Tag Archives: New York

Shameful


I should be ashamed. I should. But I simply am not. This is where my sociopathic traits come in.

The stalkee has become the stalker.

No, I haven’t sauntered up to any unsuspecting women and commented on the nicety of their skin (as has happened to me here). Neither have I found myself outside an ex’s friend house proclaiming everlasting love and devotion as has happened here.

I will tell you a little story of how this all began.

Once upon a time, Sparklebumps got divorced. It was an amiable seperation, marked intermittantly with phone calls filled with tears and texts of “I miss you todays” coming from both parties. However, Sparkle knew it would be death to return to the life of her past, and so she resisted any urges of the sort.

Shortly after the divorce was final, she conversed with her ex and learned that he was dating again, and had chosen one specific Nurse-type woman as a potential mate. While Sparkle had no right to be jealous or feel bunchy (I’m sorry, that is the word that came to mind) she did, and stated that if an actual proposal was issued to this Nursey Woman, that she didn’t want to hear about it. (This was mainly due to the fact that Sparkle’s ex had never officially proposed, and despite the fact that she said she didn’t care, she did. At least a little)

The Ex said not to worry, as things were so completely different than his and Sparkle’s relationship had been, and the Nursey Woman wasn’t quite as fun, but much more bossy than Sparkle had been. He did say, however, that this Nurse would not allow a living-together situation until a big ol’ ring was in place on her hand.

Being the overly curious person that she was, Sparkle wanted desperately to catch a glimpse of this “bossy” woman who had all her shit together and was the complete opposite of her. Going off of the woman’s first name only, Sparkle devoted a ridiculous amount of time searching for nurses in the area with the same first name on facebook and MySpace, only to find… absoutely nothing.

A few weeks ago, she received a text from the Ex stating that he was moving in with his Nurse. Sparkle congratulated him on his engagement, which he for some reason denied had happened. She really is happy for him, if he really is truly happy. (and not alone.)

Then, last week, the Ex texted her again, asking if Sparkle wanted a box of old music books and other assorted paraphenalia she had left behind. (She is still wondering what he did with her patent leather prairie-style heels, as they were not in said box) He also mentioned he had joined Facebook again. (He had deleted his Facebook account when the leaving of Sparklebumps took place, as it was a tool that partially contributed to the leaving.) Sparkle thought not again of this point until she was bored today.

Sparkle logged in to Facebook and looked up her Ex, wondering if he had any pictures posted of the mysterious bossy nurse. To her amazement, she found that he did indeed. She also found that though they have only been together for a 6th of the time that Sparkle and he were, they have found time to travel all the way to New York, which is something that he blatantly refused to do with Sparkle. This would have made Sparkle feel that jealous bunchy feeling again, except for the fact that as she scrolled through the numerous pictures, she couldn’t help but think, “Na-na-na-na-boo-boo. I’m DAMN cuter than she is!”

All I got to say is- beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and trust me, she don’t be holdin’ no beauty.

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A Life Not Lived


So you probably all know by now that I was married once upon a time a couple years ago. Throughout the duration of my marriage, I devised a plan of what I would do if I was not married. (that may give you a clue as to how unhappy I was). Anyhoo, my plan actually became known as my Divorce Plan. (in the off chance that I was to get divorced.) Little did I know a guy known as Rockstar was going to come along and derail my little plan. Here is the extent of the life I would have perhaps had if my Divorce Plan had been executed as expected:

As soon as my divorce papers were final, I planned on selling every item I owned (I hadn’t decided about the books yet) taking the money I accrued and making my way to Las Vegas. I thought, “Hey. I’ve been a waitress before. I bet tips would be great in Vegas.” I planned on getting a job as a cocktail waitress at the Venetian, because they had the most fabulous uniforms. (Poofy skirts and heels) If I was unlucky enough to not land a job at this grand hotel/casino, the Flamingo was my backup. (Because it’s pink.)

In my mind, I always prepare for the worst. And so, I had resigned myself to working at the Bunny Ranch as a hooker (I KNOW I would make good money there…) when I couldn’t land a job at the casinos of my choice. After making millions, (or at least hundreds of thousands) off of my stellar pussy techniques, I was going to move to New York and become a writer, making even more money off of my memoir entitled simply Whore. It would then have been turned into a movie or a mini-series (Showtime, not HBO) in which I would have played myself, (because no one could play me as good as I) and I would have won an Emmy, or an Oscar for my performance. (Because my lifetime of pathological lying has made my acting quite superb)

I would then land a recurring role on Law and Order SVU as Stabler’s new partner.(because Mariska decided to have another baby and stay home) My character would be able to banter wittily with Richard Belzar’s Munch character, and her utter little-girl-lost personality would compel Stabler to divorce his wife and marry my character because of his macho I-must-save-you personality.

After filming SVU every day, I would give Chris Meloni a booby squish goodbye, and then go sit by the Alice in Wonderland statue in Central Park. I would watch all the interesting people walking by, and make up stories about them in my head, until one day a very handsome man, (or a very beautiful woman) came and sat next to me, and asked what I was doing.

We would immediately feel a spark, and never leave each other’s side. The royalties from my books and acting career would be enough that I would then buy a castle in Ireland, (complete with a library and one of those rolly-ladder thingys on which I would swing about and burst into song) where my beloved (him or her) and I would live happily ever after, procreating (or adopting) 5 boys,  and accruing 3 mastiffs and a Ford Mustang. And a goat.

(Chris Meloni would be devestated when I quit the show.)

I guess all that seems a little bit too dramatic. I guess I’ll stay here and have sex with my Rockstar…

 

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