Tag Archives: fuck buddy

I Hope Your Baby Looks Like Steve Buscemi


Dear former Fuck Buddy of Mine,

Let me be the first thirty-first (according to Facebook) to offer my congratulations on the presence of the conjoined egg-and-sperm in your wife’s belly.

While it is, I suppose, good news that this announcement has made its debut at this time, I find it a bit unlucky for you that the timing is such that YOU are the one chosen to be the recipient of my lonely-and-depressed-barren-woman rant. For this I apologize.

While I cannot deny that we had some “good times” (heh, heh) and I would like to thank you always for making me feel desirable, (as if no one else does), I must admit that my faith in the goodness of the male species has been forever and always jaded because of you. Perhaps it is the fact that your current relationship began as you dating three women at once,or perhaps it is the fact that you’ve never once even tried to be faithful to she who now carries your child. Either way, I shall always look at men I’ve had as Fuck Buddies in a strange and terrible light now.

It’s true, if I were not in my current state of confusion over my Rockstar and life choices in general, I may have been able to offer my congratulations  honestly and without malice; but too bad for you, Dude- you get the full extent of my Sad Girl wrath.

I do not doubt that your wife is feeling great joy and ecstatic happiness at this time at the fact that she carries a little you inside her. (That kinda sounded dirty.) However, I do wonder if your excitement is of the same caliber. You know what babies mean, right? More work and less naked time- something that if I know you as well as I do, you shall not be thrilled about in the least.

Though it is not for me to judge God’s judgement in providing your sperm with extra oomph to impregnate your spouse, I cannot help but wish to raise my fist and scream at the heavens, “What the Hell are You thinking?!?!?!??!” It is clearly obvious He intends to make every single person around me pregnant as if to say, “Yeah, Bitch- take that!”

And so, to end this harsh and hateful letter, I can do only one thing- Curse you and offer my hope that your baby looks like Steve Buscemi. I realize that this will never happen, as you are a beautiful Puerto Rican, and your wife has an amazing smile. So boo on you.

No Love,

Sparklebumps

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Filed under Beauty, Children, Family, God, Humor, Life, Uncategorized

Romantic Monday: A Good Memory


Once upon a time there was a girl named Sparklebumps who was young and dating her future husband. She had a best friend at the time who we shall call Carebear who had just had a baby and was depressed because she was alone and very horny. Sparklebumps, being the good friend that she was, tried to  do what she could to help Carebear by introducing Carebear to an aquaintance of the future husband’s, who was called the Redhead. Sparklebumps had always thought the Redhead was a nice guy, and thought her best friend deserved to have a nice guy for a change. Upon the introduction, Carebear and the Redhead proceeded to get drunk and fucked each other in a drunken stupor, therefore destroying any possible deeper feelings that could have possibly arisen in the future. In the morning, the Redhead snuck off before dawn without even saying goodbye to Carebear.

Because Carebear had the belief that fucking a drunk person meant true love was in the air, a couple of weeks later she suggested to Sparklebumps that they invite the Redhead out for drinks. (with the intention of trying to win his heart by once again offering her pussy to him.) So off the two girls went, to hang out in a crowded bar with the Redhead who had no feelings of affection for Carebear, but was too bored to refuse the offer of free drinks.

The night wore on, each of the three growing increasingly innebriated off of Goldschlagger and whiskey shots. Carebear kept trying to have meaningful conversation with the Redhead, who was distracted by a drunken Sparklebumps who was just entertaining herself by people watching and hanging over the bar flirting with the female bartenders. Soon enough, the bar closed down and the three were kicked out.

The plan was for the girls to stay at the Redhead’s house for the night, so they hopped in a cab and on the way, Sparklebumps shrieked at the taxi driver to “STOP! OOH! Stop here! We must go to the sex toy store!” because she was a horny little devil and wanted to buy a vibrator for those times when her future husband didn’t want to do her. (Which were much too often.) They were disappointed to find the sex store was closed for the night, and so continued on to their designated destination.

When they arrived at the Redhead’s dumpy apartment, Sparklebumps busied herself by washing the mountain of dirty dishes that resided in the Bachelor Redhead’s sink. She grinned drunkenly and agreed when the Redhead responded to the act with a “You’re so sweet. You would make a good wife to somebody some day.” She then went into the only bedroom and semi-passed out, not wishing to hear the sexual noises that were soon to come from her friend and the Redhead. She was awakened when Carebear came in and told her to “Get up off the floor and go out into the living room so we can fuck on the bed.” Sparklebumps stumbled into the living room, irritated at her friend’s bitchiness.

Not five minutes passed before the Redhead came out of the bedroom and nearly picked Sparklebumps up in a passionate embrace and started kissing her deeply. Sparkle was surprised, and pleased, because she found the Redhead to be sexy for a reason that she never understood. The makeout session continued on for a good 15 minutes before the Redhead tried to slip his hand down her pants. Sparkle stopped him and said, “No, I don’t want it now; not like this,” and rolled her eyes in the direction of the bedroom where Carebear sat listening and feeling rejected.

No sooner did the words come from Sparkle’s mouth than Carebear burst from the room and screamed, “You bitch! You knew I wanted him! What the fuck is the matter with you? You have a boyfriend.” She then turned her fury on the Redhead. “She has a boyfriend, you asshole!” She then retreated back into the bedroom, fuming drunkenly.

Sparkle was very upset; she had pissed off her friend and nearly cheated on her boyfriend, and yet, her heart and her body were telling her the makeout session was not to be regretted. She urged the Redhead to reconcile with Carebear, or at least to go fuck her, to get her mind off of the whole situation. The Redhead obliged, and Sparkle passed out listening to the ridiculous fucking noises of a pissed off girl and a drunken Redhead.

The following morning, the two girls left without saying a word to each other or the Redhead. On the drive home, they reconciled, and vowed that a boy would never again come between them and their friendship.

Ten years later, Sparklebumps left the man who had become her husband, and was re-aquainted with the Redhead. He became her Fuck Buddy, which she enjoyed immensely, but realized it would become more when he presented her with a butterfly mood ring she had forgotten at his house that fateful night of the makeout session. She wondered aloud at the idea that he had kept such an insignificant trinket all these years, through two moves.

He looked at her and shrugged. Then he said, “You were a good memory, so I held on to it.”

P.S. The Redhead became a Rockstar after that.

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My Life as a Disney Princess


Here are the reason that I believe they could make a Disney movie out of my life:

1. I am unfailingly trusting and would of course eat whatever magical fruit was shoved into my face by a grotesque old woman. After all, my stomach is a bottomless pit, and I am not in the habit of NOT eating whatever is offered to me.

2. I,  on occassion, will burst into song when there are no other ways to express my feelings. I’ve even convinced one of the cooks at work that it will make him feel better if he does this too. He has a very nice singing voice.

3. I have a control-freak father who is convinced the outside world is going to harpoon me in the ass.

4. When I sleep, I am awakened by my Rockstar’s kiss. (except for the times when I’m not awakened. This is due to the fact that a person could lead a marching band across my face and I wouldn’t wake up… I think I must have pricked my finger on a spindle at some point….)

5. I love books, and dream of having a library with one of those ladders that slides around on shelves. This would be very beneficial to making a dramatic ending to any song I may feel the need to burst into.. *swinging around on ladder with arms up, singing* “I love my books! I have to poop!” (I may have to work on the lyrics a bit.)

6. I have no little mice friends, but my imaginary friend Kozzi Gunka would be a cool twist.

7. There are Evil Forces intent on ruining my every happiness. They are known as Bill Collectors.

8. Although not as skinny as those Disney bitches, I have the boobage that would fill out whatever ball gown I might need to wear quite nicely.

9. I don’t have a magic carpet to ride, but I have a dented Mercury Cougar that gets me where I want to go.

10. I don’t have a magic mirror that tells me I’m the fairest of them all, but I have a 9 year old Almost Daughter who tells me she is much more beautiful than me.

11. I must slave away until I magically come into a giant wad of cash.

12. I found my True Love, it just took 2 rounds. Also, I’m not sure how they could incorporate the Fuck Buddy issue into a kid’s movie….

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Joe’s Junk and Other Disturbing Search Terms


My blog has finally given offense (since I’m quite sure that it never has before 😉  ) I switched on my computer this day and checked my “Site Stats”, only to be assaulted by “Joe Dimaggio’s penis”. Now, one would think it quite impossible for a man that’s been taking a dirt nap for many moons  to lambaste me with his genitalia, in fact, I believe Joe himself would be greatly distraught, but apparently someone’s quest for info on Joe’s Man Parts led them to my blog. Yes, I am speaking of the search engine terms that people have used and have ended up at my blog. It is safe to say that my blog is not entirely wholesome, but it truly unsettles me that sparklebumps is now associated with Joe Dimaggio’s cock. If I was going to rave about a man’s schlong, I doubt it would be Joe’s. Which brings me to another search engine term that brought me out of my disturbia:

“Is Christopher Meloni buff?” Yes! The man who causes the tiny earthquakes in my pants most definitely IS buff! This search term makes a bit more sense to me, because who wouldn’t WANT to find out about Chris? Yes, I realize I have mentioned him several times in the history of this blog, but a person can never really say enough about the dreamboat that is Chris. Though I have never mentioned his buffness (I don’t think),  with my slight mentioning of this Adonis- like man, it makes sense that someone would find my blog.

“Armpit welt” I have never at any time mentioned anything about armpit welts (although it DOES sound like something I would say). I’m not exactly sure what they are, or what causes them, but I am quite certain that finding my blog is the cure.

“Diary of a slut” I may be a bookwhore, but I ain’t no slut. Yes, perhaps to some… virgins, I would be considered a strumpet (I love that word!) and the fact that I blatantly mention past sexual encounters may deem me harlot-like; but I can count on les than 2 hands the number of men I’ve tussled with. I will let you be the judge as to whether that makes me a slut…

“talking dirty erotic” Despite my admirable way with words, I feel that speak during sex is completely unnecessary. Don’t get me wrong; may I remind you that I have a dirty little mind and certainly come up with things to say, such as, “I want to feel your rock-hard cock in my wet cunt” and “I want you to cum all over my tits so I can lick it up”, but I prefer to remain a bit more mysterious in this area (as in wordless) and spelling cum like that freaks me out.

“how to get your fuck buddy to fall in love with you” I have no frickin’ clue. That was purely an accident. I am the LAST person you should ask about getting people to fall in love with you. The only thing I can say is put a little bit of Sparklebumps in your step. Whatever that is. It is nice that people with burning questions like this have been so lucky to find my blog.

P.S. In reference to my Joe Dimaggio rant up there- it’s amazing how many different words there are for “penis”, isn’t it?

P.P.S. I realize that a picture of Joe’s penis would have been more appropriate for this post, but I’m sorry, any chance to look at Chris…

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Children are our future??


Top o’ the mornin’ to ya, all my dear bloggers! Imagine my surprise this morning when I checked my stats and saw that I had 14 views yesterday! I love you all! At least I’m not just talking to myself anymore. (Which I really don’t mind doing…) So. Today I shall delve into a subject that is very sensitive for me. It is something I think about every day but cannot talk about without tearing up. The subject of children.

Ever since I was very young, I told everybody I wanted to have 5 boys. Now, don’t ask, “Why boys?” because I’m not entirely sure myself. It seems odd since I love pink, and dressing up, and anything sparkly. Perhaps it is the idea of having my grown sons towering over my short self, (I’m 5’3″) being the Momma’s Boys I know they would be. Anyway, it did seem I was in the perfect situation when I married a man who was fine with having that many kids. Alas, it was not to be. I was with the man for 12 years, never using condoms or birth control, and came out the other side without even a miscarriage- all while everyone I know was popping out kids left and right. Perhaps it was me, maybe it was him, I guess I will never know for sure because we are now divorced and I have never been able to afford health insurance to go through the bullshit of fertility testing. If I am to be barren, I would rather NOT know for sure anyway, I think. I would guess that it IS me, though, since I have since had irresponsible unprotected sex with men who have fathered children.

Nearly everyone I know has said to me at one time or another that I would make an excellent mother. Now, I’m slightly perplexed about how they would know this, as I never baby-sat as a teenager, commented people on how lovely their children are, or even held my cousin’s babies without handing them back almost immediately. Nevertheless, I whole-heartedly agree with these Everyone. I would make a great mom. I know that Love is what a child needs, not toys; I know that discipline is a must, and not the belt on the ass kind; and I know that they need to be taught Respect. I would read to them every night, and tell them I love them always.

9 years ago, my best friend came to me and said, “The worst thing that could ever happen has happened.” She was pregnant. Now I have never been pregnant, but I think it’s pretty safe to say that if you have that kind of attitude when you find out you are having a child, it’s going to filter on down into your parenting a bit. Granted, and unexpected pregnancy is not usually the first thing every 21 year old wants, but you know, sometimes you have to go with the flow. Abortion for her (or me) was never an option, as we were raised very strictly Baptist, and all Life is sacred. I told her once that if she didn’t want to keep her baby, I would  adopt him. She ended up keeping him, and he’s turned out to be a pretty great kid, though it’s helped that he has had a bounty of familial support.  It seems to me the people who aren’t looking to have kids are the very ones who end up with them, and those couples that are trying so desperately have none. Is that God’s way of  showing who’s in charge, I wonder?

My boyfriend is a prime example. His child is a product of a Fuck-Buddy/ relationship that went awry. In his words: “She trapped me.” Fortuneately, he stepped up and refused to be a Bum father, ‘cuz he’s a Good Guy. Alas, it is still slightly apparent that fatherhood was not his ambition in life. His daughter who is now 9, truly is the apple of his eye, and she is more important to him than I will ever be. (Which is the way it should be.) But he definitely still likes his Alone Time. Let me just say, Yay to all you step-moms that are not coined Evil. First, helping to raise a child that is partially grown is tough when you weren’t there the first 7 years. Add in the fact that that child is a Girl, who is quite sassy, and you will understand my wanting to stab myself in the head some weekends. The agreeance on parenting is still being worked out…

Being as I love my Rockstar and have no intentions of looking for a new beau, I asked him what his thoughts were on trying to knock me up someday. The chances are slim, and I have heard that men don’t change their minds. He has stated that he is kinda old and hasn’t the energy. So, the question is, do I throw away the chances of ever holding a babe of my own in my arms, of training up a Child in the way he should go, of leaving a little piece of me when I die, for Love? I have to admit, the thought makes my eyesight blurry. However, I HAVE come to realize that I like my Alone Time, and not being “tied down” with a kid has it’s advantages , I suppose. So I ask, as I do not regret the things I’ve done, will I regret the things that I will NOT have done?

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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.

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