and you can’t choose it.
La dee da. Now that I have done some great writing, (wink, wink)I will proceed into the detail of my very own fucked-up love life. A week after my 16th birthday, I was hired as a waitress at a mom-n-pop restaurant, where the Son of mom-n-pop proceeded to fall in love with me. I admit,at first I was skeptical, as he was 7 years my senior and my Jesus-obsessed father had drilled into my head that boys only want one thing. Two years later,I started dating The Son. I had promised myself I wouldn’t have sex with him at least until he said he loved me, which he did about 3 months into the relationship. We ended up not having sex until I was 21. When I was 24, I decided I wanted to be married, so we got hitched. I believe, looking back now, the main reason I wanted to get married was to keep my religious parents from cringing at me every time they saw me when they thought of The Son and I living in sin together. Don’t get me wrong. I did love him and I always will.
During the next 2 years, we proceeded into married life like a good couple. We got our first house, my husband had back surgery, and the number of times we had sex in a year diminished to 5 or so. This is where the fucked-up part comes in.
Now, The Son’s brother had had a friend who we would hang out with occasionally (we will call him the Redhead).In the back of my mind, there had always been something about the Redhead that was electrifying, and he was truly nice, that being the reason I (being a good friend)set him up with my bestie, which ended up with her screaming at me drunkenly after I had had a passionate makeout session with him (also drunken). Anyhoo, after that Me and Bestie made up and the Redhead was never heard from again.
Back to the marriage. After 2 yrs of marriage and 9 months without sex or feeling wanted, you can imagine the horniness that had come over me. At the time, I was just learning the mechanics of Facebook, and to my surprise, there was a friendship request from the Redhead! Well, hello there! We began chatting one night when I was left home alone (which happened ALOT) and had a nice conversation about love and sex. Sex is not love, and at the time, the phrase “making love” confounded me. I mentioned the lackage of boomboom going on in my life and that passionate makeout session came to my mind, making me wonder what MORE than that would be like. He became my Fuck Buddy, which worked out very well for both of us, since I was married and he was too lazy to go get a girlfriend. Now you may be thinking, “what a cheating whore,” but the love I had for my husband was pure and everything was right with us except the sex.(or lack thereof.)So don’t judge me. After a few months of messin’ around, I decided it was shitty of me to do that to my husband, so I left him. I realized that I wasn’t happy with him, OR myself with him, and nothing was ever going to change.My hubby really and truly loved me because after he found out about the cheating, he still wanted me to come home. I didn’t choose sex over love. My Redheaded Fuck Buddy gave me a place to stay while I looked for a new home, and I realized I really truly liked him. He was willing to remain my Fuck Buddy and let me galavant around with whomever I chose, but I was never really into one-night stands. We became official when he sent me a text: “I want you to only cling to me.” And that is how I got my Rockstar. Things aren’t perfect and sometimes Love is fucked up, but I do not regret the things I have done, and I will always do whatever I do for Love.