A Letter to Alan Rickman

My esteemed Alan,

I would have referred to you as Al in my opening, since it feels as if I’ve known you since I was a wee thing, but you are English, and are much too refined for nicknames.

I wonder if you noticed that I refer to you in the present tense, despite the bitter fact that you left us one year ago today. I do so because, to me, you are very much alive on my movie shelf. I would like to thank you for that.

It’s true that you played an angel with no private parts in the movie Dogma, (a scene which, incidentally, is the only I remember of the entire movie) and a villain on several occasions, (Die Hard and Robin Hood); however, I will remember you most fondly as Colonel Brandon from Sense and Sensibility. It is really quite odd- the first time I watched you in that role, I despised you immensely.

I remember, I was at a friend’s for her birthday party when I was fifteen, when all of us decided to watch that film. Given my age at the time, it makes sense that I did not immediately appreciate your less-than-obvious good looks. It was a time when Freddie Prinze Jr. was a more apparent heartthrob…

It was a few years later when I again watched Sense and Sensibility when I realized how perfectly you pined for Kate Winslet’s character- I actually ended up detesting her after realizing how rude she was to Colonel Brandon. Still, I suppose I should be happy that you finally got the girl, even though I find myself a little jealous.

My jealousy of fictional characters was only compounded by your portrayal of Professor Snape in all the Harry Potter films. My hatred for Snape in the first six films was completely wiped away in the last, where you instantly forever and “always” became my favorite character. (Oh, to be loved as Lily was…)

You also happened to star in my favorite Christmas movie, Love Actually. Though I have nothing to  say about your performance because your character ended up being kind of a douche. I suppose you played the part well, since that was how we were supposed to feel about you?

I mustn’t forget your voice; that voice that resonates within my mind whenever you are mentioned- what am I supposed to do now when I finally write a screenplay that needs a man who’s voice can “talk a woman out of her knickers by just whispering her name, or scare the living shit out of children”?! Damn you and your pancreas, Alan!

I only jest, Mr. Rickman. I’m just upset that in a few short months I will be writing a similar letter to our dearly departed Prince. Although it’s nice to think that your rich, deep voice and his ridiculously high falsetto are blending in the far beyond.

Always,

Sparklebumps

An Open Letter to Ibuyjunkvehicles

Salutations, Ibuyjunkvehicles.com,

I would not normally address such distasteful behavior as you have displayed, but at this time, I feel that I must.

It is true, comments that have been filtered into the junk pile automatically are of little consequence. In fact, since I have been absent from my blog of late, it may seem silly that I would even waste my time sifting through said comments. However, I recall a time when a complimentary remark was filtered by accident into that pit of desolation, so I have become accustomed to taking the time to reassure such a snafu is not repeated.

Which brings me to your wretched comments, Sir. (or Ma’am) It has come to my attention that you have found my “last several posts to be kinda boring” and these posts have been a “bit out of track.” Well, I am sorry.

I am sorry that you’ve been unable to (without my permission, I might add) “snatch my feed to keep updated”.

I’m sorry that you’ve forgotten how you raved about my writings in previous junk comments; using such words as “astonishing” and “extremely remarkable” to describe my posts.

I’m sorry that you “couldn’t depart my site prior to suggesting that you extremely enjoyed the standard information a person provide for my visitors.”

I’m sorry that your first language is clearly not English, and that you have obviously failed to find a suitable tutor to teach you how to properly use the English you do know.

I’m sorry that you buy junk vehicles, because in actuality I do not think you buy junk vehicles at all, since my junk feed is filled to overflowing with your ridiculous bipolar comments. It seems that you would have very little time to buy all the junk vehicles you so blatantly advertise in your email address.

I’m sorry that you will never meet me, because you were correct in your assumption that I am “an expert” on the subject of dancing babies. (Even though, by the title, I have no idea what that blog post was about.

In closing, I would like to state that I most certainly will not “come on”, as you so boorishly urged me, and I will write about WHATEVER the fuck I want whenever  the fuck I want to- writings which are always fucking fabulous and “astonishing.” (OK, I can’t be mad at that last word you used.)

No Regards Whatsoever,

Sparklebumps

A Thank You Letter to Shitty Tippers

To Whom It May Concern,

I have taken it upon myself to show my gratitude for your extremely benevolent behavior toward me during my past 17 years of service for you. As you have so courteously treated me, so now will I return the favor.

I would like to thank those tippers from large groups or big families who insist on paying the substantial bill for their obnoxious get-togethers. It is true, I noticed you trying to get the best deal out of me when ordering your food, as I also noticed how you flinched when another member of your party ordered additional appetizers without checking with you. I am indebted to you for the 5% tip you left as you paid with hundred dollars bills. The  horrendous mess your gathering left behind- the crayons littering the floor, the parmesan cheese dumped into leftover beverages, the ketchup that so eloquently spelled out the name of the birthday girl on the table- most certainly made up for the missing 15%.

To the “family” man who was forced to bring his toddler boys out in order to give his wife a Girl’s Night Out- my sincerest gramercy. I appreciated that you so graciously thought to leave me an entire dollar as you towed your little shitkins out after they left my coworkers and I with headaches because of their incessant screaming. Your  largess, and your decision  to leave an upturned bowl of spaghetti all over the floor has shown me exactly what I don’t want in a husband.

To the elderly peeps who believe that “two bits” is an acceptable tip- trust that if ever you find yourself in a nursing home in your last years and I am lucky enough to be employed there, I will show you and your full Depends the same courtesies you have bestowed upon me these many long years.

And finally, to the endless list of people who cannot even be bothered to tip at all- I promise to pray for you. I pray that you are warmed by the hottest fires of the deepest hells; I pray that your children are carted off by the Slender Man, and I pray that you will be arrested by military officials and forced to listen to Taylor Swift songs for the entirety of your despicable lives.

With my  deepest appreciation and most passionate loathing,

Sparklebumps

A Letter to a Modern-Day Adonis

Dear Charlie Hunnam,

As I have stated in my post title above, you, Charlie, are a modern-day Adonis, and so must be the recipient of my latest letter. Kudos to you.

It is true, you are best known as the tortured soul Jax Teller from Sons of Anarchy, and while I have not been privy to much of your other work, I do believe the multitude of sex scenes with delectable ass shots in SOA may have had something to do with that. (It’s like two scoops of butter pecan ice cream…) I must admit, there are very few nude males that I would gladly torment my eyes with, (as I am very much a boob gal, and do so adore a good titty display) but you, kind sir, are welcome to remain naked in front of my vision indefinitely.

It is still a bit disturbing to me that you hale from Newcastle upon Tyne. As well-read as I am, I had no idea what the fuck that meant, but investigated enough to find that it was somewhere in England. Cheeri-o, mate! I actually hope to never hear your original accent, which I assume is British, because you seem to be so down-to-earth and not at all pompous as generally English people tend to be. However, if you ever decide you wish to share your man-meat with me in a carnal fashion, I will allow you to adopt whatever foreign crappy accent you deem appropriate. Just know that I am not quite certain what my reaction may be if I hear, “Tha’ wus fookin’ gright, love.” after we’ve spent ourselves. I may be forced to shut you up by sitting on your not-quite-shaven face.

You may be delighted to know, too, that even my very straight Rockstar has taken notice of your perfectly-sculpted physique. He does not blame you in the least for incessantly posting shirtless pictures of yourself on your official Facebook page. “After working out like hell to look like that, can you blame him?” were his exact words. I think you may just have a chance with him…

I seem to recall having watched a little-known movie a few years back starring you, in which, I’m sure, you were superb. Sadly, I do not recall you being naked, and so it was not noteworthy. Do not get me wrong, oh Gorgeous One- you need not be bare-assed for me to adore you. I can prove it is true by saying I’ve had two dreams in which you starred, neither of which you were nude in. (Sadly.) I must ask: why weren’t you naked in my dreams? I mean, for real. What the fuck?!

I do not think you are aware of my ….fetish for long-haired men. Let me only say that when your hair is of a shorter ilk, I would not so readily do you. But, if you were there lying naked in my bed, I suppose I could lower my standards a tad so as not to waste a good boner.

I applaud you for turning down the role of Christian Grey in the movie version of Fifty Shades. As beautiful as you are, not even you could have saved it from sucking balls. Although, if you had retained the role, I would have, of course, rushed out to buy the DVD no matter how terrible the film was, if only to see you shirtless and spanking someone. Do not be discouraged. I will write for you a well-written smutty book that can be turned into the biggest blockbuster of all time.

In closing, I would like to say that you, Charlie Hunnam, have almost cured me of my insane love for Christopher Meloni; I haven’t dreamed of him since you came into the picture.

Always yours, (even if it is only in my dreams)

Sparklebumps XOXO

 

A Response to a Hater

Almost a year ago, a wrote a letter to Tara Knowles, the fictional character in Sons of Anarchy, HERE. It seems there were many SOA fans who agreed with the contents of that letter; so many, in fact, that it has become the single most shared of my posts on Facebook. Sadly, we cannot all agree on how wise and generally hilarious I am, which leads me to my next post, a letter to “Tara’s biggest fan”, the person who left this comment on that post just the other day:

Tara’s biggest fan!

October 31, 2014

Fuck you and this post. Tara loved Jax more than anything. He chose the MC and his ‘mommy’ over a girl who could have and should have done way better. But instead trusted her heart that she could wait out and he would change. Became a mother to his first son while he left her alone to have his second while he was in the pin. Because of him and his false promises she lost the use of her hand that provided an out for their family, lost the love of her life to his club and bitch slut control freak druggie mom…and chose to raise her sons HIS sons so much she was the clear conscience he couldn’t be she was loyal to her role as a mother over herself and her piece of shit cheater ass husband. She lost her life trying to do what he wanted but couldn’t. She went to jail for his club duties and see how being loyal to her husband and the mc got her….it turned her into gemma which was the level she had to get on….to protect her sons from their father just like gemma did. She was the best thing that ever happened to jax, those boys, the mc, & charming! She’s the only thing that DID make sense in that show. She sacrificed everything for love and just when her husband decided to be a man and take credit for all the shit he’d caused her to do and become… once again crack hore slut bitch mom protects her baby boy….

For u to say she is ugly and deserved to die.. you must be a gemma skank ass bitch that gets off by homewrecking real relationships and it helps you sleep at night because you have NO respect or pride for yourself. If u hate her so much you must love Wendy. Well, I hope you are the pussy jax runs too and have a mother in law like gemma that stalks ur ass and leaves u know room to be alone wirh ur man or ur kids and u get stuck between becoming a bitch or serving as an old lady with no place ro speak ur mind if a man doesnt allow it…. u must think porns a real buisness of respect and killing innoscent people for sport is fun too huh?

I just thought I’d be the one to stand up for Tara and what she stood for on a page that everyone seems to have lost their minds and be Gemma themsleves. you must be a gemma skank ass bitch that gets off by homewrecking real relationships and it helps you sleep at night because you have NO respect or pride for yourself. I wish u the best in your life…because tight pussy and a pretty face only gets you so far until youre used up stretched out and he throws ur wringly ass out. Then what do u have to show for respecting urself??

I must respond, and defend my “tight pussy and pretty face that will only get me so far.”

Dear Tara’s Biggest Fan, (and hater of Gemma),

I respect your opinion and your devastatingly noble devotion to any fictional character, namely one Tara Knowles.

That being said, your comment gave me great pleasure, and continues to give me great pleasure as I respond in kind to it. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Firstly, I would like to address the bluntness with which you begin your comment. “Fuck you and this post.” You say. Being an eternal fan of the ever satisfying “fuck you”, I must say that I admire your quick and unadulterated use of the phrase, however, might I suggest that in the future, you refrain from beginning any lengthy rant with it, as the unfortunate timeliness of using it thusly can put the recipient on edge, and anything written thereafter will be received with ill feelings, and convince the reader that you are, in fact, not of a well-read or intelligent ilk. In other words, save if for the end. If it’s the first thing you say, it is likely no one will care one wit what it is you have to say after.

As I read further, I was again struck by your commitment to, might I repeat, a fictional character, as well as the loathing you have for some of the others. ‘Tis true, my contempt for Dr.
Tara Knowles did inspire me to write a letter to her, which, in some circles might be viewed as an act of absurdity. But not at any time did I address or insult a real person in my letter as you have done in yours. You must be a gemma skank ass bitch that gets off by homewrecking real relationships and it helps you sleep at night because you have NO respect or pride for yourself, you say. I suppose according to some, I may be a “skank-ass bitch”, though if I have wrecked any real relationships, it is solely because I am more adorable and funnier than the women in said relationships. (I must state at this time that I have never partaken of the man-fruits of these wrecked relationships, only made these men realize not every woman is as bitchy as their current girlfriends.) That being said, I clearly haven’t an issue with self respect or pride; I expect my histrionic personality disorder has something to do with that.

I do respect those who are comfortable enough to be employed in the porn business, because who among us at one time or another have not whored ourselves out for money? Perhaps not sucking cock and taking it up the butt, but surely everyone out there has stayed at a job they hate for money, while mentally getting fucked in the ass by their boss, or taken a pay raise to do something they detest. I applaud those of the porn industry who have given many hours of pleasure to many people who have partaken of their whorish efforts. As for killing innocent people for fun, I’ve never considered doing it, but I have it on good authority that many angry men in our country sign up for the armed forces to have a chance to do just that. I do not speak ill of our Nation’s army, for I understand the urge.

I will not address you, Tara’s Fan, quite as harshly as you have addressed me, but I must at this time mention the dreadful spelling errors and obnoxious punctuation mistakes in your tirade. You seem to think Gemma was not actually Jax’s mommy, as you have mentioned her as ‘mommy’. Apostrophes are used to show possession; I believe mayhap you had meant to use quotation marks, which really wouldn’t have made any more sense, since Gemma was, in fact, Jax’s mother, and referred to in that way throughout the show by your beloved Tara. Sadly, there are many instances in your rant which lack the proper use of apostrophes- far to many to mention. Your repeated use of “ur” and “u” suggest that perhaps you have the spelling mentality of an ever-texting teenager; your copious other spelling errors lead me to believe you spend more time watching TV shows and becoming obsessed with their fictional characters than you spend reading books, in which case, I feel sorry for you, and can only hope things change for you sooner, rather than later.

I wish u the best in your life…because tight pussy and a pretty face only gets you so far until youre used up stretched out and he throws ur wringly ass out. Then what do u have to show for respecting urself?? In response to this last bit of your angry diatribe, I assure you that I have not at any time possessed a “wringly ass”; I don’t exactly know what that is, but I assume it is not something most people want. As far as being stretched out- it will never happen. I take my Kegel exercises very seriously, and my Rockstar assures me there are no worries of my ever having a vagina that resembles a hallway having a hotdog thrown down it. If by chance it does happen, I have the knowledge that I will always use the proper spelling of “yourself.” There is no greater self-respect.

Have a nice day,

Sparklebumps

 

 

A Letter To My Baby

Dear Baby,

I would have addressed my letter “Dear Little Bastard”, but there are those who might have taken offense. Luckily, I am your momma, and shall teach you to have a great sense of humor, and to never be ashamed of who and what you are.

So, hello, baby. I’ve been waiting a really long time to be able to write a letter to you. You would think I’d have given a bit more thought to what I would write, but considering that I never actually thought I’d have an opportunity to write such a letter, you will understand my faltering. It seems very cliche’, but I love you, baby. I’ve loved you for a very long time.

I promise you will be the most loved baby there ever was, (I know that seems pretentious, but you will learn soon enough that I am very exactly that). And don’t worry, I promise to teach you what pretentious means, and how to spell it, because I don’t want you to be one of those silly people who only use simple words and nod stupidly when educated people talk to you. You will know many many things, and the things I cannot teach you, you will learn from other people who love you dearly, like Auntie Delightful, who will be your Fairy Godmother, and who did a happy dance in public when your existence was confirmed; she will teach you all about poetry and to love books like I will, and she will never run out of crafts for you two to o together. And my godmother Auntie, who has been waiting for you for a long time too. She will teach you to accept everybody, and to be kind to people you don’t necessarily understand, and, if you ask her to, she will teach you to quilt beautiful quilts that will keep people you love warm.

Your daddy will love you too, even though he might not say it. (You and I will get him to eventually, though, I know it.) He will teach you all about music, and how important it is, and how rockers wearing women’s makeup is not only funny, but very cool. He will also take you to car races, and watch football with you, and will play with you even though he is kind of old, and really just wants to take a nap. Don’t get mad when he doesn’t respond to all your questions- he doesn’t have as many words to use as I do; but that just means you have to listen closely when he does talk.

I have always hoped you would be a boy, because dinosaurs are so much cooler than Barbies, and teenage boys are less of a pain in the ass than teen girls. But if you are a girl, I will teach you to love dinosaurs anyway, and to not be a pain in the ass.

The most important thing you need to know is that life is beautiful, and all people are beautiful in their own way, so you need to treat them like they are special, because they are someone’s baby, too. Also, God is a cool Guy, but He sometimes will do things you don’t understand just because He can; don’t get discouraged, because you are tougher than anything He will throw at you.

I’m sure there will be many more letters for you, baby, but for now, I should really work on my book, so I will have more time and money to spend on you when you get here.

Love You Forever,

Mommy

Open Letter

Due to my inability to focus this day, I have decided to write a letter to all the things running through my head.

To my feet,

It is not because I abhor you that I dress you in less-than-comfortable fabulous shoes. It is simply because there are enough people out there who detest feet, and I should feel badly if I didn’t do my best to make them like you. As such, I bid you reconsider your cruel decision to continuously crack and flake and generally appear unappealing. I shall punish you by making sure no one is allowed to lick and fondle you until you react differently.

To a certain annoying person,

You are irritating as fuck. No, you don’t know everything, and it galls me to no end that you think that you do, and that you think I care to hear your narcissistic self boasting of how you plan to take measures in hopes of making things better. Things could only be better if you went away. So please, do.

To bad tippers,

I pity you, because karma waits for no man, and when you are being eaten by governmentally-enhanced were-people, you probably won’t even realize it’s your own damn fault.

To my Rockstar’s Daughter,

When I tell you to go away from me, it’s because I want you to be quiet, and as you are 12, and have a voice that echoes through three counties, that is clearly impossible. Do not misunderstand. I love you. I just love you better when I can’t hear you.

To my mailman,

I appreciate your rubbernecking due to my choice in gardening attire, as it reconfirms my suspicions that I am not completely a disgustingly fat turd, as my mirror and scale repeatedly tell me. However, I do not appreciate you delivering only undesired bills to my house. Just once, could you perhaps leave a check or accidentally deliver someone else’s issue of Playboy, please? Hey…. are you listening?

To my Rockstar,

I find you to be completely adorable, and your tush to be an incredibly inviting place to rest my teeth and/or hands. I do, however, wish that for just a day or two, you would cease working on our beautiful house, so I could feel a little less terrible about being a pathetic, lazy piece of donkey poo.

To my book,

Get out of my head, already. Find a perfectly blank computer screen on which to sit, instead of my overwrought, bipolar brain.

XOXO,

Sparklebumps

P.S. Chris Meloni, I haven’t forgotten you, no matter how hard I try. I suppose it doesn’t help that I see your daily posts on Facebook. I noticed you never even bothered to respond to my comment on your page, which made me sad.

 

 

 

An Apology to my Neighbors

Dear friendly neighbors,

I compose this letter today in the hopes that we can still be amiable aquaintances. While I have done nothing to openly displease you, it is, perhaps, safe to say that one or some of you may be slightly vexed in my general direction.

I apologize for spending five hours outside bent over my garden in my swimsuit.

Were it not the fact that, by some anyway, I would be considered pudgy or stout, I would not be issuing such an apology today. However, upon reflection of my own judgemental thoughts when faced with the excessive flesh exposure of some portly women in the summertime, I felt the need to ask pardon.

I, too, will explain why I have so blatantly bared my ASSets.

I have a problem with tan lines. Like, (and I’m sorry to revert back into a thirteen-year-old girl here, but) omg, batman! Tan lines drive me CRACRA!!!!!!! #insane. Due to having this past weekend off, I have already suffered the injustice of tan lines. My only option is to bare as much of my skin as possible in order to attempt a fading of such horrid atrocities. Thus, the semi-nakedness.

There is always the hope that the men amongst you are closeted chubby-chasers. If this happens to be true, then my apology is to the wives, who may have found their husbands open-mouthed and ogling, and finding reasons to venture outside- maybe feigning getting the mail- in order to get a closer look at my superfluous boobies that so stubbornly kept refusing to stay attired. Here’s the thing: it’s nigh impossible to find a swimmy that fits bosoms of such extent sufficiently. So pay no attention to the fact that I was adjusting and re-adjusting so as not to completely flash the whole neighborhood. Though I’m certain the men didn’t mind.

There is the fleeting thought that perhaps no one noticed me at all. That thought quickly dispersed, however, when I remember how viciously my Rockstar and I verbally gossip about you all when we see you puttering around your yards. Think nothing of it, it’s just something we do.

I cannot promise that I will never again assault your eyes with the sight of my husky thighs, (ha, that rhymed!) but I do hope you all may learn to ignore them. Or in the least, not tell everybody that there’s an almost naked girl outside, because it certainly seemed like A LOT of cars were driving by yesterday. Multiple times.

The girl next door,

Sparklebumps

P.S. I do not apologize for walking around inside my house naked with the blinds open. It’s my house. I can do what I want.

 

 

A Farewell to Maya Angelou

My heart is breaking.

It seems silly, to say such a thing because someone you’ve never met has passed away.

But here I sit, silent tears pouring down my face. Tears for the magnificent collection of words that will no longer be sculpted and forged by your contemplative hands.

I see them, all those syllables, lying in a heap at my feet, and think that they look just a little bit forlorn, knowing they were not the chosen ones to be plucked for your masterpieces.

Of course, now that you are gone, you will be wildly popular.

It always vexes me that so many are paid attention to so greatly in death.

People will say, “Oh! Have you read all of her memoirs? She was quite a woman. Phenomenal, in fact.”

I will shake my head, not because the answer is no, but because I have known these things far longer than they, and am sorry they have lost out on all that time they too could have known your words.

You were proud, and not afraid to say so, yet you prayed for humility.

I will feed your ego now, and not fault you if you strut around arrogantly just a little bit in Heaven.

I am afraid there will never be another like you.

Someone who is so unapologetically truthful, and unconventionally beautiful.

Someone who will say words just as they are thought, but in such a way that causes a violent reaction, one of delight, or love, or anger, or wistfulness.

I will forever be sorry I never had the honor of meeting you, and hope that one day in the future, when I pass through those Pearly Gates, I might see you nod your head at me, just so I know that you know I heard you.

XOXO

From one Phenomenal Woman to Another

 

Suck It, IRS

Dear IRS,

I have afforded you the courtesy of a “dear” in this letter, as I did not in my previous letter. You may (or may not) wonder why you have found me in such a pleasant disposition. I will tell you.

Today, for the first time in almost ten years, I owe you no money.

(Pardon me while I complete a little victory dance. No, I’m not having a seizure, I just grew up Baptist, so I don’t have the rhythm most normal people have. But yes, that was most certainly a completely vulgar hand gesture I was making in your general direction.)

I realize that there will always be poor unfortunate souls that your corporation will always prey on mercilessly, but no more shall I call my bank to find that you have withdrawn my last twenty-one dollars and thirty-seven cents without my permission. I will no longer need to write on my bill calendar your most deplorable automatic withdrawal payment that has been plagueing me like a virus for the last four years. With my now liberated monthly $100, I intend to purchase a ridiculous number of shoes, and books that will be added to my already multitudinous collection.

It has been brought to my attention that you do not care in the least about my opinion, oh wretched IRS, but that will not stop me on the 16th of every month from interrupting whatever it is I’m doing at the time to howl to the heavens most barbarically “SUCK IT, IRS!” while simultaneously re-creating the move made most famous by the wrestling tag team DX of Triple HHH and Shawn Michaels viscously several times in an unladylike manner.

Have a nice day,

Sparklebumps