Tag Archives: Love

Confessions


Just like Usher, I have decided to record my confessions; sadly, I cannot dance like he can, and they are not put to music:

I am not, nor will ever be, someone who truly thinks of others. I mostly only help other people if there’s something in it for me.

I love my Rockstar’s Daughter, but there are times when I can’t help thinking that things would be a lot different if she didn’t exist.

I sometimes miss my ex-husband. (But at no time have I ever considered going back to him.)

I sometimes fantasize about living completely alone and having nothing to do except read my arsenal of books.

I secretly (or perhaps not so secretly) wish Chris Meloni’s very tall wife would contract some fatal disease and he would become acutely aware of my existence; causing him to find solace in my disturbingly short arms.

I wonder every day if I have made the right decision to stay with my Rockstar since he doesn’t desire to have babies with me.

I wonder if I started a Playboy-like website starring the one and only Sparkle and charged for membership, if anyone would actually pay to see the ginormous magnificence.

I flirt incessantly, despite the fact that I am in a relationship.

I have fooled the majority of people I know into thinking that I’m independent, but I’m really just a scared little girl waiting for someone to save me. I don’t even know what from.

I put up a front of confidence, but I secretly think homicidal thoughts about every pretty girl I see.

I know I could write better and deeper music than Taylor Swift, yet I am deathly afraid I would do so, and nobody would tell me that I suck just as bad as she does.

I want to shave my head so I don’t have to deal with the pubic-bushlike mess that grows out of my scalp.

I am appalled at the fact that my Rockstar thinks his daughter is too stupid to get any kind of a scholarship to college other than a sports one.

I want everyone in the world to absolutely adore me.

I have written a New York Times bestseller in my head. Sadly, I have had it there so long not written down that I am beginning to hate it.

I have considered eloping with anyone who would ask just to see what would happen.

I consider pursuing sex with most people I meet. (For the record, I only consider it.)

I believe in a higher Being, but I’ve often wondered if Satan is it.

I am terrified of being considered boring and just normal.

 

 

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Bitch? Please.


I have a brother.

I don’t know if you’ve been paying enough attention to know that.

Despite having the same mother, we were raised on the complete opposite ends of the parenting spectrum. Where I was raised in a strict and suffocating household, my brother was oft times ignored and then left to his own devices. Upon my arrival into this world, my brother was then treated as a irritating leftover from a previous life, and I was withheld from his aquaintance in the hopes that his juvenile delinquency wouldn’t rub off on me.

Many years later, after he was hospitalized for having a mental breakdown, my shy self felt it necessary to get to know the brother I remembered from my youth. We soon became fast friends, and I realized that we are truly related, as we both inherited the one good trait our mother possesses- empathy. We both of us at times worry about other people’s feelings more than our own, which sometimese results in our own misery.

Being the sister of a brother I did not know deeply from youth, the subjects of our conversations may not necessarily be the norm between siblings. This may be the reason I ended up knowing about my brother’s unbelievable decade-long dry spell.

My brother’s non-self-imposed celibacy had throughout the years been the butt of jokes between us, yet I was greatly relieved for him when he called a few months ago and revealed that he had once again lost his virginity. He rambled on about his newfound sex partner, and then proceeded to shock me with the information that he was, in fact, not in a relationship, but had gained a fuck buddy.

Let me be clear- I condone all forms of sex (that do not include animals), and so a fuck buddy relationship is not what is shocking. The fact that it is my brother, who has the somewhat-womanly mentality that sex actually means something, who is having a fuck buddy is what’s shocking. Upon receiving more information, I found that his “buddy” is in love with her baby daddy, and from the sounds of it, likes to use my brother to buy her alcohol and to babysit her kid. My brother assured me that he was fine with the situation, but after receiving many phone calls from a deeply sensitive brother who is upset because of his feelings for a certain someone, I find myself to be unbelieving about his assurances.

I was willing to give his “buddy” the benefit of the doubt in the beginning- perhaps she was just lonely; perhaps she realizes my brother is a good guy and wants more to do with him; perhaps she will someday forget about her baby daddy and live happily ever after with my brother. Perhaps.

I went to visit my brother this last week, and after spending the day with him and hearing all about how terribly this woman makes him feel, I was intent on never meeting her. From what he told me, she needs a shrink and a beating. I found that I am more than willing to be the one to administer said beating. Imagine my irritation when the bitch calls my brother when I’m visiting, and insists on coming over to meet “the wonderful sister he talks so much about.” I could not contain my inner groan when my brother informed me his bitch was on her way over.

I rolled my eyes and told the truth. “Look. I wanted to meet her because you like her for whatever fucking reason. Sadly, after hearing you say ONLY negative things about her all the day, I must tell you that I no longer have that desire, and so I must depart before this devil woman arrives.” My brother, while maybe disappointed, understood where I was coming from, and so walked me out to my yellow truck. Sadly, I was unable to make a clean getaway, and the bitch wandered out of her building and sauntered over to meet me.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you! Oh! You’re so pretty! I can’t believe how pretty you are!” She gushed and continued. “Your brother’s a good man. He’s a really good man and my son loves him.” I agreed whole-heartedly that indeed my brother is a good man, yet in my head I was wondering why on earth any woman would introduce her child to a fuck buddy. Like kids don’t have enough going on to confuse them. I civilly accepted her hug, and automatically returned it (because I cannot NOT give a hug) and then gracefully waved a non-friendly goodbye.

A few hours later, my brother called to confirm that I returned home safely, and corroborated that I am not the stellar actress that I thought I was. He said to me, “Yeah, as soon as you left, she asked, ‘She hates me, doesn’t she?'”

For the record, my histrionic personality makes it impossoble for me to completely hate her, because she said I was pretty. But the healthy side of me does indeed loath her.

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Marry Me, David Tutera


My Dearest David Tutera,

It is confounding to me that up until a month ago, I was unaware of your fabulous existance. My friend Delightful was unendingly rambling on about your expertise and general amazingness as the famed wedding planner on your show My Fair Wedding, and I foolishly brushed off her suggestion that I watch your show at first. It was not until I was completely bored that I decided to check out your show on Netflix, and at that very point in time, my life was changed forever.

I am desperately in love with you, and cannot imagine life without you. I cannot eat, and I cannot sleep, because I am so obsessed with watching all the beautiful weddings you’ve created unfold on my TV screen. My blogging has suffered because of you- for I would rather watch you create amazing experiences for beautiful (and sometimes not so beautiful) brides, than to concentrate on writing something entertaining. You would think that the lack of my pursuit of fame would make me despondant; but no, it matters not, because I have wasted many hours of my life admiring your reality TV persona.

I must admit, my heart was crushed when I looked you up on the Wikipedia and my suspicions were confirmed that you are, in fact, gay, and in a relationship. What a lucky lucky man you have in your grasp. While the relationship between you and I could never be one of tradition, I would gladly be your female beard if you ever fancied to take one.

While most women would watch your show and fantasize about you planning their wedding, I do not do so. It seems my opinion of weddings and marriage have been slightly marred because of past experiences. Instead, I dream of planning weddings with you, or at least being your chauffuer, or some other person in slight servitude to you, so that I may be close enough to maybe only touch the hem of your fashionably -forward garment.

You are a beautiful man, with a beautiful heart, (and a beautiful faux-hawk.) I love you so because you are so ensconced in creating realities out of the dreams of brides everywhere. Since I am assuming that you are desperately in love with your man partner, would you at least consider being my best friend? What wonderful memories we could make shopping for shoes and watching Wizard of Oz. If at any time you feel the urge to change your sexual orientation, please know that I am waiting here for you, ready to prove that women aren’t so bad.

Love,

Sparklebumps

P.S. If my Rockstar DOES ever propose, please consider this letter an application to your fabulous show. No one could plan a wedding between a Rockstar and a should-be-princess better than you. XOXO

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“Look What I Bought For Us.”


In the past history of this blog, there have been many confused and irrational ramblings by some girl closely resembling me. If you recall, she wanted her Rockstar to propose; but wait! She wanted to have babies and was quite certain she was willing to give up her Rockstar if he didn’t give up his sperm. For the record, you are now entering the life of a Libra. Please keep your hands inside the cart for the duration of the ride, and hang on for dear life.

It’s funny to think how different things were even a year ago. I was happily employed at a bookstore where every day was like Christmas, and would nightly go home to my Rockstar who would or would not greet me with a bear hug and a boner, depending on his mood. I spent a good deal of time waiting for him to say those three little words (I love you), or even four little words (Will you marry me?), growing increasingly preturbed by his refusal to verbally commit to me. After this weekend, I realized that all that time, I should have been dreaming bigger, and expecting even MORE words. Maybe even six whole ones. I didn’t even know I wanted to hear them until after they were said:

“Look what I bought for us.”

For those who may not have known, (or may have forgotten), it was my birthday last Friday. I cannot say I celebrated it, as I spent the entire day in a hellacious prison acting as a Pizza Slut. Luckily, my Rockstar missed me enough this week that he brought me to work at 9 AM, and came back to pick me up at 1:30 AM just so he could see me for a few extra minutes.

While I have never expected birthday presents from the man I’m in a relationship with (other than birthday sex), I cannot say that I would refuse or deny any gifts that were purchased with my day of birth in mind. My Rockstar in the last weeks purchased yellow shocks to replace the ones in my very yellow truck, and while not necessarily meant as a birthday gift, I appreciate the gesture greatly. That being said, the fact that my Rockstar took me out for breakfast at Perkins on Saturday so I could eat lunch food was more than enough of a birthday present.

When I arrived home Saturday night, my Rockstar’s Daughter wished to show me the new fuzzy blanky her daddy had bought her. After tucking her in and raining kisses upon her, I went into my own bedroom intent on plastering myself to my mattress for the next 5-7 hours. My Rockstar rudely (or so I thought at first) turned the bedroom light on and said those few words I’ve waited to hear all my life.

“Look what I bought for us.”

Without knowing my Rockstar, it may be hard for you to understand the great depth of his meaning in these words. He is forever talking about going to this race, or taking this weekend to go dirt-biking, or looking online to purchase guitar gear instead of a house. While it is unspoken yet known that I am invited to participate in these activities, there has been few or no times when he has referred in conversations (at least with me) to he and I as “us”. Him being a man of few words, (unless it has to do with Mitt Romney) I could not have been more shocked or delighted if he had said, “Here’s a castle for you and a pair of swarovski-encrusted stillettos for you to marry me in.”

If he would have put a pile of cow shit on the floor and said, “Look what I bought for us”, I would have thrown my arms around him and covered him in kisses for saying it in such a way, nevermind the dung. Luckily, he bought for us sheets, which perhaps seems quite insignificant to an outsider, except for one little detail- they were purple. Which means he bought them specifically with me in mind. Who needs a ring and a proposal when there are purple sheets to dirty? 😉

 

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Uptown Girl


Many months ago, my lovely friend Delightfulness invited me to a party that at the time was to be held at a To Be Determined date. Her boyfriend’s wakeboarding group holds annual Video Premier Parties, and she wished for someone to help keep her entertained while he frolicked drunkenly with his mates. I quickly agreed, as any chance to dress up and hang with a like-minded pal is never to be passed up. After getting all fabulated last night, (as in, dolling ourselves up fabulously) we made our way to Uptown Minneapolis.

There is something to be said of Uptown. Surely, it is over-populated with hipsters and other wanna-be uniquees. But who cannot be awed by the beautiful old buildings that don every corner, and the many businesses trying to be different from all the others? We arrived to the bar where the party was getting started after driving around trying to figure out how to get there because the normal roads were blocked off for the annual Art Fair. Before we stepped into the specially-reserved Messanine Room, I was pleased to have my extensive cleavage ogled by a man with a Heinekin and a wife in the elevator.

Upon entering the “super-special M room”, my friend and I plopped down quite lady-like in the overstuffed leather chairs that are impossible to get out of and proceeded to analyze and Joan-Rivers the steadily growing guests. Later on in the evening, I actually texted my Rockstar the picture I took of the Girl In the Too-Tight Dress as she became known, because the fact that I could see her entire crotchal area and almost her bare bottom could not rudely be kept to myself. It seems that karma most certainly came around on that incident, when Delightfulness disbelievingly pointed out the two non-gentlemen sitting near us indiscreetly taking pictures of my boobage in my sparkly dress. I asked her if I should note to them that such pictures should be used for masturbation purposes only. She, for some reason found this hilarious.

There was one thing that greatly disturbed me. In the wide open party room, the bathroom was blatantly obvious and open to the general public. Of course there was a door with sufficient locking mechanisms to promote privacy while one did their business; however, I needn’t point out that men who imbibe multiple liquorous beverages care not who sees them pee. And so, I decided after seeing at least four men in the urinal position, I needed to find a different restroom to use. Delightful and I headed upstairs to seek one.

Alas! There was no restroom to be found on the open roof of the building, but as we descended once again to the lower levels of the Underlings, I was stopped by a security guard on the stairs.

“Wait! Wait!” He cried in his burly black man way.

I looked around in horror, afraid I had in some way offended the Uptown way of life as I walked down the stairs in my 5″ heels.

“Yes?” I replied hesitantly.

“How you doin?” (Ah, I thought. I understand) He flashed his flirty non-ugly smile at me. “Come here, come here.”

I difficultily ascended a few stairs and leaned forward to hear his whisper.

“Where you from? What’s you’re name? Can I have your number?”

I gave him a million-dollar smile and shrugged.

“I’m Nobody from Far Away, and I don’t know my number.” Delightful and I raced down the stairs when he nearly flung his cell phone at me while trying to convince me to enter my number. Apparently the tie I stole from Delightful’s boyfriend was a Security Guard Magnet.

The rest of the night was a blur, as my older-than dirt brain began to wear down. After leaving the party and trekking a good four blocks in the rain to procure a slice of pizza for the drunken boyfriend of Delight, we were on the road home.

I must say that having a plastered individual back-seat driving is a humourous and yet somewhat-annoying experience. After driving around Lake Calhoun and a few neighborhoods where we could have gotten shot, we found our way back to the interstate. The night was made complete with a late-night stop to Taco Bell, which was disturbingly disgusting. Within 30 seconds of setting foot in Delightful’s apartment, I was sprawled on her couch snoring nearly soundlessly.

P.S. We took a picture in our fabulous get-ups, and laughed hysterically when it looked as though I was pointing at Delight’s much-smaller-than-mine boobies.

 

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A Perfect World: A Sparklebumps Daydream


I was thinking today about what the world would be like if it were exactly the way I think it should be. Of course, the normal ideas of no war, or hate, or prejudice came to mind, but as lovely as that sounds, those weren’t exactly new and original enough to get my heart pumping at an accelerated and excitable rate. I’m certain there will be a few raised eyebrows from some that read what I would constitute as Perfect World Ideas, but then- would it be a Sparklebumps post if there weren’t? 😉

1. People would express their…. physical emotions without the fear of jealousy, envy, and homicidal tendencies exuding from their significant others.

In translation, if a person met someone and the two felt a mutual physical attraction, they could feel free to act on that without their spousal/girlfriend/boyfriend companion yelling and shedding the Tears of One Scorned. I realize this could possibly be the most absurd idea you’ve ever heard, and would probably result in a world full of people fucking numerous and infinitismal amounts of people, but isn’t that happening anyway? You never know what could happen if you would have banged that hot chic that was making eyes at you at Walgreens while you were waiting to pay for your Colon Cleanse. Maybe you’d be living happily ever after with her and your harpy wife….

2. Instead of smiles and handshakes, people would greet others with hugs.

Just think, if you had to hug everyone you came into contact with, you’d make sure you were well-cleaned and smelling fresh always, wouldn’t you? In my opinion, this idea can only result in a world full of beautifully-scented individuals. It would perhaps also brighten many people’s days.

3. There would be a International World Unity Day.

Instead of having a Gay Pride Parade, or a Republican National Convention, every single person would set aside the ideas that make them different from each other, and remember that we are all human, (or mutant) and grab a beer, or a non-offensive carbonation-free beverage, and shoot the shit.

4. There would be no money.

Have you ever watched those zombie apocalypse movies or end of the world films and thought to yourself, “It’d be totally awesome just to be able to go borrow whatever you needed from the local grocery store.”? If we could just barter and borrow and share the things we had, wouldn’t things be alot easier? You know, like I could just go to the Ford Dealer and let the salesman know I’d bring that Boss Mustang back after a joy ride? Keep in mind, I haven’t thought about the economical fallbacks of this plan…

5. Everyone would be read to as a child.

It seems to be that those who have been read to as children grow up with a more developed vocabulary and a excelled wish for knowledge. It would be lovely if I never had to hear the words, “I seen that happen.” offend me from someone’s mouth ever again.

6. People would be truthful and direct with everyone. And they wouldn’t be offended.

If you didn’t like someone, you would tell that person, so they could do their best to stay away from you, instead of you pretending to be that person’s friend and then going to Joe Blow and backstabbing said disliked person.

Also, if your girlfriend asked you if she looks fat in this, you could say yes without fear of your balls being removed while you sleep.

7. Taylor Swift, Michael Bolton, Kristin Stewart, Stephanie Meyer, and other Ass Clowns of Questionable Talent would be rightfully quarantined to an island on the Moon.

 

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Writing Lessons


So I am in the midst of the final leg of a trilogical journey. Let me make an observation here.

E. L. James’ writing did NOT get better with practice.

Yes, I am once again referring to the disaster known as The Fifty Shades bonanza.

One thing any person that reads occassionally may tell you if you ask is that a book that is excellent and well-written is hard to put down. (Unless, in some cases, it is too intense and one needs time to cool down.) Let me point out something here.

I’ve had no issues putting down these books. In fact, I’ve been wallowing through the last one for almost a month because I get so easily distracted from the relationship between Ana and Christian Grey.

Perhaps it’s the “Gah!” and “Argh!” I keep reading.

Let me explain.

There is a bit of sexual content in these books, and nearly every instance is punctuated with these words.

I don’t know about you, but even in the throes of passion, I’ve never used the word (if indeed it even is a word) “argh.”

In fact, when I think about it, even my un-passionate moments are devoid of this word.

It is safe to say that I would perhaps only use the word “argh” in a text, that would not be spoken out loud.

Men, I have a question for you- If a woman cried “Argh” while you were doing here, would your reaction be to groan in your throat and come?

I didn’t think so.

How about “GAH!” ?

Does that speak to a baser feeling in the pit of your stomach?

I actually began giggling when I read two pages of a sex scene and noticed Ana repeating, “Ah.” “Ah.” Ah.” Was she gonna climax, or was she gonna sneeze?

It is true that I have never weilded my penis in a way that would perhaps make women react thus, (except my faux one that one time with that one girl) but I would assume that “Oh, god” and “fuck me” would be the standard desired response.

Too, would a man punctuate his thrusting with “You. Are. So. Beautiful.” ?

Because Christian Grey did.

I believe I would also giggle if that happened in real life.

Anastasia Steel described it as “Hedonism gone wild.”

Here is an excerpt from the last book.

“In one efficient move, he dispenses with his pants and boxer briefs so that he’s gloriously naked and looming large and ready over me.”

Translation: “He whips his huge boner out and is ready to stick it in.”

Here is an example of how I would have worded that phrase- “He smoothly slipped out of his clothes, and I drew in a sharp breath when I saw his want for me.”

Please tell me that’s a bit better than “someone looming large over me.” It sounds as though he had a monstrous mutation hiding in his pants.

No, Anastasia’s not the only one who states the obvious in monosyllibic and uninteresting ways.

“Oh, you’re so ready.”

No shit, Christian. You generally want a girl to be wet after playing with her clit and stroking her nipples. If she’s not, I’m sorry to say that she’s probably not that into you.

“Oh, what you do to me.”

Tell us, Christian, because I can’t quite figure it out by the thing looming large over Ana.

At least he thinks she has a “glorious ass”.

 

 

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Reminiscing


Remember when there was a carefree girl called Sparklebumps who had time to write on her blog every day about whatever was on her mind? (Mostly sex.) I think she got lost somewhere between “Welcome to Pizza Hut” and “Shut up and do what I say dammit!” She even fell asleep before her Rockstar got a chance to use his boner on her last night…What the hell?!

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A Love Letter to Abraham Lincoln


My Dearest Abe,

I have long admired you; ever since the fourth grade when I was forced to recite your Gettysburg Address in front of an entire class of 10 year olds. Thank you ever so much for instilling in me the knowledge that “four score and seven years” is 87 years. That is about all the mathematical intelligence my brain has retained from my days of youth.

I wished as I got older that I had lived in a different time- a time of hooped skirts and slavery, not because I am for slavery, no- I abhor it immensely- but because I would have loved to meet your statuesque self and perhaps had the opportunity to see if the Honest Abe I learned about in school books was , in fact, a myth or a reality. I’m quite certain if I had met you after your marriage happened, there would have been some lying going on to your wife, Mary Todd. (Which I would have felt somewhat bad about.) I’ve always been curious what a man of your stature would do with a woman of menial height.

I remember how thrilled I was on my visit to Frank Lloyd Wright’s House on the Rock when I saw that they had re-created your childhood home, complete with log cabin and a studly mannequin that resembled you. The ax he held was a fine weapon indeed.

I must admit, Abe, after I became aware of Chris Meloni, my feelings for you ebbed away slightly. I admire the great thing you did when you signed the Emancipation Proclamation, because yes, all men (and women) should be free from slavery. (Unless they enter into it freely with a Sexual Deviance Contract.) I remember the school trip we took to Washington D.C., where I burst into tears when we toured the theatre where your plain but beautiful head was blown off. I realize now that I was suffering from teenage hormones, but fear not. The sadness I felt over your death was true.

It has come to light in more recent years that you were a vampire hunter before  you became the leader of our great nation. I must admit this knowledge has rekindled the fire I have for you in my heart. How I wish we could have vanquished the undead together- you with your silver-plated ax and I with…. well, um.. my boobs seem to have a distracting effect; however, I’m not quite certain how they would hold up against Dracula’s descendants. It would have been quite lovely to find out.

In closing, I would like to state that, while I cannot lust for you at this time (because you are dead and necrophilia has never been something I’ve been curious about) if you feel the need to haunt me in the late hours of the night, I shall be waiting naked in my bed.

Love,

Sparklebumps

P.S. I do wonder how my Rockstar would feel if I asked him to grow chin-strap whiskers and don a top hat….

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Truckery


My Rockstar must really love me, because he bought me a truck. It’s even an awesome color.

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