Survive and Thrive Workshop: Prompt #3

MM.

How many times did you autograph that monogram

and wonder,

What if they realize I’m not really

Her?

They’ll be so mad when they find out

that this piece of paper

isn’t worth a cent.

I know.

I know what it’s like when people think

you are someone you’re not.

Sure, I’ve never exactly obtained the fame you did,

or been described as the ultimate “sex symbol”.

But,

I guess I’ve had my moments.

Yes, I get it;

Wanting to drown your sorrows in a bottle of gin

so deeply

that you forget the real you

and actually become the glittering figure

They believe you are.

They say you were either

the greatest actress that ever lived

or the biggest joke ever to grace

the silver screen.

Having great tits

tends to make people not take you seriously.

And yet,

you pursued your search for love,

still working toward your goal of becoming a

“real actress”;

even in the end,

you had Them fooled.

As the ambulance drove  your adored body away,

They continued to refer to you as

Marilyn Monroe.

But I know the truth.

You were so much more than that.

 

 

 

 

Inside the Sparkle Studio

I had forgotten all about James Lipton and his adorable lip-less self (does anyone else find it ironic that a man with “lip” in his name lacks them?) until I turned on the boob tube today and saw him hammering his questions home to a yucky and completely unattractive George Clooney. (Yes, you all have found perhaps the only woman in the world who would not sleep with George just to say she slept with George.)

I reminisced about the times I daydreamed about sitting across from James Lipton’s spectacled self just to have him pick my brain and find out exactly how and why I became my fabulously famous self. (Clearly, this daydream still exists.) And so I decided to put all your curiosities to rest and answer the famed Inside the Actor’s Studio questionnaire. (Mainly because by the time I’m sitting across from dear sweet James, he will probably be long dead, and I shall have forgotten what my original answers were due to my old age, and shall have to fashion new and exciting answers.)

 1. What is your favorite word?

Scintillate- I learned this word in my 6th grade vocabulary class-perhaps the only thing I retained from my school days other than the first verse of Oh captain, my Captain. Scintillate- the definition is “to glisten or sparkle”. Don’t tell me you’re surprised.

2. What is your least favorite word?

Moist. Ugh. Just typing it makes me gag just a little. Also, “slice”- it gives me shivers when people say it. Sadly, once people find that out, they run after me screeching at the top of their lungs “Slice! Slice! Slice! Slice!”

3. What turns you on creatively, spiritually or emotionally?

If I am to answer with something that turns me on in all three ways, I will say undoubtedly- books. Every book I read turns on my creativity, whether it is because it gives me ideas, or because I think to myself that I may be able to do better than the author. Emotionally, because a well-written book can make you sob uncontrollably, laugh hysterically, or make you want to fuck the living daylights out of someone. A badly written book will piss you off bad enough that you may want to strangle the author, or the publisher who would allow such trash to be published. Spiritually, because a book may bring you closer to God, or further away that you ever imagined you could be.

Attention also turns me on. It makes me happy, and sparks my creativity enough to make me try to be whoever it is the person giving me attention is looking for.

4. What turns you off?

Laziness. And unnecessary cruelty.

5. What is your favorite curse word?

Fuck. Because it can be so mean or so nice. Fuck you or fuck me. People can make their own decision about which one I will say to them.

6. What sound or noise do you love?

Someone asking me for a hug.

7. What sound or noise do you hate?

Belching. And people chewing- open-mouthed or closed.

8. What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?

Almost anything, but superhero sounds the best.

9. What profession would you not like to do?

Pooper pumper. Whether it be one of those guys who sucks the shit outta the sewer, or the doctor who administers the colonoscopy tube.

10. If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the      Pearly Gates?

“Hey, everybody, we don’t have to worry anymore; Sparkle’s finally here!”

My New Goal: A Superbowl Commercial

Yes, yes, we all know it was the most important day of the year yesterday- Superbowl Sunday. I must admit, the only reason I know it was was because I spent the entire day cracking the whip to ensure that every person who ordered pizza received it in enough time to properly digest before having to suffer through Beyoncé’s “entertainment”. Luckily (?), I made it home in enough time to see the much-talked-about Farmer commercial. (Which would have been soooo much better if it had been for Ford.) This got me wondering: can a person advertise herself?

When I thought about it, the only individuals I could come up with that may perhaps “advertise” themselves were prostitutes and escorts. (Unless you are counting all those people on dating sites) But then I got to thinking, “Why COULDN’T one advertise oneself?”  I suppose normal boring people mightn’t have much to advertise, but what about all the awesome people? Isn’t advertising for general awesomeness allowed? After all, that’s all any commercial really does.

While I began this blog just to blurb about whatever it was I was thinking about, I cannot deny that every time I find I’ve acquired another follower, I do a little happy dance. (Which you all must know makes the girls jiggle.) And since I wish to be a famous author the likes of which have never been seen before, what better way to get the word out than to show up somewhere between the Ravens and the 49’ers?

(I realize I’d actually have to finish a book, but nevermind about that.)

Here’s what I was thinking:

The commercial would start out focusing on a fabulous pair of Swarovski-encrusted stilettos, and pan up to reveal a pair of sexily-muscled gams connected to the feet in the shoes. They are the legs of a uber-hot model, or perhaps a Salma Hayek-type. She sashays past a park bench with a dorky yet slightly adorable man sitting reading a book. Suddenly, she stops sashaying and does a double take- what is that he’s reading there?! Why, it’s a Sparklebumps book! Suddenly, the nerdy dude is amazingly sexy, and the hot woman cannot resist sitting down next to him and fawning desperately over him. Then the words pop up- “Only the sexiest people read Sparklebumps. Be one today! ” And then that guy with the movie preview voice starts talking: Her latest publication is in bookstores everywhere. Buy it today!

Yeah, now there’s a commercial for ya.

Geico’s got the gecko and the  “weeeee!!!!!!!!” pig, why couldn’t I have a Salma Hayek?

2012 In Review- Or Otherwise Titled: I’m Semi-Awesome

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2012 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

4,329 films were submitted to the 2012 Cannes Film Festival. This blog had 16,000 views in 2012. If each view were a film, this blog would power 4 Film Festivals

Click here to see the complete report.

I could not have done it without you, My Lovelys, but I’m not nearly as famous yet as I should be- so continue to rave to your friends about my little blog. XOXO

A Letter From God

Dear Sparklebumps,

I decided to send you a letter since you are one of my Beloved Children. I don’t usually do this, but I’ve noticed you tend to keep any letters, notes, etc. that people send to you. That was one of the great ideas I thought of when I was creating you; I thought maybe you’d keep everything, so when you become famous (as I have decided you should be) you can make one of those books about your life that have all the little pull-out parts that include letters and pictures and shit. I’d like you to include My letter, so anyone who wants to read about the famous Sparklebumps realizes it was I who made you what you were.

About the picture thing- you know you’re not very photogenic. I will tell you why I decided to make it that way. I made you adorable and smart, but I figured it would be a bit much if I added photogenic, because I know you would have gotten a big head. Also, given your tendency to take nudey pictures of yourself, I figured it was probably best if your face didn’t look great in photos, that way you won’t end up in Playboy or something. I admit that Playboy is a perfect study of the wonderful female form that I created, but it’s not for you. I plan on you making your living from your wit and your way with words, (and possibly your singing voice, if you can convince your Rockstar to start a band) NOT with your semi-hot bod.

Since I brought it up- yes, I gave you big buzooms. I did that because I know you’d be able to handle the attention that comes with them gracefully. Dolly Parton is another one that I made like that; she hasn’t forgotten about Me, and I know you won’t either. I give you permission to take advantage of your boobies, after all, why else would I have given them to you? But at the same time, don’t forget it’s your brain, and not your bra size, that makes you who you are.

I want to give you props for abstaining from all the temptations I’ve sent your way lately. You know I just like to fuck with you, right? (Heh heh) You’ve done good at only doing the sex with your Rockstar , and no one else; I know how you likes the sex and all. I also sent a few hot customers your way for you to just admire from afar, because I know you like to look at pretty things.

The Rockstar thing? You’ve figured out that I made him specifically for you. He, on the other hand, is kinda being a dumbass about the whole situation. I honestly gotta say that I made the male species REALLY bird-brained. What was I thinking? Anyhoo, I’ll try to put a bug in his ear about the whole marriage thing, but he really does love you; he’s just not trusting Me enough. He thinks you might be too much woman for him, so he’s terrified to pop the question.

If you noticed, I sent you a couple new friends, (Delightful, H.E., HR, Hotspur, Brainrants, John, and Megan) They’re kind of a fucked up bunch, so I knew you’d get along with them great. Also, I made sure Delightful lived close to you so you had someone to go to that fabulous coffee shop with. If you make an effort to stay in contact with them, I’ll make sure they make an effort with you, so they don’t end up like all your other friendships.

I wanted to talk about tithing to Me. I know you’re kind of broke right now, and so I’ll let you get away without giving me any offering. You make up for it by playing beautiful piano music to honor Me, and I’m ok with that. BUT. In the future, after you have your castle, I expect 10% of your earnings. In exchange, I’ll make sure the IRS gets off your back.

I haven’t decided yet if I’m going to bless you with children. You kind of have your hands full with your Rockstar’s Daughter, and anyway- you have alot of shit to do before you become a mother. It’s up to you to get started on all that before you reach menopause. You know what They say, “God helps those who help themselves.” (For the record, that’s not in My Word; I’m not sure where it came from.)

I guess that’s about it. You know I made you one of those people that are easy to love, so get out there in the world so they can love you. (NOT in a sexual way. I guess I didn’t make that clear to your stalkers. Sorry about that.)

Your Heavenly Father,

God (or I Am)

P.S. I haven’t quite figured out how yet, but if you keep serving Me, I’ll make sure you get to boob-squish Chris Meloni someday.