Tag Archives: music

I Can Sleep When I’m Dead

It would make sense that after a gruelling week at work, a person would want to go home and unwind, perhaps with a bottle of Pinot Grigio or some other uppity foofoo swill. However, it seems I have a very different way of unwinding.

I am pleased to report that after putting in 52 hours in four days as a Pizza Slut last week, I was still able to rush home and make myself excessively presentable on Friday night in order to take my Rockstar out to see L.A. Guns perform.

It matters not that L.A. Guns first got together as a band when I was yet entertaining myself with My Little Pony and Sesame Street. It is true that my when thinking of the music of my youth, my reminiscing first goes to New Kids on the Block and Michael Jackson. That being said, this is one of those times when I wish that I were ten years older, so that I may properly recall fondly the days of 80’s hair bands in the style of my Rockstar and my much-older brother.

Because of their passion for all things 80’s rock, my brother and my Rockstar both have instilled in me the love of hair and heavy metal bands, shirtless lead singers, and heroin-hooked bass players who don’t necessarily recognize the groupies they banged back stage. While I don’t necessarily remember popping a top at a high school party to the high-pitched voice of Vince Neil singing Ten Seconds to Love, my ears perk up when tunes of such ilk make their way through the radio to my aural devices. Oh, to have such energy as Dee Snider when he announces the House of Hair on Sunday mornings. You certainly don’t see that sort of reaction when Ryan Seacrest mentions Justin Bieber’s Girlfriend song.

Anyhoo, I found out that L.A. Guns was coming to town, and I knew my Rockstar very much liked them, so I stated that we must go, no matter how tiring my work schedule has been. So I donned my new teal and purple heels, and off we went to the Red Carpet.

The Red Carpet is a historical nightclub in downtown St. Cloud that is best known to me as a magical money-sucking machine. As in, I will enter the front door with $100 and within four hours, have nothing to show for it except an excessive buzz and empty pockets. The decor is hideous and in need of an update; the stage is miniscule and hardly large enough to support a stack of Marshall amps; and the bartender girls are deliciously adorable and adept at taking dollars from your hands. It’s great.

Being set in a college town, the Red Carpet is usually filled with the over-educated and underpaid younglings of St. Cloud. Happily on Friday night, I was pleased to find that for the first time since I became of legal age, I was the youngest in a crowd of mullet-sporting, stuck-in-the-80’s group of people. With my Peach Schnapps and water in one hand, and my own middle-aged Rocker in the other, I prowled the many floors of the Red Carpet intent on scoping out any hot chics that were present and awaiting the arrival of the Guns.

By the time the show started, my Rockstar was sufficiently drunk enough that he could no longer hide the child-like enthusiasm he felt at being able to see a band from his youth. He rambled on about the demise of the band he’d put together in high school, and about how frustrated he was when they hadn’t wanted to rock out to L.A. Guns. I assured him that when we finally start our band, we will jam to whatever floats his boat. Then the show started.

One of the disappointing things about a band that’s been touring off and on for some 20 odd years is that generally not all the original members are usually present. This is not necessarily a huge issue, as long as the lead singer is still around. I can say with fair certainty that though I never witnessed L.A. Guns in their heyday, I believe that Phil Lewis (the lead singer) was the heart and soul of the band. Strutting around in his bedazzled un-buttoned shirt, his performance lacked nothing despite the fact that his younger and obviously much-prettier days were past. In my inebriated state, I even noticed that he most certainly was making eyes at me during The Ballad of Jayne. Too, I was amazed to see that he had the power to make every fan there scream in ecstasy just by yelling, “Hey! Hey! Hey! HEY!” and pumping his arm in the air.

As I walked precariously back to my car while berating myself for stupidly wearing gorgeous heels to a rock concert, I thought to myself, “I’ m so glad I didn’t decide to stay home and sleep.”

P.S. I also decided I need to become a Rockstar.


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Musical Distraction

So HR Nightmare gave me a blog post idea because he didn’t think I’d be able to do anything with it. The idea was to write about music in relation to moods and the way it changes a person’s moods. This may veer a little off course, but here you go.

I love music. I could spend all day singing along to songs I know, and trying to emulate the people that sing them. I attempt with all that is in me to hit the perfect pitch of squealing when singing “Hee-Hoo!” like Michael Jackson. Celtic Woman is a bit harder, but I straighten my back and stick out my boobies to maintain perfect singing posture when belting out, She Moved Through the Fair. I grow increasingly irritated when, after repeated attempts, I fail to reach the notes sung by Martina Mcbride in A Broken Wing.

The reaction my father has to music that cannot be played in churches is quite humorous and ridiculous. I seem to recall at my wedding to my ex, the strains of Alan Jackson’s “It Must Be” love filtered out of the DJ’s speakers and into my father’s ears. His reaction was to cover his ears and shake uncontrollably as though the devil had possessed him. Incidentally, I used to have the same reaction when I was younger and forced to listen to the shrieking operatic voices of church ladies who THOUGHT they could sing.

80’s Heavy Metal seems to get the biggest reaction out of my Rockstar. Play a little Black-N-Blue or Ratt, and he immediately starts banging out a drum rythym on whatever hard surface  is available. (Please note: He has had no formal drum training) We like to crank the tunes when downing brandy and playing darts, (which I usually win) and it seems that this causes a general horniness to come over us, as we have on various occassions bumped uglies to the musical interluding of Lita Ford and Motley Crue. Good times.

At work, I have found that my co-workers’ tastes are very ecclectic.

My fellow co-manager, while choosing tiresome elevator music for our customers, can, during closing hours, be heard emitting an other-worldly growl while listening to death metal on his Ipod. Luckily, this music gets his butt moving, so we don’t have to be at work til 2 AM.

One of my drivers, despite being 38 and 320 lbs, twitters prettily to the young people music of the day. He is especially loud when it comes to any Adele song, or that song with the girl who squeaks her voice in the very beginning of the song. It matters not that the radio we have at work is old and static-y- he continues to crank it loudly enough that a messy, staic-y sound reached my poor ears. This makes me quite perturbed.

There are too, those songs that bring tears to my eyes. Most of them have to do with my ex-husband, such as Tesla’s We’re No Good Together. Still others make me cry simply because of their lack of musical inclination. Case in point, any Taylor Swift or Miley Cyrus song. Miley Cyrus, to you I have one thing to say- “sometimes you gotta climb that mountain”, just so I can push you off that cliff.

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You Disappoint Me, Carrie Underwood

Dear Miss Carrie Underwood,

I shall begin my letter by saying that I had high hopes for you. I was one of the several million people who voted for you on the finale of American Idol, even though Bo Bice had that whole sexy Southern Rock thing going on. At that time, I was certain that anything you touched would turn to gold.

I find you to be completely gorgeous. In fact, the only thing that has kept you from replacing Angelina in my spank bank is your blonde hair. While it suits you perfectly, I cannot get over the fact that I despise blondes. Kudos to your hairstylist, however, for making it look as good as it can look. I am a bit concerned, however, about your weight. When you first caught our attention on Idol, you were a perfectly healthy-looking girl from Oklahoma. I realize the pressure to look good in all those free designer clothes is hard to deal with, but, girl, you need to eat a sammich. A whole buffet of them.

It is true that you have become one of the top-selling musical artists in the country. I would like to have a little chat with you about that.

No one can deny that your singing voice is stellar, and any remakes you do sound better than the originals. So why the hell don’t you pick some songs to record that showcase your voice?! I believe you are suffering from Mariah Carey Syndrome- you are so focused on picking catchy tunes that people want to sing along with that you do not remember that your musical talents far surpass the average karaoke singer, and that you owe it to the world to sing those songs that no one else is able to. The well-sung songs from your first album are long forgotten in the wake of more “popular” hits such as Before He Cheats, Cowboy Casanova, (that song suck balls by the way), and The More Guys I Meet. I cannot deny that your wardrobe in these music videos is admirable, which somewhat takes away from the harsh reality that you suck at making song choices. I just can’t talk about this anymore.

Of course there are millions of fans wanting to pay the exhorbitant prices for your concerts; why wouldn’t they, when you insist on wearing skirts short enough that we can see what color panties you are sporting? The cameraman at those awards shows knows just the right angle to get from offstage to have filled us in quite well on your panty wardrobe. I suppose that I cannot really judge, after all, I market myself as a bookwhore. However, do not for one second think you have fooled anyone into thinking you are a nice girl. Your numerous ass flashes prove otherwise.

And what is this cross-over business? I find it deplorable that you pose as a country cutie, when you clearly long to be a Rockstar. Shame on you for taking the money of all those ignorant hicks who cannot tell the difference!

All that being said, if you would have someone else choose your songs for you, I’m sure you would have a whole nother group of fans.





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I Am A Green-Eyed Monster

So you all know that I’m a happy girl who loves everybody and is extremely self-confident, right? Boy, have I fooled the shit outta you.

I embody the first two qualities perfectly, yes. However, I will tell you something now that you might not know yet- I go through life with a Jealousy Monkey fucking me in the ass every single moment. That being said, it may come as no surprise when I tell you that the constant butt-drilling I get leads to Jealousy becoming my dominant personality trait.

One of the things that makes my jealousy acceptable is the fact that I do not begrudge people for whatever happiness they receive from whatever it is that makes me jealous of them. I am jealous of those in perfect relationships, but I would never wish them to NOT have a perfect relationship just because I don’t. They say Misery loves company; the truth is- I prefer solitude.

I will give you just a few examples of the things that I am jealous of:

I am jealous of Carrie Underwood and her perfect face and her perfect voice, and the fact that she gets endless commercial deals despite the fact that she has the inability to choose good songs to sing with her perfect voice.

I am jealous of my friend Delightful, and the fact that she possesses one of those tiny bodies that make you want to stick her in your back pocket. She also has amazing sparkly eyes that are not poop colored, like mine are.

I am jealous of the people that own Mustangs, because I haven’t one; and I am jealous of the fact that these people have the dollars to afford the Mustangs in the first place.

I am jealous that deceased celebrities such as Michael Jackson and Whitney Houston are talked about more than I am. Why can they not have the decency to share the fame they no longer need?

I am jealous of all the excessively talented pianists on Youtube who can play Chopin’s Fantasie Impromptu, because no matter how much I try to practice it, my timing is off and my fingers do not carry enough dexterity and speed to play it properly.

I am jealous of Nicole Kidman and her porcelain white skin, because though I possess the exact paleness she does, I just look pasty and all my veins show.

I am jealous that  untalented writers such as Stephanie Meyer have become household names because they had the gall to write about such ridiculous things as sparkly vampires and werewolves falling in love with infants.

I am jealous of the fact that my Rockstar’s Daughter received cuddling so much more easily from my Rockstar than I ever will.

I am jealous of Taylor Swift and the fact that her unimaginitive choices of subject matter for her songs has made her rich enough to buy a castle if she so chooses.

I am jealous of the fact that my douchebag of a former boss gets to continue working in MY bookstore, despite the fact that he hates books, and hates customers, and ogles young women, and sexually harrasses his underlings, while I slave away as a Pizza Slut.

I get jealous of people flirting with other people when I am readily available to be flirted with. This one is a bit confusing, because yes, I get jealous of the girls who are getting flirted with by men I don’t even find attractive. It IS all about me, you know.

I am jealous of those people that go around being happy all the goddamn time. I try that and find it utterly exhausting.

I am jealous of people that live in all the places that aren’t here. Sadly, if I were to move to any of those places, I would probably be jealous of the people that remained here.

I am jealous of those women (and men) who have perfect straight hair that can just wake up, run a brush through their hair, and go about their day. The fact that they can run a brush through their hair without creating an afro irks me most of all.

I am jealous of the fact that no matter how good of a writer I become, I will never be able to write lyrics as excellently as the band Black Stone Cherry.

I am jealous of Chris Meloni’s wife, and the fact that she gets to booby squish him whenever she wants.

I am jealous of women with babies, and pregnant women, and babies, and little children that are still adorable and not evil spawn from Hell.

One of the things that you all can be jealous of, though, is the fact that I have awesome readers who actually want to read this shit. 😉 XOXO





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Dear Anthrax Dude

Dear Dude from the band Anthrax,

I regret to inform you that you are not as famous as I’m sure you would like to be. I decided to compose this letter after having seen you on a Youtube video where you were once again sitting namelessly amongst a crowd of better-known celebrities. I apologize for my insensitivity in this matter, but your existance is really beginning to piss me off.

I must ask you one thing- what the fuck is your name? After having spotted you on numerous star-studded syndicated shows such as I Love the 80’s and the Zakk Wylde Celebrity Roast, I am disturbed to realize that I still cannot tell one person your name. Am I that completely un-observant, or do the producers of these shows triple-size the “from ‘Anthrax'” that is printed under your name in order to further push you into obscurity? Is you name so common- like Bob, or Joe- that it just glides through my brain and gets lost in the kerfuffle? I certainly wouldn’t doubt it.

I would like to point out another distressing fact- I cannot introduce you, Anthrax Dude, neither am I able to name even one song from your band. In my world, I am surrounded by music connisseurs who possess infinite musical trivia knowledge, yet not one of these Rain Man-ish people listen to Anthrax, as far as I know. Is your music so awfully hideous that it defies attention? I am afraid to find out.

Anthrax Dude, as I am unable to comment on the quality (or lack thereof) of your musical talent, I shall therefore have to comment on the things I know about you. I would love to shave or otherwise trim the horrendous beardism that is attatched to your chin. While goatees seem to be increasing popular, the only thing your frazzled whiskers seem to be doing is keeping you from getting you own Hollywood star on a sidewalk in California. While your choice in chin accessory is questionable, the fact that your head is shaven is commendable, since you sport a very nicely-shaped skull.

I realize my curiousity over your name and your band’s musical leanings could be easily enough put to rest; however, I believe that since I have not yet retained your agnomen, it is safe to presume that I am not meant to. And so, Anthrax Dude, you shall forever in my world remain that nameless dude from that musicless band who makes his living along with the other washed-up celebrities on those VH1 history shows.

Forever a Non-Fan,



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The Lyricist

So I know I’m not the only one who cannot always understand singers when they are singing their song lyrics. I especially have a tough time understanding Zakk Wylde. There is quite a list of songs that have Sparklebumps Translations- in other words, words I think they are singing. I took this opportunity to look up the actual song lyrics to some songs, but in all honesty, I think my lyrics are better….

1.The Blessed Hell Ride by Black Label Society

Sparklebump’s Translation: “One more drink, the dead break down and then another one.”

Actual Lyrics: “One more drink, a nervous breakdown, and then another war.”

I’ll take another drink. No war please.

2. Helter Skelter  by Motley Crue

Sparklebump’s Translation: “I told my dog, “Why they love you?” and “I’m cumming down back but don’t let me brain you.”

Actual Lyrics: “Do you, don’t you want me to love you” and “I’m coming down fast but don’t let me break you.”

3. Sweet Little Sister by Skid Row

Sparklebump’s Translation: “She got her ass in a crooked dress, smiling like an alligator. We got her headlights in the back of my car, tights lips now but six ship later.”

Actual Lyrics: “She’s got her hands in the cookie jar, Smiling like an alligator, Making headlines in the back of my car Tight lipped now but she’ll sink ships later ”

4. Walking on Broken Glass by Annie Lennox

Sparklebump’s Translation: “Since you went down on me, my whole life is trashed.”

Actual Lyrics: “Since you moved out on me, my whole life has crashed.”

I’m gonna say the guy had a magical tongue.

5. Cream by Prince

Sparklebump’s Translation: “This is it, it’s time for you to gallop and wire.” and “Look up in the air! It’s you tongue!”

Actual Lyrics: “This is it, it’s time for you to go to the wire” and “Look up in the air, it’s your guitar.”

6. Wild Side by Motley Crue

Sparklebump’s Translation: “I carry my crucifix under my bath dress”

Actual Lyrics:”I carry my crucifix under my deathlist.”

7.  Counterfeit God  by Black Label Society

Sparklebump’s Translation: “In this world of hat and face,” and “we edit your will and then your seed.”

Actual Lyrics: “In this world when at it’s best”  and “Hand over your will and then you’ll see.”

Sorry, there will have to be  a second installment of this, because my MP3 Player is short 400 songs today. XOXO

P.S. I never said my lyrics made sense….


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Sparklebump’s Infinite Playlist(s)

So I love music.

I love many many KINDS of music.

I have almost 700 songs on my MP3 player, and I should really make some playlists, but I like to just put it on shuffle and see what happens.

Here are what my playlists would be if I had them….

Songs I Crank Up:

Everybody Loves Eileen- by Steelheart

Counterfeit God– by Black Label Society

She Loves my Cock– by Jackyl

Legs Up– by Smashed Gladys

Holy Man– by Lita Ford

Tie Your Mother Down- by Queen

Share the Ride– by The Black Crowes

Nonstop to Nowhere– by Faster Pussycat

Songs About Me:

Dirty Little Mind- by Jackyl

About Me lyric: “She’s got a dirty little mind.” (Duh)

Drink in My Hand: by Eric Church

About Me lyric: “If you wanna impress me, Baby, here’s my plan, all you gotta do is put a drink  in my hand.”

Crazy Bitch– by Buckcherry

About Me lyric: “You’re a crazy bitch, but you fuck so good I’m on top of it.” (I’m not bragging- that’s what I’ve been told.)

When You’re On Top- by the Wallflowers

About Me lyric:  “Nothing’s ever as good as when you’re on top.” (Again, that’s what I’ve been told.)

Chrome- by Trace Adkins

About Me lyric: “Her favorite color is chrome.” (Because it’s shiny.)

Black No.1- by Type O Negative

About Me lyric: “She’s in love with herself, she likes the dark.”

She Goes Down– by Motley Crue

About Me lyric: “She goes down all night long.” 🙂

Gold– by Prince

About Me lyric: “All that glitters ain’t gold.”

Goddamn Devil– by Ugly Kid Joe

About Me lyric: “I’m the goddman devil, and I do it for free.”

I Get Off– by Halestorm

About Me lyric: “I get off on you getting off on me.”

Jesus and Gravity- by Dolly Parton

About Me lyric: “I’ve got somethin’ liftin’ me up, somethin’ holdin’ me down, somethin’ to give me wings, somethin’ to keep my feet on the ground… I got Jesus and gravity.”


My Rockstar’s Love Song List:

What Love Can Do– by Warrant

Love lyric: “I used to dream x-rated, now I only dream of you in my arms…. It makes us crazy, makes us blind, makes me call your phone a hundred times- that’s what love can do.”

Girl From Oklahoma- by Steel Panther

Love lyric : “Baby suck my balls all night.”

Tonight- by Sugarland

Love lyric: “I know how it feels to breath with you beside me.”

All I’m Dreamin’ Of- by Black Stone Cherry

Love lyric: “All I’m dreamin’ of is good times, good friends, and somebody to love.”

Take It Easy– by Andy Taylor

Love lyric: “Always love the clothes you wear, I can’t say that you turn me on, but why not stay all night long?”

Give Me Love– by Jasmine Cain

Love lyric: “You call to say you need attention, you know it’s more than I can give….. I hear you whisper in the night,’ Give me love, give me peace, let me have a voice to speak.'” (He’s right. I DO need alot of attention)

So Hott– by Kid Rock

Love lyric: “I want to fuck you like I’m never gonna see you again.”


My Karaoke List:

A Broken Wing- by Martine McBride

Don’t Stop Believin’- by Journey (technically, I like the Steel Panther version better)

The Way You Make Me Feel– by Michael Jackson (Hee-hoo!)

Heartbreaker– by Pat Benatar

If Looks Could Kill– by Heart

Hot Child in the City– by Nick Gilder

Adonai- by Avalon

Love is Forever– by Slaughter

“Fuck you” songs:

Fuck You- by Cee Lo Green (obviously)

Riptide– by Sick Puppies

Fuck You lyric: “I won’t justify the way I live my life….’cause you’re the one drowning, I like where I’m at on my back floating down in my own riptide,. The water is fine.”

Devil in Disguise– by Danielia Cotton

Fuck You lyric: “The last thing you’ll see of my is my backside.”

The Inside– by Jasmine Cain

Fuck You lyric: “You’re tryin’ so damn hard to make me belive you got somethin’ I need , as if I give a shit.”

Uprising-by Muse

Fuck You lyric: “They will not control us, we will be victorious.”

The Emperor’s New Clothes– by Sinnead o’Connor

Fuck You lyric: “I will live by my own policies…. through their words they will be exposed.”


I may have to do a part two to this…






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There’s No One Quite Like Dolly

It may not surprise my regular readers to find out that I find Dolly Parton to be utterly and absolutely amazing. No, this is not simply a silly celebrity idolization- I have read the woman’s bio and her view on life is so similiar to mine that it’s almost scary. I will admit, I loved her long before I ever read about her; after all, who doesn’t love a talented woman who accessorizes her ginormous boobage in rhinestones and wears too much makeup?

Dolly states that her three passions in life are God, music, and sex. Anyone who puts God and sex in the same sentence and does not apologize for it is worthy of applause in my book. Incidentally, God, sex, and books are my passions….not necessarily in that order.

I will admit that Dolly’s singing voice is not enviable. However, her song-writing abilities make up for that, and her crazy wanna-be-a-star ambition must needs be admired.

One of the estimable characteristics Dolly possesses is that she will never say anything bad about anyone. (This is something I think that I will never have) And even though she’s almost 70, she is still beautiful to me.

Now that my Dolly Lovefest is done, I shall leave you with a few of my favorite quotes from her:

“You’d be surprised how much money it takes to look this cheap.”

“My weaknesses have always been food and men, not necessarily in that order.” (Umm, I understand, Dolly. I do.)

“I modelled my look on the town tramp.”

P.S. I think I shall adopt Dolly’s thinking on excessive boobage- “If God didn’t want people looking, he wouldn’t have given them to me.” 🙂



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Thought #17

Apparently the people who voted on the CMA awards were too busy to read my post yesterday. They are evil and they must be destroyed.

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A P.S.A. for Taylor Swift Fans

The following is a public service announcement asking the world to stop the madness that is Taylor Swift fandom.

Taylor Swift should be applauded, for she is an insidious genius. She has taken her vocal range of six notes and applied it to a plethora of  obnoxious songs that appeal to teeny-boppers everywhere. Where would the world be without the aggravating sounds of Taylor informing us that she lost her virginity at Fifteen, while listening to Tim McGraw? I will tell you. We would be in a far superior musical place.

I entreat all readers to shut OFF their radios, until the radio stations quit playing You Belong With Me, because I hate to be the one to break it to you, Taylor, but you belong anywhere that is far from me, with a piece of duct tape over your mouth. The fact that you have deviously brainwashed all radio stations to play your songs incessently makes me cry Teardrops On My Guitar nightly.

Taylor’s exertions to deceive young girls that Today is a Fairytale makes her as guilty as Disney. I would like to here her explanation to the pre-teens who grow up and find that there is most likely NOT a white dress involved, instead, there is a good chance they will  be shopping for diapers in maternity clothes by the time they are 16 because they have looked up to her, and decided it’s ok to have sex at Fifteen because Taylor did. Shame on you, Taylor.

I believe we also should rid ourselves of the clusterfuck that is Taylor’s face. I don’t know about you, but every time I see her on a magazine cover, I think ,”There’s Another Picture To Burn.” To all you teenage boys obsessed I say: I’m sure you would be able to find a much lovelier face and body to masturbate to if you just LOOK AWAY!

No, I do not believe that we need to hear any more of Taylor’s Love Storys, because, let’s face it. The girl is 21. The only thing she has experienced is premature ejaculation and cookie crumbs in bed. If we must endure one more Story of Us– like song, I believe our brains will implode and people will be walking around with brain matter oozing out of their ears.

To the record label that so unwittingly unleashed the Taylor Beast, I have only one thing to say, “You Should’ve Said No.”


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