Tag Archives: Shoes

A Shopper’s Lament


Oh, dearest Victoria’s Secret, Half-Priced Books, and other assorted emporiums,

How I long to place myself amidst your aisles of merchandisive splendor. I desire to slip my size 9 foot into the newest pair of shiny blue stillettos that grace your windows and to feel the thrill that no matter how many McDonald’s french fries I eat, shoes will always fit. I crave the euphoria that comes with realizing that Revlon has just launched an entire new line of beauteous long-lasting eyeshadows perfect for the greasy workings of a Pizza Slut, and the excitement when I see that they are buy one, get one free.

It matters not that I own roughly 4,000 books that I haven’t read, no, no. I will always feel the urge to buy more. I blame it on the scene in Beauty and the Beast when the Beast gives Belle access to his entire castle library. The point is, buying books is the equivilant of receiving an orgasm given by a long-time lover who knows exactly what makes your toes curl. It is a high that takes you at least a half hour and a nap to come down from. Alas, I can no longer use the reasoning, “A Chuck Palahniuk book. I must buy this, as I have eyes that can read.”

My anguish is cause by the fact that I have just finished figuring out exactly how many dollars I owe because of unnecessary purchases at your establishments. $13, 642 doesn’t seem like alot until you say it out loud. In my defense, at least $2,000 of that is actually moneys my ex-husband owed in my name, but I don’t want to talk about that. Also, I suppose I should have paid the Cooking Club of America when they were sending me recipes and an apron with my name embroidered on it. (Although, I am not completely satisfied with the performance of that apron, as it had not the desired response from my Rockstar when I wore it sans clothes.) Too, I owe the St. Cloud Times $25 because I signed up to receive the Sunday paper solely to do the crossword puzzles, therefore enhancing my already superior intelligence. The rest, sadly is a result of my own shopping transgressions- not recent ones, mind you, unless you consider the fact that I’ve been spending the moneys I should have been paying bills with on books. And shoes. And guitars. Oh my.

I have come to the conclusion that if I can resist the temptation of JCPenney’s new Friday and Wednesday sales, and if I take the long way around the mall to get to Target, therefore bypassing any devilish shoe stores, it will only take me ten months to pay off everything I owe to the point that I will be debt free and able to purchase my dream car, a 2012 Boss Mustang. While a completely awesome car may not compare to a closet full of shoes, it may last a bit longer than my lavender and gold Hale Bob wedges that I noticed are getting quite worn out. And it would be quite pleasant to no longer have satanic debt collectors calling me at all hours of the morning and night, posing as that mysterious Unknown person that I don’t know.

And so, my beloved shops, until January of next year, I shall feel your absence like a shotgun wound to the boob every time I get paid. But fear not; when we are again reunited, it will be sweeter than ever, as I will be debt free and armed with a plethora of re-uasable shopping bags.

Forever yours,

Sparklebumps

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Adventures In MOA


Hello, My Lovelys! Let  me re-introduce myself. I am Sparklebumps, and I work as a Pizza Whore, which makes me unable to post daily on my blog like I’d like. Instead, you have to wait 4 days in between amazingly entertaining posts. So sorry about that. I missed you.

Today I get to to tell you of my adventures in MOA. For those of you not from Minnesota, (I believe that’s all of you besides Delightful) MOA is what we Minnesotans call…dum dum dum…. THE MALL OF AMERICA. The greatest mall in the ENTIRE world. The convergance of everything retail. (And some things not, like Hooters) A place filled with sparkly and over-priced items….

I must admit, each time I go to MOA, I am slightly more disappointed than the time I went before. I am still not entirely sure why, but I think it may have something to do with the fact that I end up walking by the same stores 6 times and don’t buy a thing. In the 15+ years since MOA has been there, I can honestly say that I’ve only bought something there twice. (Unless you count the purchases in the multiple candy stores.)

Anyhoo, yesterday was the first day of spring break for my Rockstar’s Daughter, and he had taken the day off, so we decided to venture the 70 miles to entertain ourselves at MOA. Despite having bought new 5″ heels that I haven’t had the oppurtunity to wear yet, I wisely refrained, and instead donned my sequined ballet flats.

The intent was to entertain the Daughter for the day in the Nickalodean-themed amusement park that sits smack dab in the center of the mall. Since I am not the child I once was, I can no longer spend a day taking multiple rides on the Spongebob roller-coaster without feeling like I will hurl my lunch all over the children standing innocently around. So I stuck my Rockstar with the job of chaperoning his Daughter on the many vomit-inducing rides and ventured out into the rest of the Mall.

Having been absent from the MOA for nearly two years, I was delighted to find a few newly added stores. Imagine my excitement when I passed and then did a retake of the Betty Page Store. WHAT?! An entire store dedicated to the fashions of the greatest burlesque dancer of all time?! Not only was this wondrous store full of polka-dotted textiles and sailor-inspired dresses- it had T.V.’s actually playing Betty Page videos! I felt a little awkward when the sales girl startled me out of my strip-tease watching trance…

Also, I was exstatic to find that my beloved Betsey Johnson has decided to grace Minnesota with one of her stores. The most awesome of shoe and clothing designers has made it possible to NOT have to fly to Vegas to purchase her wares. Sadly, her adorable bubble dresses do not come in sizes sufficient enough to cover my excessive boobage, so I was forced to only try on her equally-adorable shoes.

In my voyage through the Mall, I also realized where it is that I belong.

From four stores away, the glitter of Swarovski called to me, and I was immediately drawn to their display windows. I stood slack-jawed as I walked into the store and found myself surrounded by everything crystalled and sparkling. How unendingly happy I would be if I was to work in such a place every day. I am quite certain my almost-O face assured the manager that I was unfit for employment, however.

It seems that creepys exist away from my town of residence as well. I was minding my own business, ogling yet another shoe store as I walked by it, when I realized a not-unattractive man was following me. I continued on my way, quickening my pace, intent on losing him. Sadly, my short little leggys were lacking the extra 5″ of stilletto necessary to outrun a persuer, so he easily matched my pace. I stopped, and cringed, waitng for the expected assault. It came.

“Hey, I’m Ray.” Ray’s eyes did a once-over of my body, which always immediately makes me hunch into myself.

“Hi, Ray.”

“I was, uh, just wondering if, you know, maybe, uh, I could get your phone number and get to know you.”

Narrowing my eyes, I straightened myself out and hit him with my best defense.

“I have Man Parts. You can have my phone number if you still want it.”

I, in fact, have no Man Parts, but apparently Ray didn’t want to get to know that.

Also, as I was waiting to meet up with my Rockstar and the Daughter on the third floor by Steve Madden, a boy resembling Justin Beiber kinda sauntered over in my direction, stood several minutes ogling my boobage, and then decided he was too much of a pussy to engage me in conversation. That was a little weird.

Strange, too, was the instant I came around a corner and had a man nearly collide with me, only to have him say, “Whoa! I saw your shirt and had to look twice!” (For your info, there was no cleavage showing yesterday.)

When I met up for a snack with my Rockstar and his Daughter, I was thrilled that after a decade of aching to check out Hooters, my wish was finally to be granted. We entered Hooters and I realized I did not hear the choir of angels I expected as I stepped through the door. Instead, the musical notes in my head fell flat, as my boner would have if I had one in my pants. Let me tell you something. When the Hooters menu states that you will be “served by a beautiful Hooters girl”, what they mean is “you will be served by a girl who is a size 00 wearing a push-up bra who has no ass to fill out her delightfully-orange shorts.” Because every waitress there had a waist smaller than my right thigh. Is this a sick game? Is Hooters just a cover for pedophiles? Because all those girls had bodies of 12 year olds. By the way, Hooters wings are NOT that great, so when your boyfriend tell you that’s why he goes there, don’t believe him. At least I got a thrill when my Rockstar bought me a Hooters T-shirt. Which I fill out quite nicely WITHOUT a push-up bra, I might add.

My Rockstar and his Daughter returned to the rides after the Hooters debacle, and I was hustled by the Israeli woman at the Natural Healing kioske when she found out my hands resemble a farmer’s. After she insisted I rub my hands with her miracle salts, she continuously lowered her price on her products, thinking I would break and buy. I stayed strong, and did NOT spend $59, or $49, or $29 for one jar of salt. I must say, my hands are incredibly soft. So soft, in fact, that my Rockstar insisted on actually holding my hand at various intervals throughout the day. That woman’s salts were indeed miraculous. After many hours of ogling shoes and other shiny things,  I ended up at Barnes and Noble. Of ALL the stores in ALL the Mall, I ended up spending 3 hours in a bookstore. Imagine that.

P.S. The only other store I spent a decent amount of time in was the Disney store, only to be sorely disappointed that they had no Little Mermaid merchandise.

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If I Had A Million Dollars


For some reason, the fabulous Barenaked Ladies song of this title popped into my head this morning. Since I fully intend to earn a million dollars someday, (whether it be by my writing, my sexual prowess, or by my general awesomeness) I have given great thought to the question- “What would you do if you had a million dollars.” Let me just tell you what I’d do…

First of all, to keep from looking like a completely selfish bitch, I would buy my Rockstar the Gibson gold top guitar he’s always wanted. (The $5000 one, NOT the cheap version) Sadly, I think this guitar is wretchedly ugly, but it’s what he wants. (Silly man)

Since I would be at Guitar Center anyway, I would then buy my brother the most sparkly set of drum I could find, so he could get ready to join our band Carousel. They really should be purple, since that’s his favorite color, but my bass is purple, so that just would be too much purpleyness.

On the way back from Guitar Center, I’d have to make a stop at the Yamaha piano dealer and buy an Elton John limited edition Red Piano, because I need one.

I would be very hungry from making my musical purchases, so I would have to stop and get some French Fries from McDonald’s.

I would then stop by the house I always dreamed of having while I was growing up in my home town and offer them much dollars to sell it to me.  It is a pea-green version of the house in Anne of Green Gables and though it is not a castle, it would do quite nicely.

Since I would have a house, I would then go to the Humane Society and seek out the biggest cutest mutt puppy (anything mixed with a great dane or a St Bernard)  I could find. If there was more than one, I would probably buy them both; also maybe a kitty or two.

Let us not forget the Ford dealer! I refuse to go to the dealership in St Cloud, (because the salesmen  are fucktards and easily get distracted by my boobies.) So anyhoo, I would order my specially-designed fuschia 2012 Boss Mustang, and since I would be rich, I’d have to buy a beautifully-giant shiny candy-apple red F-350, with NOT tan seats. (Sorry, Rockstar. If you don’t like it, you don’t have to ride in it.)

I suppose I should do something useful with my dollars, so I would buy a little shop somewhere and open a used bookstore where I could wear what I want (heels and fun skirts) and display what I want (all my bloggy friends’ published books) and do what I want. (flirt with customers and read and write my books). It shall be a raging success.

In order to properly attire myself for business, I would have to go on a new wardrobe shopping spree. Just because I’m a millionaire doesn’t mean I would be rid of my thrifty ways, so I would still only buy things on clearance (with the exception of shoes) and I would use re-usable bags to carry my purchases out to my new Mustang.

After shoe shopping, I’m assuming there wouldn’t be much moneys left. So then I would go home.

 

 

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My Resolve


Happy New Year, my Lovelys! Sorry I have been absent for the last few days… I was busy…re-aquainting myself with my Rockstar and his Boner after his many days away….

Anyhoo,  it seems that I have a habit of making absurd resolutions that are quite nearly impossible to achieve (without having my own personal dominatrix to assure succes), so this year, I have decided to only make New Year’s resolutions that are actually feasible.

1. I resolve to go to McDonald’s only ONCE a week, except for special occassions such as Wednesdays, Fridays, and Sundays.

2. I resolve to buy only shoes that are NEEDED. I NEED shoes that will match my fabulous sparkly multi-colored tights, because non-matching shoes would just be un-classy. Also, a pair of nude heels is a necessity, as they match with everything.

3. I resolve to physically exert myself at least once a day. (Sex is exertion, right?)

4. I resolve to only buy  clothing after I have lost 5 lbs. (Fortuneately, my shoes weigh 5 lbs.)

5. I resolve to keep my “sexual oozing” from oozing onto everyone I meet, if at all possible….

6. I resolve to not get fired from my job because of my blog.

7. I resolve to think of someone other than myself for at least one minute every day.

8. I resolve to NOT think of sex for at least one minute every day.

9. I resolve to smile at and not think bad thoughts about crapper customers and/or sucky co-workers at least once a week.

10. I resolve to lessen the amount of brandy/whiskey/ other assorted liquors I pour into my alcoholic beverages, in an effort to ration said liquor; therefore saving money by making it last longer.

11. I resolve to refrain from cursing profusely unless extremely angered or distraught. (Taylor Swift winning any musical award and work-related incidents are examples of extreme anger-inducing circumstances)

12. I resolve to pay off my Victoria’s Secret credit card. (Thereby enabling myself to re-open said card and “rebuild” my credit by purchasing much-needed butt-floss undies.)

13. I resolve to not wear open-toed shoes in the middle of winter. (Which means I NEED a pair of fur-trimmed boots.)

14. I resolve to work on writing my already-begun book at least one hour a day. (In an attempt to become the writer that I really am.)

OK, I think that about does it. These resolutions, I think, are quite acheiveable…

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Sinner


Good Friday to you, my Lovelys! So for some reason yesterday- perhaps because I was bored of thinking of saucing and cheesing at work (which I am very excellent at, by the way) I began thinking of the Seven Deadly Sins. I was not raised Catholic; instead, I was raised to believe that no sin is worse than the next. This thinking is still a bit ludicrous, since I believe most people would agree with me that chopping someone’s head off and wearing their skin as an overcoat is bit more dispicable than screaming, “Fuck!” when you stub your toe on the toilet, but who am I to judge? So, this morning I looked up the “deadliest” sins, and was disturbed to see that according to some religions, I belong in all the circles of Hell. I have listed them here for you, (with the Latin terms as well, so you can all be a bit smarter today) and the ways in which I have committed these infractions:

Lust (luxuria): OK, I’m sure you are all thinking that I picked this one to go first, when in fact, it was the first one listed on the Wikipedia. So there. Dante’s definition of this sin was “excessive love of others”, which I admit I am guilty of, though not in a naked way. If we go with the Wikipedia definition- desiring a person outside of marriage– that’s another story. So I guess there’s nothing more to do than tell my Rockstar he’d better marry me to keep me from going to Hell, eh? Of course, there would still be the issue of Chris Meloni…

Gluttony (gula): Wasting of food, either through eating too much food, drink or drugs, misplaced desire for food for its taste, or not giving food to the needy -I assure you, there is no food or alcohol wastage going on in my presence. However, my misplaced desire for McDonald’s french fries may be a sin. My need is assuaged when I make sure to buy myself some, though, so that makes up for the sin, right?

Greed (avaritia): This was describe as wanting more things than a person needs. But at least I USE all my shoes…

Sloth (acedia) : This is one I’m not quite as guilty of. However, I’m quite sure that someone would find a problem with me vegging out in front of the TV watching Sex and the City for 6 hours after my work is done.

Wrath (ira): Inappropriate (not right) feelings of hatred, revenge or even denial– I believe my feelings of anger toward my ex-boss for getting firing are completely appropriate. I have no such explanation for Taylor Swift.

Envy (invidia): I must say, I do not hate people for what they have, because I have more. (Boobs, that is.)

Pride (superbia): Wikipedia’s definition of this was:  A desire to be important or attractive to others or excessive love of self. I’ve been told this is a mental disease known as histrionic personality disorder.  If I were in court, I believe I would be found “not guilty” by reason of mental disease or defect…

So there you have it. Since I have seen fit to confess my sins, that absolves me, doesn’t it?

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A Little Note


There is a little habit that I have in my home life. I leave notes.

This habit most frequently manifests itself when I put together lunches for my Rockstar to take to work. These notes are quite un-important-“XOXO” and “Have a beauteous day with the fucktards” being the gist of them. I include them just to remind my Rockstar that I exist (as if he could ever forget) and to let him know that I think of him.

Last night, after returning from a hellish night as a Pizza Slut (I shall go into greater detail in a future post) I left some rent money for my Rockstar with a note letting him know that I’d have some more for him some time soon. (At least, that is the intention)

Now, the note thing is just my own little practice. I do not expect reciprocation, and have never received it. (This seems to be common in my relationship…) However, when I got up today, there was a little note with some of the money I had left for my Rockstar.

“You keep this. Go buy some shoes.”

I could not have thought of a more romantic thing for him to say.

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For the Love of Shoes


There are many many kinds of shoes.

There are shoes that are black.

There are shoes that are bright.

There are shoes for the daytime,

and shoes for the night.

There are sandals for summer,

There are boots for the fall.

There are shoes that wear fat feet,

and some that wear small.

Tall shoes, flat shoes, sneakers, Mary Janes,

There are even special shoes for people with canes.

There are shoes for the farm,

and shoes for the city.

Some that are ugly,

but most shoes are pretty.

Shoes, shoes, shoes, shoes,

All the wonderful shoes!

All shoes are good shoes,

whichever you choose!

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