Nice To (Kind of) Meet You, Mr. Deniro

Dear Robert Deniro,

I will begin this letter by saying I adore you as the lightning pirate who wears corsets and can-can scarves in the movie Stardust. Though you have made a career out starring as tough mob bosses and mentally unfit taxi drivers, I must admit that I did not truly appreciate your talent until I saw you parading around with a heart-shaped mole in this film. You may star in my future films as a sexually-confused air-pirate anytime.

That being said, I would like to point out that while you were equally as brilliant in your role as Jack Byrnes in Meet the Parents  and it’s sequals, I was so disgusted with that Ben guy that I couldn’t fully enjoy your performance. He seems to end up in a lot of movies I immensely enjoy, causing me great distress.

I’ve just gotten finished watching Everybody’s Fine on Netflix, and I without a doubt think that you should have received an Oscar for your performance as a lonely widower on the edge of death. While I watched, I thought to myself that I would surely not mind being your daughter, because you did love your children so. I am glad that you did not die at the end.

Thanks to Netflix, I was also able to watch The Big Wedding, where you played a horny old man with an ex wife and a girlfriend. Might I just say here- yay for you! If you can so easily play a randy seasoned patriarch, perhaps you are not acting at all, hmm?

Side note: While my previous letters to greatly-matured actors such a Anthony Hopkins have hinted at my possible lust for them, I must admit that I bear no such funny feelings in my pants for you, dear Robert. That is not to say I do not find you to be quite smashing in other categories. So sorry.

After having adored you so in the last few films of yours I’ve watched, I have made a point to put all of your movies that were available on my Netflix list. Sadly, Cape Fear and The Deer Hunter were not among these. So if you happen to read this letter, and find it even mildly amusing, would you be so kind to send me signed copies? If not, I guess that’s ok. It was only a suggestion.

I would like to congratulate you on the fact that you haven’t aged a day in the last 20 years. You don’t look a day over…. 65. Well, there has to be a few grand actors in Hollywood who aren’t just there for their looks, right?

If at any time you wish to produce a movie that requires that I play your daughter, or hired hooker, feel free to give me a call. It would be a great honor to work with you. I would even include a booby squishin’ hug upon our initial meeting, but don’t get any ideas. I’m saving myself for Chris Meloni.

XOXO,

Sparklebumps

 

No “Breakfast” For Me

I may be the only human being in Minnesota, the great USA, or the universe for that matter who has never seen the film The Breakfast Club in its entirety.
That is not to say I am unaware of the previous existence of a man named John Hughes.

A “genius” this man has been called, and so I firmly agree, as he cast a beautifully perfect Michael Schoeffling in a little known film called Sixteen Candles.

(Here is the part where I ashamedly admit that the only part I remember of THAT movie was something about a note being passed about masturbation and who the perfect candidate was to fantasize about during. Molly Ringwald , smart girl that she was, named Michael as her alone-time Adonis- and who wouldn’t?)

Pretty in Pink, John Cusack, that dude that married Megan Fox- these are all creations of Mr. Hughes and his amazing teenage-angst-ridden mind. This is why I’ve had a bug up my ass for the last week about finally watching his masterpiece The Breakfast Club.

I journeyed to Target on a mission- that of picking up this classic film for under $10, where I was convinced I had seen it available for consumption on numerous occasions. Imagine my shock and despair after I roamed the aisles of DVDs and blue Rays only to find my basket empty. (Except for some sparkly makeup).

“C’est la vie”, I said, “Walmart will have it.”

It was not so.

A sense of panic and irritation came over me when I exited the double doors of said big box store- How was I to relish the thrill of Judd Nelson’s questionable acting abilities if I could not locate the desired product? There was only one more place to try.

I have discovered that unless you have unlimited amounts of credit on your AmEx card, travelling to Best Buy is not for you. If you wish to purchase a big-ticket item such as a 55″ flatscreen or the newest Ipad for many dollars, Best Buy is for you. Otherwise, there’s not much to look at except cords and wiring for your surround sound. (And attractive techy men.)

I unwilling set foot inside Best Buy and sauntered over to the one (yes, ONE) aisle of DVDs. I will let you decide what I did NOT discover there.

And so, I am distraught, for I will not be able to reminisce about an 80’s movie I have never seen, nor join in any kind of club for breakfast, because every fuckin’ store I’ve been to has decided to take it off of their shelves because I finally want to watch it. Thank God for Amazon. But now I have to wait for it. Grrrr.

Loving Julia Roberts and Other Such Nonsense

There was a time “when men were kind, and their voices were soft, and their words inviting.”

Sorry, that wasn’t exactly where that sentence was supposed to go; just gearing up for my Les Mis audition.

Actually, what I was going to say was, there was a time when I believed Julia Roberts to be the best thing since the value menu at Burger King, but then I realized trouty lips don’t age well.

It’s been awhile since I posted, and there is really no good excuse for that, other than I was busy sleeping and reading The Help. I’m so sorry, my lovely followers who depend on me for their daily Special S, for I have let you down and not in the last weeks given you the fodder necessary to lose pounds from laughing your asses off. I shall do better, this I swear.

Anyhoo, back to Julia and her amazing platypus lips.

When I first saw Pretty Woman, I didn’t see a hooker in safety-pinned boots. I saw a tall slender woman with amazing red hair who was everything I would never be. At the time, I was not who I am now, mainly because I was a self-deprecating anorexic with bad hair. In the end, my point is that for a couple years, in my eyes, Julia Roberts could do no wrong. (Except for that movie Mary Reilly; it’s true not everyone can do period pieces.)

I had the entire VHS filmography of Julia up until the time DVDs became popular, when I then decided her best movies were My Best Friend’s Wedding and Runaway Bride. (The latter mainly because any glimpse of Chris Meloni still gives me chills in my drawers.) I opted to not replace all my Julia tapes with DVDs, and as they say in the Bible, I put away childish things, and never thought much about Julia again. (Partially because ever since she won an Oscar, she’s starred in nothing really worth seeing.)

This morning, I decided to watch Larry Crowne, and was again reminded why I fell in love with Julia all those years ago. Whether she is playing a dolled up hooker living a fantasy or a disenchanted community college professor in a failed marriage, she is absolutely believable. I must admit it was a bit disturbing to not see her trademark mile-wide grin until almost the end of the movie, but as she wallowed through her margaritas while mourning the lack of boobage her husband so desired, I could not help but identify with her.

It was then that I decided I was going to make carrot cake cupcakes.

I do not proclaim to be a domestic goddess, but in the past year I have felt the urge to bake cupcakes. Perhaps this is due to the fact that I watch Two Broke Girls on Monday nights. Whatever the reason, I thought that carrot cake cupcakes would be perfect for a post-Easter Monday.

I set about dirtying ever dish and measuring spoon I could lay my hands on, only to find right before I mixed that I hadn’t as many carrot shreds as my recipe called for. Not to be phased, I turned the dial on my hand-held mixer anyway, and produced extra-moist (I hate that word moist, blech) carrot cake cupcakeys that taste a bit more like pineapple than carrots. Ah, well. This is what comes of having my Rockstar pick up ingredients at the store.

P.S. I know you are wondering, “Rockstar? I thought she got rid of him?” Let us just say relationships are complicated. Welcome to my simple life.

Shame On You, Cinderella

So yesterday was an icy cold day yesterday in the Midwest, and I spent the day doing what any civilized child-minded person would do on such a day: I watched Disney movies with my Rockstar’s Daughter. ABC Family has become my newest favorite cable channel.
After re-aquainting myself with the story of Aladdin, (while singing under my breath to all the amazing songs written by one Alan Menken), I was thrilled to see that Cinderella was the next film to be featured. I realized as it began that despite having had the Golden Book version of the movie and having read it so much I had it memorized as a child, I had never actually seen the movie. Though the animation was aged and far inferior to that of my favorite The Little Mermaid, I appreciated the ugliness of the evil step-mother, and was inspired to in the future write the story of how she became so bitter and ugly. But nevermind about that for now.

I was of course distracted from the Scrabble game I was winning (philo IS a word, dammit!) by Cinderella when Bibbety-Bobbity Woman adorned her in a sparkling gown with look! glass slippers!  but I was even more distracted to watch the non-handsome prince immediately fall forever in love with her upon first sight. He knew he wanted to make her his queen without even knowing her name. Now I have just a little bit of a problem with that.

Yes, of course every girl (including me) dreams of being so beautiful just a glimpse of her will make a prince fall in love with her. ‘Tis true that a sparkling gown and glass slippers may aid in such a thing, but if a prince would notice such things as that, one may wonder if perhaps he should be searching for another prince. What disturbed me so about their first meeting was not that he fell in love with her, but the fact that she didn’t even say anything. There was no hint that she was a hard-working PETA member who could sing better than her ugly step-sisters, or that she was a dog-lover who could also cook a mean breakfast.

Now  I understand how a man could fall immediately in love with a beautiful woman, as this seems to happen surprisingly often to me, but I am convinced my stellar personality and DDD’s have a little something to do with that. Upon meeting me, men haven’t a chance to simply adore my supposed beauty, because they are lickety-split bombarded with questions of there origins and whether they wear boxers or briefs. My curiosity always gets the better of me.

Anyhoo, I am upset that the story of Cinderella fools little girls into thinking that all they have to do is look pretty in order to find happiness. Yes, accessorizing is a tool to help a girl cheer up when she’s feeling down, but she can’t just go around looking pretty and expect a prince to fall into her lap! She must at least be amusing, or sweet, or something! No man wants one of those bitchy pretty girls, do they?

Casting Agent Fail

I’ve just been to the movies.

I went to see Snow White and the Huntsman.

Given my inclination toward all things fairy tale and princess- related, you would think I’d be ecstatic right now.

I would be, except for one little casting mistake that was quite impossible to ignore.

Kristen Stewart was playing Snow White.

I could go on and on about the imagination it took to create such a magical masterpiece as I have just witnessed. The CG effects and action scenes rival those of Avatar. I could rave about the utter gorgeousness of Charlize Theron as the Wicked Queen, and the chilling effect her crazed-for-power eye bugginess had on my soul. I could babble deliriously over the rugged overly-handsome guy who played Thor who’s name I don’t know, and mention how sexy it was to hear him utter my favorite line- “Once upon a time.” Sadly, all of this cannot not make up for the disturbing and disgusting choice some must-be-insane completely mentally-handicapped fucktard made when he decided Kristen Stewart could ruin his entirely otherwise-perfect movie.

It is true I may have been slightly poisoned against Kristen during my temporary insanity days when I had to watch the Twilight movies. Don’t get me wrong. She was perfectly cast as the mousy personality-devoid Bella Swan. There was nothing she could do to make a limpid tiresome character less so. In fact, she seemed to have known this, because she did nothing including acting when she was getting paid to star in that squalid series. But I’m not talking about that anymore.

First of all, if you look back on your childhood storytime days, you may recall the fact that in the original Snow White, she was mentioned to be the fairest of them all. Who the fuck could even BEGIN to imagine Kristen Stewart as the fairest of anything?!?!?!?! Throughout the movie, the only thing I could think was,”Wow. Charlize Theron in full Aileen Wuernos Monster makeup would look better than Kristen Stewart at her best.” Kristen is not in any way hideous, or malformed, no. It is the fact that she has the figure of a 13 year old boy and the face of Sarah Plain and Tall that bothers me. If the girl could act, I wouldn’t give a shit- all the greatest actors are ugly. Chistopher Walken is a prime example. But how are we to believe that Snow White is the one to save the entire world from complete desolation when she walks around looking permanently constipated? You have no idea how badly I was hoping Charlize would slash scary knife repeatedly across Kristen’s face, just so her features would in some way move me.

Why couldn’t it have been ANYONE else?

Megan Fox, though slightly over-rated, would have at least provided the necessary eye-candy effect that Snow White is supposed to have.

How about Anne Hathaway? She’s deliciously pale and raven-haired. Her acting doesn’t suck either.

I realize Angelina is a bit old, but at least her acting ability is schooled enough that she could make you believe she was supposed to save the world.

Pretty much, any unknown half-decent looking actress off the street could have saved me from wanting to scream at the screen, “Kill her Charlize! Rip her face off!!!!!”

You have no idea how upset I am.

Discussing “Brokeback”

The other day I was perusing Netflix looking for fun and interesting movies to watch. I came across Brokeback Mountain, and thought, “Hey! I started watching that once and didn’t get a chance to finish it. I shall watch it now!”

First of all, the only thing I remembered about the “gay cowboy movie” when it came out was the episode of Oprah where she interviewed the cast and showed “the tent scene”.  For those of you who haven’t seen Brokeback, I will just tell you that the only sex scene doesn’t really show anything, and the sex is not of the romantic slow-motion butt-fucking sort. Other than that, as I watched the movie in it’s entirety, I realized it was quite a well-written heart-breaking story of love between a guy who could admit his gaydom, and a guy who was too afraid to. I must admit that when Ennis found his bloodied flannel shirt in Jack’s closet, I sobbed like a baby.

Anyhoo, after I got done watching the emotional roller-coaster, off to work I went. I later texted my Rockstar and told him he should indeed watch Brokeback Mountain since he had mentioned at one time that he had wanted to. He did.

The next night, we discussed and analyzed the movie as we sometimes do. While I did, in fact, like the storyline, I felt the movie to bit a bit too long and drawn out. My Rockstar’s opinion, on the other hand, was that the movie “sucked balls.”  He was much disappointed in the fact that there wasn’t more mushy love stuff throughout the movie, and to quote him- “It wasn’t even nice sex. It was angry scary sex.”

The only thing I could think when he said so was, “Oh, god. I am dating such a girl.”

Suffering From Temporary Stupidity

Pay attention, People, because this may be the only time I will publicly admit that I MAY have fucked up. I MAY have done something unsavory. In the words of Inigo Montoya- “Let me sum up.”

You all may have heard of a little movie that came out this weekend entitle  The Hunger Games. I was ecstatic about this fact, because I have read all the books and found them to be quite amazing. So when I found out that the movie version was coming out at the end of March, I told my Rockstar that I was going to see it.

I would like to point out here that when I told him this, I implied that he should go with me.

Anyhoo, as I was driving to church yesterday, the sudden urge came over me that I simply MUST go see The Hunger Games this week. Since I actually have multiple nights home with my Rockstar this week, I text him to make sure that he was still unwilling to expose himself to this young adult epic. I let him know that if he refused to go with me, I was planning on going after church, to the theatre of my past, where it was less likely that I was to be trampled by insane teens. He told me to go alone.

Here is the Thing. I do not mind going to movies alone. In some ways, I prefer it. I can sit where I want, I can eat as much candy as I want without sharing, and I can switch spots when the other movie goers are obnoxiously chomping their popcorns too loudly near me. However, if I am offering to pay, and I am in a relationship, and he has nothing better to do than sit in a dark theatre with me- he better fucking go.

I would also like to point out that this was one of the same flaws my ex husband had. I went to ALL the midnight showings of the Harry Potter films BY MYSELF, and numerous other movies ALONE because my ex “wasn’t interested” in them.

I’m sorry, maybe it is my histrionic personality  clouding my judgement, but I translate that as “I do not want to spend time with you bad enough to go sit through a movie I don’t want to see just to be with you.”

This is the part where I MAY have fucked up.

I sent him a text stating that my ex used to make me go to movies alone, and that I thought I had upgraded from him.

I didn’t hear from him for the rest of the day. In fact, when I got home, I didn’t hear from him either. But honestly, I had nothing to say to him at that point.

The plan for this morning was that I was to take my Rockstar’s Daughter to school. I woke up intending to do just that, and found that my Rockstar was NOT at work. I asked what he was doing home and he said he was going to take his daughter to school because he couldn’t just sit at work and wonder if I had woken up to do so.

I have never EVER not woken up on the morning I am to take her to school. And I have never EVER gotten her there late.

I have consulted with unnamed sources, and it seems the reference to my ex in comparison with my Rockstar MAY have caused a riff.

When this was pointed out to me, my honest thoughts were, “Oh jesus fuck. Is he really going to be a fucking crotch dog over that shit? Maybe he should have just gone to the fucking movie with me then. I’m not apologizing.”

And so now I have to sit here for the next ten hours wondering if my night is going to be shit because of my stupid big mouth. Fuck.

 

It Is An Honor, Sir Anthony Hopkins

To you, Sir Anthony Hopkins, the most highly-esteemed,

I have decided to compose this letter to convey the gratitude I feel to you for gracing the world with your unrivalled acting skills. It is only you, Sir Tony, who is able to portray a horrifically disturbed cannibal such as Hannibal Lector and still have enough charisma to make me want to dine with you. (Minus any human-based hors d’oeuvres)

Despite your ripened age, you seem to be unaltered- that may be partially due to the fact that you have looked old for many years, much like Willie Nelson. Your work ethic is admirable; you seem to be unslowed in recent years, still portraying demented and fantastic characters, such as the demon-possessed priest in The Rite– only you, Tony, could play an 80 year old man with the Devil inside of him with such refinement. And though you are not particularily attractive, I find myself drawn to you in a slightly perverse Anna-Nicole Smith- sort of way.

Perhaps it is because the of the moment in Legends of the Fall after you had had a stroke and you were so filled with joy at having your family reunited that makes you so alluring to me. Even though you went through the second half of that movie looking unwashed and sporting a stogie while being completely unintelligable, you made me want to sit down on your lap and have a conversation with you.

I was slightly disturbed by your performance as C.S. Lewis in Shadowlands, however. While The Chronicles of Narnia are among my top favorite children’s books, I very much disliked your emotionally-stunted C.S. Do not get me wrong, your work was stellar- I just prefer you as a highly-intelligent cannibal instead of a man not quite in touch with his emotions.

That reminds me, too, of your Van Helsing in Bram Stoker’s Dracula. Your excitement at discovering “the whore of the Devil” was made complete by your crazed dance. I should like to dance crazed with you at any time if you should so feel the need for company.

Since you are a Sir, Sir Anthony, I am assuming that you own a castle, or something comparable to a castle. If you need a maid, or a mistress with a supply of Viagra, or a mistress dressed as a maid with a supply of Viagra, I am your gal. If you need someone to play opposite you in a movie where you play a deranged cannibal or a demented doctor, I will gladly do that as well.

Your Truly,

Sparklebumps

 

Dear Kevin Bacon…

Dear Kevin Bacon,

I would like to take this moment to congratulate you on your inconceivable awesomeness.

Any man who can have a last name that is the same as the world’s most loved breakfast meat and still maintain his utter coolness is a god.

Also, your absolute grotness (hotness with a bit of gross) despite the fact that you have a skeletal face is quite admirable.

I myself cannot name that evasive quality you possess that makes my knees go weak when I watch your movies. Is it the fact that I spent hours upon hours as a child watching you being Footloose and fancy-free? I believe that may have had something to do with it. The fact that you posed as a teenager successfully when you were 26 is quite commendable, too.

I applaud you for your total and unadulterated creepiness in such movies as Trapped, Hollow Man, Sleepers, and…. OK, nevermind; there are too many to name. Let us just say that your film career has landed you in my top 5 list of most creepy actors of all time. This has me wondering if, in fact, you are naturally creepy, and are just using the… gift God has given you? No matter- your disturbing demeanor in no way would deter me from stripping in your presence and jumping your bones. I am proud to annonce that you shall be the first man I think of when I write my first screenplay about a serial killer/rapist/transvestite clown.

Kudos to you, for landing that hot Kyra Sedgewick lady as your wife. She is much more beautiful than you, and I am quite sure people look at you two walking down the street and think, “He must have a giant penis”. (Congrats on that.) I also must compliment you on directing her in the movie Loverboy, which made me acutely aware of the fact that I should NOT procreate; as I would exhibit all the same tendencies as the mother in that movie.

I believe you were appropriately cast as the man Jennifer Aniston engaged in “sex, the really dirty kind” with in Picture Perfect. As I have mentioned, it is very easy to imagine you are the kind of guy who likes to do girls up the butt. (I can imagine you administering a Golden Shower too, for some reason.)

In closing, I would like to ask you a favor. Because of the six degrees of you, Kevin Bacon, I have a pretty good idea that you may be able to hook me up with Christopher Meloni. I would be willing to trade one boob squish for one Chris Meloni. I think that’s quite a fair deal. Thank you.

XOXO,

Sparklebumps

 

P.S. Please don’t change the way you are. Your creepiness is perfect on you.

 

Alone Time With ADD

So yesterday was Thanksgiving, and as you all may already know, I got to sit home alone. Since I become completely awkward and shy at family gatherings, this did not bother me as much as it probably should have. Anyhoo, I had an ENTIRE day with which to do whatever I pleased, however I pleased. Let me assure you, after yesterday, there is no doubt in my mind whatsoever that I suffer from Attention Defecit Disorder.

The morning began when my Rockstar and his Daughter left for South Dakota. They both smothered me in hugs and kisses at 6:00 AM and departed for the western plains. I decided that since it was a holiday, I did not have to feel badly about sleeping in. Several hours later, I awoke from my comatose state and rolled my lazy ass outta bed. I say lazy because I realized when I went to bed last night that I abstained from brushing my hair at all throughout the day. (But I DID brush my teeth three times.)

Since there were no duties that needed my immediate attention, I switched on the boobtube and was delighted to see that the Macy’s parade was happening. (This is one of the things that I have vowed I must see in person someday.) I quickly changed the channel, however, when Avril Lavigne started… howling. I decided to see what fun and exciting movie I could find on Netflix live, and proceeded to doctor up a delicious cup of coffee-flavored sugar. I decided to watch Good Will Hunting, and was surprised that it very closely resembled the situation that I am finding myself in. No, I am not a math genius, but I have had several people tell me that I’m wasting the talents I possess by working menial jobs for almost no pay. I believe I managed to make it through this entire movie without moving simply because I am a slug for the first 3 hours I’m awake in the morning. Anyhoo, this is about the time that my ADD kicked in.

After the movie, I decided to blog for a bit, and then thought about finishing the last 20 pages of the book I was reading. I made it through 2 of the pages, before I decided that I should do the dishes that were piled up in the sink. After filling the sink with steaming hot water, I decided that I should wait a bit for the water to cool down before I washed the dishes; so I decided to find another movie to watch. While Netflix was loading, (Netflix is EXTREMELY slow when hooked up to an XBOX) I decided to check the stats on my blog, and then to write another post. When I finished writing my 2nd post of the day, I went back to Netflix and picked out another movie to watch. While the movie was loading, I thought, “I should finish the dishes.” When I was half-way through the dishes, my movie decided to start playing, so I sat down to watch it.

About a half hour into my movie, I paused it, thinking that I would check to see what wonderful E-mails I may have received. After finding an apology from a blogger that will remain nameless, and a bunch of emails asking if I would like to buy a Russian bride, I went back to my movie. Another ten minutes later, I decided to finish washing the dishes before the water got too cold. I will not bore you with the rest, but I will tell you that is took me 7, I said SEVEN, hours to finish watching an hour and 45 minute movie.

I have noticed that I am slightly restless like this when my Beloveds are home, but when I am alone, I cannot control it. Does this come from sitting for extensive periods of time in church while growing up? I’m not sure. But it greatly disturbed me that it actually took 7 hours for me to watch a frickin’ movie. No, I do not think I could concentrate long enough to perform brain surgery. Or to learn another language. Or to give a speech.

P.S. How ironic is it that the movie I watched was about a writer that couldn’t concentrate?