November the 1st

Happy November, my Lovelys! I have decided that this day shall hereafter be proclaimed a worldwide Sparklebumps holiday, along with the day after Thanksgiving, the Saturday before Halloween, and my birthday. Today shall be called Half-Off Candy Day. Yes, I no longer shall feel bitter about the diminutive bowl of candy that my Rockstar nefariously stole from me, AFTER I stole it from his work party, because I have just come from the Aisles of Target, where all Halloween candy has been marked down for my convenience.

I was going to attempt a trip to Walmart, since their Aisle of Candy dwarfs any other retail store’s, but I was not fully prepared to have my eyes assaulted by Walmartians today. So off to Target I went, where customers of every ilk were zooming the Halloween aisles, preparing for next year’s Monster Bashes. I weasled my way through carts with squalling babes, and old women sorting through the pumpkin-shaped cookie cutters, to procure exactly 7 bags of the best and most saliva-inducing treats. I realized that I should have gotten a cart, or at least one of those annoying little basket things that weigh a ton after you have placed one item in them.

I was slightly flustered by the Halloween Edition Barbie that my eyes beheld, as the box she was in proclaimed “HALLOWEEN TREAT! BARBIE”. I looked closer and saw no candy included with Barb; the only “treat” I could almost see was the one that was beneath her disturbingly short puff skirt- this is a time when I am gladdened that Barbie is not quite anatomically correct. However, I feel that they should have placed Barbie’s treat in the Man Aisle, because any woman who would buy for her kid a Barbie that was dressed to turn tricks should be shot.

Anyhoo, as I made my way to the front of the store, with my arms laden down with my sugary loot, I noticed people staring. I’m not sure if it was my greasy hair that I didn’t have time to wash before going to town, or the fact that I was carrying enough candy to feed Australia. But I raised my chin up in an act of defiance at their judgemental stares, and proceeded to the checkout, where I received the same look from the girl behind the counter. I said, “What? I like candy. And this is just enough for me. If I had to share, there would be more.”

P.S. My Rockstar has let me know that he does not wish to know the amount of candy I bought.

A Halloween Story

In celebration of my favorite holiday, I shall tell you a story that is quite frightening in a non-traditionally scary way, and is the reason the ghosts of Halloween past will always haunt me.

In the city where I live, it is tradition to hit all the bars on the Saturday on or before Halloween. Since it is a college town, the multitude of ingenious costumes one may witness is quite entertaining indeed. (Though going downtown can be quite detrimental to my pocketbook- the reason being that I tend to accrue many friends when I’m drunk, to which I offer free drinks to.)

A few years ago, I decided to dress as Jessica Rabbit for Halloween, which in retrospect, contributed to the outcome of my story. Anyhoo, after a few hours of bar-hopping, we settled on one bar and I bounded to the counter in my red sequined dress with the intent of procuring yet another round of drinks for me and my hubby. (at the time) While I was waiting for the gay barkeep to notice my voluptuous assets (in my drunken state, I did not realize he was gay, though his Village People costume should have given me a clue) the man beside me struck up a conversation. He offered to buy my drinks, to which I replied, “Of course you may buy my husband’s and my drinks if you wish” which did not deter him from his objective. Apparently the man had a Jessica Rabbit fantasy. We shall name him Mr. Moneybags, since he whipped out a business card (while telling me he ran Chanhassen) and the let me know that any call (or more) would be welcome. La dee da. At that point, I had gone 8 months without sex, since my hubby found me repulsive (or something) so I tucked the card into my cleavage (just in case).

After a few weeks of texting back and forth with Moneybags, I found out he was a sexual freak who was up for ANYTHING. He informed me that he had, in the past, frequented swinger parties and other such goings-on, which due to my sexaully- deviant nature, I found intriguing. I went to his house intent on ending my dry spell (pun intended) and with the intention of fulfilling some of his fantasies.

When I arrived, I realized that my beer goggles I was wearing the night I met him must have had a very strong prescription. While not completely unfortunate-looking, he ceased put a tingle in my drawers.  Being the Coitus Warrior that I am, I toiled on, proceeding to receive the pounding of my life, while NOT acheiving orgasm.

(Sidenote: Mr. Moneybags informed me that he previously had lost copious amounts of weight, which unfortunately caused his stretched-out skin to resemble Jello while he was doing the deed. I believe this contributed slightly to my dissatifaction.)

Anyhoo, after leaving, I vowed never again to put myself in a naked situation with Mr. Moneybags. During the following year, I was bombarded with texts and drunken phone calls from Moneybags, asking for another round of my “expertise”, all of which I refused. The most vivid memory I have of these dark days was a voicemail left on my phone at 3 AM. It went as follows:

“Sparkle! Me and my friends are out drinking, and there are 3 horny guys with huge cocks who are willing to be at your service if you come out with us. And me.”

Now, I admit, I am probably fucked up enough in the head that I would find 3 or 4 guys at a time amusing, in the least. But considering that Moneybags would be included in said amusement, I decided to abstain. After not returning his calls and texts, Moneybags gave up on me. Or so I thought.

This past Saturday, while I was working as a Pizza Slut, I received a text from Moneybags after many moons. I realized it was the anniversary of our first meeting, the Saturday before Halloween. His text was a request to meet for drinks (and more) at the downtown bars of our past encounter. I let him know that I was at work, and that my Rockstar would be expecting me home afterward. He then told me I should tell Rockstar I was out with the girls. Now, I wouldn’t have done it anyway, but as I have noted in recent posts, I have no “girls” to pretend I’m going out with. Anyhoo, I told Moneybags I prolly wouldn’t be coming out. After receiving a few more texts including “PLEEEEEEASE” and “It will be fun”, I sent him the following: “I gotta tell ya, Dude. The sex was less than impressive.” After that I received no more annoying texts.

On my way to church yesterday, I got a response from my last text. Simply, “Agreed”. Oh, no. He did NOT just say that sex with me was un-impressive! I realize that he was probably just trying to save face in the light of my recent slam, but a plethora of texts and phone calls from him prove that I DID amaze and astound. There are so many things that I could have texted back, but I decided to be civil, so I only sent back, “It’s OK. Keep flashing your business card around, Dude. You’ll find somebody eventually. But you may have to pay them.”

I learned my lesson. Though I did not go home with him the night I met him, I DID pick him up in a bar. It is inconceivable to me that people do this more than once. Once was definitely MORE than enough for me. And I shall be haunted by the memory of the incident for every Halloween to come.

P.S. The best thing about our naked encounter was the toy he bought for me.

P.P.S. Thank you, all you Lovelys who viewed my page yesterday, even though I wrote nothing. I luvs you all! XOXO