Bloggers for Movember – My Homey G Chowderhead

My Homey G Chowderhead asked me to contribute my lovely photo with a proper douche stache to show my support for Movember (aka No Shave November, aka Prostate Cancer Awareness). Hey men over 40, get your ass to the doctor, and get a digital violation. It’s once a year and can save your damn life. We women go to the damn gyno once a year and birth children. One finger up the ass once a year isn’t going to make you less manly. Hey, you might find you like it. Hahahahahahahahahha!

While I’m not a participating blogger, I decided to show my support by donning some Fuck Me Red lipstick, Pinup style eyeliner and a stache.

Even Cinders my devil cat decided to show her support. Obviously, she was fucking pissed about it. You should have heard her growling at me. I thought for sure she was going to scratch my eyeballs out when I set her back down on the floor. It was for a worthy cause, so she endured. Kitty bitch didn’t scratch me, but I’m sure I’ll find a puddle of piss on the bathroom floor soon. That’s how she retaliates. With piss. GREAT!

Many of my blogger friends are having Movember contests. Visit them to find out more.

25toFly

Sips of Jen and Tonic

Brother Jon

The Life of JWO

Chowderhead

I’ve removed my mustache and my FMR lipstick. Still got my Pinup style eyeliner on. This old girl has to look pretty when she goes grocery and business suit shopping. Yes, the single life I live is so damn exciting I could pee!

Have a great Sunday my loves. Remember, every day we wake up above ground is a day to be treasured. MWAH!!!!!!!

Maybe I’ll write some smut later. Hmmmmmmm, we’ll see.

Tunesday-Taylor Swift

Everything has changed…..

I can NOT stand Taylor Swift!

And I’m a big fat liar pants. I want to hate her music. Tell you she has annoying beady blue eyes and she’s a hack. But I’ve come to realize she is quite genuine. She plays guitar, sings marginally well, and writes her own music. Taylor’s music is a little too pop for me. I want to hate her, but I just can’t.

I listened to the song, 22 and couldn’t help but sing along. As I took in the lyrics, I envisioned myself running around with one of my best guy friends, and acting all kinds of stupid.  However, the little heart sign she makes with her hands in every damn photo, makes me want to slap her.  This self-proclaimed Music Whore is on Taylor Swift crack!

I’m too damn hip for this. Oh my fucking God what’s wrong with me?

I don’t know about you, but I’m feeling 22!

I’m obsessed.  Give me more Taylor, PLEASE!

Awhile back I wrote a Friday Fictioneers story, about a sculptor, seduced by a man she thought loved her. I ended the story with the song, Trouble. The main character knew that the man was no good for her, but she fell anyway. He was trouble, yet she wanted him all the same. My character knew she would be left broken, but she had to try.

The Madness of a Woman Seduced

There’s Mean, Love Story, You Belong With Me, and my all time favorite, White Horse. I can’t forget Back to December either. Yeesh, I’m a sucker for lovely lyrics and a simple tune.

Say you’re sorry
That face of an angel comes out just when you need it to
As I paced back and forth all this time
‘Cause I honestly believed in you

Holding on, the days drag on
Stupid girl, I should have known
I should have known

That I’m not a princess, this ain’t a fairytale
I’m not the one you’ll sweep off her feet
Lead her up the stairwell

This ain’t Hollywood, this is a small town
I was a dreamer before you went and let me down
Now it’s too late for you and your white horse to come around

Simple words to tug at my sparkly heart . They make me want to write romantic stories about a knight in shining armor that comes to save the damsel in distress. Thing is, I’m no distressed damsel. I’m not looking for a white knight on a noble steed. I want to be my own KISA (Knight in Shining Armor).

Somehow Taylor’s music inspires me, to chew giant wads of pink bubble gum and blow bubbles the size of my head. To wear one of my many tiaras, act like a princess and wish for the age of 22. And to hope that someday, someone will be….Mine.

And I remember that fight, 2:30 a.m.

You said everything was slipping right out of our hands

I ran out, crying, and you followed me out into the street

Braced myself for the goodbye, because that’s all I’ve ever known

Then you took me by surprise

You said, “I’ll never leave you alone.”

You said. “I remember how we felt, sitting by the water

And everytime I look at you, it’s like the first time

I fell in love with a careless man’s careful daughter

She is the best thing that’s ever been mine.”

 

 

Tunesday-Across the Universe

Words are flowing out like
Endless rain into a paper cup
They slither wildly as they slip away across the universe.
Pools of sorrow waves of joy
Are drifting through my opened mind
Possessing and caressing me.

Lucy walked into Starbucks last night and stood before me. For a few moments we didn’t say anything. I hadn’t seen my young twin in almost a year, and here she was. Dark haired, with eyes painted like a classic pinup girl and hair cut and colored like Betti Page. I held her close and took in the familiarity of her form. Statuesque and bony from her straight edge life-style and vegan eating habits. I hugged her for as long as she’d let me. We ordered coffee and the blab fest began.

Jai Guru Deva. Om
Nothing’s gonna change my world
Nothing’s gonna change my world
Nothing’s gonna change my world
Nothing’s gonna change my world

Lucy can be a scared rabbit and it’s hard for her to let people in. Me, she let into her life and shared everything with wild abandon. I was her spiritual sister. Her older twin. She’d often ask if we could build a time machine and rig it somehow so that we could forward and backward in time and become the same age. I told her not to worry, I’d plan on living with her when I was old and we’d do all the crazy things we’d ever discussed. With fear in her eyes, she’d say that the world would never be able to handle it.

Images of broken light, which
Dance before me like a million eyes,
They call me on and on across the universe.
Thoughts meander like a
Restless wind inside a letter box
They tumble blindly as they make their way across the universe.

I spoke to her of changes in my life. That I was separating from Roger Darling. She shared that she was moving to another state for a great job opportunity. Her long-term relationship was in transition too. We caught up on all of our secrets, fears and even told each other dirty jokes. Hey, we are strong willed and smart women with filthy, dirty minds. At one point I laughed so loudly, I swear they could hear me in the next county.

Jai Guru Deva. Om
Nothing’s gonna change my world
Nothing’s gonna change my world
Nothing’s gonna change my world
Nothing’s gonna change my world

Lucy spoke of anxieties about moving away and all the steps she had to take to get settled. She was freaking out, but I assured her everything would be all right. All of the little pieces would fall into place. That the universe would align and all would be well. As our conversation commenced, Across the Universe by The Beatles drifted through the air. It was cosmic I tell ya. Fucking cosmic. Like it was meant to happen.

Sounds of laughter, shades of life
Are ringing through my opened ears
Inciting and inviting me.
Limitless undying love, which
Shines around me like a million suns,
It calls me on and on across the universe

Four hours later, our conversation was still going strong, but my long day was catching up to me. It was time for me to head home. We wandered out into the parking lot. As we hugged each other tightly, we promised to meet again before she left for good. I looked at her, and our history flashed through my busy mind. Even in the bitter yellow of the shitty street light, she looked fabulous.

Lucy and The Sparkly Girl, our universes have realigned, and the puzzle pieces are finally in place.

Jai Guru Deva.
Jai Guru Deva.
Jai Guru Deva.
Nothing’s gonna change my world
Nothing’s gonna change my world
Nothing’s gonna change my world
Nothing’s gonna change my world

45 Can Suck my Dick!

Fuck 40. 40 can suck my dick!-Debbie-This is 40

As I tried to drag my tired ass out of bed this morning, all I could think about was the movie I watched last night. By myself of course, because Roger Darling had a stressful week. He’s recently been promoted to assistant manager at the direct care group home where he is employed. I have to say when Leslie Mann bemoaned the fact that 40 could suck her dick, I agreed completely. Of course, I’m now 45. That age can suck my dick too.

What the hell have I become but a hamster on a wheel? I have to work out for an hour to eat a cupcake. Hell, to even take a bite of a cupcake, and not have it go straight to my ass. Forget carbs. A woman my age can no longer even enjoy a fucking bagel without calculating how many miles she will have to run to burn off the calories. This sucks!

I sit here in my workout clothes waiting for RD to get home so I can trot my ass to the gym and run a couple of miles. Of course, it’s been a few weeks since I’ve done any kind of workout. I’ll probably keel over and die on the way home.

I miss the days when Diet Coke and a cigarette were dinner. If I did that now, my blood sugar would plummet and I’d end up in the ER. This getting older shit ain’t for sissies. I swear to you I’ve seen more wrinkles appear on my face in the last six month than I have in the past few years.

No more complaining. It’s time to get up off my ass and head to the gym. Drink more water and eat healthier too. Just once I’d like to go back in time and slap the 17 year old me and tell her to lighten up. To have more fun and run more. To go to college. Not to smoke! Don’t worry, I quit that habit years ago. I had to because I would lose my breath when doing the dirty, dirty, and no one wants that!!!!

I’m not looking for positive comments and ah grrrrlllll, you can do it pats on the back. I just wanted to bitch. As the title states, 45 can suck my dick!

Off to the fucking gym!

Love,

Sparkly Girl

I March to the Beat of a Different Drummer

“If a man loses pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured, or far away.”-Henry David Thoreau

I prefer not to hitch onto someone else’s star. I want to make my own way. When I was growing up, I always did what I was told. I kept up appearances. Followed the crowd. Er, as far as my family knew, I did.

At the age of 45 I prefer to march to the beat of my own drummer. I bang that drum loudly. On a daily basis. I’m not a typical woman, and I never want to be.

When it comes to this writing thing, I prefer to make my own way. I have no idea about sentence structure, word meaning, or even punctuation. I don’t know what makes a good writer. I want to tell a damn story, and tell it well. So my readers feel it.

I’m going to keep doing just that. With the help of other writers, a thesaurus, an easily broken-heart and a good editor. As I said, I prefer not to hitch my star onto someone else.

Happy Birthday to me, and may the next 45 years be as adventurous as the last 45. God willing, there will be that many more.

XOXOXOXXOXOXOXO

Sparkly Girl

Holy Shit I’m a Romance Writer!!

If I ever get a book written, I’m going to be like the chick in the tub. Smoking, drinking champagne and speaking Italian. Giggle, snort!

When I first started blogging, I wrote a post called Steamy Windows and Nineteen. It was a favorite memory of mine. Kyle told me in an email that I wrote very well, but my best stories were about love. The more tragic, the better. I’m sad he doesn’t blog anymore. He taught me how to write erotica. I miss him.

I loathe most romance novels and writers. Nicholas Sparks, Danielle Steele, Nora Roberts, Stephenie Meyer, Robert James Waller, etc. Dear God, if I type any more of the author’s names, I’m going to hurl.

I’ll be happy to write like Robert James Waller though. I read The Bridges of Madison County and I swear to you I cried so hard, part of my heart broke. The damn thing won’t ever heal.   The movie? Fahgettaboutit. I could be in the sunniest mood when I first start viewing it. By the end when she grips that door handle, I’m sobbing like a lost child. I swear to you I am pushing against that door with all my might.  I want her to run to him. Even though I know she won’t. I pray that the story will end differently. I know it’s where I got the idea for the ashes of the woman to be buried with her writer in The Ghost of a Great Love.

I’ve written happy stories like Sunrise, Coffee and Sanctuary. Some of my stories have to have happy endings. Most don’t though. And that’s okay. I think I was supposed to write the tragic love story, like The Chill of Autumn and The Death of a Love. A little poem titled, Raindrops and Red Lipstick was one of my saddest. The angriest story I’ve written so far is The Madness of a Woman Seduced. I have to say it’s one of my favorites. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned!

I’m not trying to tout my work. Be all stuck up and snobby, like my writing is exemplary. Far from it. What I’m  trying to tell you all is that I’m super frustrated by the revelation that I am a romance writer. I wanted to be deep. I wanted to be all cerebral and shit. It ain’t gonna happen though. This silly blonde woman wears her heart on her sleeve. I always have. Always will.

I have a fantastic editor. I won’t tell you his name, because he asked me not to. Plus he’s mine and I don’t share well with others. I’m working on getting published. I’ve found a couple of writing groups that I’m going to join. I’m even working with a local publisher/editor. I’m praying that something good will happen with this writing “thing” as an ex-friend calls it. I tell you though, if all I ever do is write on Rendezvous, that’ll be enough.

The image below is my  1/2 sleeve tattoo. I’ll be getting it soon. Starts at my left my shoulder and wraps around my elbow. See, I really will be wearing my heart on my sleeve. For everyone to see.

Quote of the Day-W. Somerset Maugham

Impropriety is the soul of wit.-W. Somerset Maugham

I posted this quote on my Facebook author page on Wednesday morning. My buddy Duncan piped in that I must be a very witty woman. I agreed that yes, I most certainly am. I’m too old to worry about being proper. I am, when I need to be. Most of the time I’m not. I like a good dick joke. Burping and farting make me laugh like a hyena. I watch Family Guy, American Dad, King of the Hill and every damn movie that Will Ferrell is in. I think Seth Rogen and Paul Rudd are gods because they are juvenile comedic geniuses. I have a dirty, whorish mouth that should be washed out with soap. On a daily basis.

Last week, Renaissance Biker Dude walked by my office, threw open the door and screamed the word slut at me. He shut the door, and continued his jaunt down the hall. In my shock, I bent over and hit my head on my desk. Then laughed till I had a seizure (kidding). He sauntered past my door a few minutes later. With a devilish grin on his face he flipped me off. I swear I did nothing to provoke him. Okay, maybe I did. A few days before this incident…

I’m learning that the improper things that happen in my life are what make for good writing. So please act a fool when you’re around me. PLEASE! I’ll be sure to join in the fun. Who the hell am I kidding? I’ll probably start the idiocy.

Yes. Yes, I do want to be that woman Will is French kissing. I do. Don’t you judge me!

Happy Thursday my dears.

I’ll Have What She’s Having

YES, YES, YES, YES, YES, YES!!!

Er, well, maybe not. No my fellow pervs, I’m not writing another erotic entry. Today is about me. Then again when isn’t it? It’s a good day. I saw Super Therapist. I made him laugh and blush. He questioned me about how I felt about my anger on a certain subject. I told him I felt betrayed and abandoned. Like I didn’t matter. He asked if my anger left me helpless. I explained that now that I’m pissed, it proved I was fearless. That I could move forward knowing what I want. What I need.

It’s time to get up and Try, Try, Try as my girl, P!nk would say. I’m going to meet that woman someday.

The first thing I need to do is lose the 30 fucking pounds I’ve put back on. I’m an addict. Food, alcohol, the written word, validation, exercise, etc. You name it, and I’ve been addicted to it. I slunk back into the Medical Weight Loss Clinic yesterday and talked to my favorite counselor, Crissy. She has a huge crush on Roger Darling. Whenever she speaks of him, she blushes. I peed on sticks, weighed myself and waited for her to rag on me. She didn’t. We discussed a cleanse and going back on Plan. I wanted to scream, shit, fuck and dammit. I kept my mouth shut though. I purchased 10 weeks of the program and told her I’d be back to weigh in and buy my protein supplements on Friday. Shit, fuck and dammit!!!!!

The next thing to do is go to the gym. I started this good habit again a couple of weeks ago. I bitched and whined the entire time. I suffered from shitty insomnia and a racing heart. Roger Darling and I kept going though. I’m so damn mad at myself. I was running three miles, four to five days a week. My arms were sculpted with muscle. So were my legs. I’m walking at a fast pace and getting my ass kicked on the elliptical.

Rog and I have a goal. We want to do the Color Run on May 11, 2013. I will be wearing a tutu, tiara, white shorts and t-shirt. This bitch is gonna look HAWT! Then we’ll get sprayed with paint as we meander our way to the finish line. There’s muscles to be regained and weight to be lost and maintained. I’ll do it again. I’ll fight the good fight. I revel in the fact that my battle will only take 10 weeks instead of the original 15 months it took me to lose 150 lbs.

There’s this novel I’m writing too. Today is one of those days when the words flow like sweet honey. I ache to write all day. My day job prevents me from doing so. I’m an old school writer, even though I’ve only been doing this for a little over a year. I write notes in my journal. The few words I jot down jog my memory and help me fill in the blanks when the time comes to create.

My main character Ian has written the other main character, Maggie their first love letter. He slipped it into her notes for his class. She hasn’t even read it yet. What will it say? I’m not sure yet. I’m sure it will have to do with her hair the color of flames and eyes the color of the sea. He’s a bit of cad though, so he may write something filthy too. We’ll see. BTW, this book is a love story. I promise you it will not be shitty. The love scenes will make no mention of the word inner goddess. I like the words cock and pussy and I’ll be sure to use them liberally. The love notes are the key to my story. They are.

Time to finish up some work. Eat an orange. Drink more fucking water!!! I swear to you I’ve an ocean floating around inside of me. Then it’s off to the gym and red meat and salad for dinner. Yup, this Sparkly Girl’s going to do it again.

Gotta get up and Try, Try, Try. Gotta get up and Try, Try, Try. Hey, if I don’t get to meet her, I can at least look like her. Giggle, snort!

It Feels Like Home to Me

If you have a dog, you will most likely outlive it; to get a dog is to open yourself to profound joy and,

prospectively, to equally profound sadness.-Marjorie Garber

I stood in front of the large metal sink and giggled to myself. Ozzy, the Golden Retriever waited expectantly for me to start dousing him with warm water.

“Oh aren’t you a little sweetie pie. I just love you,” I said in a soothing tone as I patted his muzzle.

In response, he snuggled my cheek and gave me a quick lick with his tongue. My heart melted. As I sprayed him with the directional nozzle, I thought about the last six months. I’d had every weekend off, but I didn’t feel complete. I missed my Salon Bitches. I missed the barking dogs. The nail clippings, the baths, the smells, and even the occasional nip by the anxious and scared puppy.

I missed being doused with water and the exhaustion that came with heaving dogs up and down from the grooming table. I missed seeing the end result of the bathing process. My dogs are divas when they prance out to their pet parents. They know they look good.

I missed Marlena, Clara,  Humphrey, and Clark. My life wasn’t complete without them. They are my other children.

Marlena had just given Clark a Mohawk. He looked so damn handsome. I placed my arms around him and braced myself. I knew his hug would be fierce. It was as I expected. Intense; warm.

Marlena and I shared secrets and tears. God, how I missed her warm embrace and the sweetness of her heart.

Clara walked in and started dancing around and giving me precious hugs. Her blonde hair is finally shoulder length. She is more beautiful than I remember.

Humphrey came in not much later and gave me hugs and dry humps. He yelled, “Don’t you ever leave us again, you whore.” I responded, “I promise I won’t. As long as you keep calling me a whore, ya slut.”

There were nails  to trim. Stories to tell. Lives to catch up on. Dogs to wash. Ears to clean. Gossip to share. Hair clippings to be swept up. Hearts to mend…

During the course of the day I silently observed Marlena, Clara and Humphrey. I wondered how I could have stayed away. I belonged here.

I finished washing Ozzy. Taking care to cover his eyes when I was rinsing his head. Then I expertly dried him with the high velocity blow dryer. By the time Ozzy was dry, I looked like an 80’s hair metal god. I removed him from the tub and walked him to his condo, set the floor dryer on high and headed back out to the salon.

Marlena made the comment, “Our Sundays are complete again.”

I agreed with her and screamed my trademark line,  “Eat the kitty. Eat it! Eat it!” I made a V with my fingers and stuck my tongue through it.

My friends lost their minds,  and so did I.

I finally felt complete. Like I was home.

 

It Ain’t so Funny Being a Funny Girl…

Funny
Did you hear that?
Funny
Yeah, the guy said
Honey, you’re a funny girl.
That’s me
I just keep them in stitches
Doubled in half,
And though I may be all wrong for a guy,
Im good for a laugh,
I guess it’s not funny,
Life is far from sunny,
When the laugh is over
And the jokes on you,
A girl oughta have a sense of humor
That’s one thing you really need for sure
When you’re a funny girl
The fella said a funny girl
Funny
How it aint so funny,
Funny girl