My Soul, Born in the South

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Tonight my favorite movie is on and though I’ve seen it a hundred times, I’m watching it again. I was one of those that watched the movie before I read the book, Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe. I read it from cover to cover in one sitting, as my little kids played around my feet. While they ate their meals. While I changed their diapers. While I bathed them. And after I put the to bed.

The children grew older, and as they did, we bed shared. For comfort, yes, but also for closeness and for me the possibility that I might get a full nights sleep so I could function at work the next day. Often, the cats and a dog or two would crawl in there with us.

After the little ones settled and fell asleep, and before I’d drift off, I’d grab my dog eared copy of Fried Green Tomatoes and devour a chapter. I knew every word, yet the story continued to resonate within me. Was I born in the South in a previous life? Why did the story of Ruth and Idgie effect me so deeply?

I began to know every word of the story, yet I couldn’t put it down. The book fell apart, yet I continued to read it. I would jump from story to story without missing a beat. I felt the promise of new life when Buddy was born, and the sadness of love lost when Ruth died. I felt anger so intense when there was racism, and when Idgie was accused and tried for murder I cried.

As my children grew older and took to their own bedrooms, I continued to read the book. It was now in pieces and I had to tape most of the pages together. I swear to you some nights when I read the stories, I could feel the heat of the day on my skin, while tendrils of my hair blew in the humid Alabama air. Train whistles blew and sweat poured down my back. I was dressed in white cotton, sitting on my front porch, and drinking sweet tea. When I’d finally fall asleep, I’d dream I was as tough as Towanda, that brilliant woman unafraid to bait her own hook and love the woman that was meant to be hers forever.

The kids are grown now, and the copy of my book is long gone. I think about replacing it, but something always sidetracks me. Maybe it’s the fact that I can’t get that time back. Or maybe it’s the fact that I want to write like that, but can’t. Or maybe I can write like that, but I’m afraid to fail. All I know is I’ll watch Fried Green Tomatoes tonight and it will make me feel all the things I used to feel. Maybe I’ll finally start that book. Or maybe, I’ll just know that my soul, it was born in the South, and it will have to be enough.

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45 Can Suck my Dick!

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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’ll Have What She’s Having

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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 Ain’t so Funny Being a Funny Girl…

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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

The Words, A Movie Review

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 “Clay Hammond: We have to choose between life and fiction. The two are very close, but they never actually touch” —  The Words

First of all, I do not usually do reviews of any kind. Secondly, I think Bradley Cooper is a giant douche. Third and most importantly, I am enamored with the movie, The Words.

I’ve come to realize that I am a writer. It’s been inside of me my whole life. This passion. This need to write. To connect. To tell a story. I’m devouring anything and everything on the subject. Tonight I gritted my teeth and endured watching Bradley Cooper portray Rory Jansen. A writer. A mediocre one at best. It’s all he ever wanted to be though. He struggles to find the story locked within him. Find it he does. In a satchel procured in a second hand shop in Paris, while on honeymoon with his lovely wife Dora. Played stunningly well by Zoe Saldana. She is a woman that has complete faith that her husband will be a successful writer.

After Rory reads the typewritten pages scarred and yellowed by time, he starts to type. And type. He doesn’t stop until the entire story has been transferred to a Word document on his computer. He doesn’t know where he’ll go with it. He has no plan. Until. Until, the lovely Dora finds it. Her eyes spill tears for a story she swears he has written. That his come from his soul. What happens next, you can guess. Publisher loves it and the party goes on from there. The accolades. The success.

Enter the Old Man…

Roger Darling and I are still arguing over the ending. We’re not sure what happened. I say, it was real. Roger Darling says, it was fiction. It’s up to each viewer to decide. As Clay said, “We have to choose between life and fiction. The two are very close, but they never actually touch.”

And no, I’m not going to tell you who Clay is.

Trying to Find my Happiness at Christmas

Christmas Jack

I want it, oh, I want it
Oh, I want it for my own
I’ve got to know
I’ve got to know
What is this place that I have found?
What is this?
Christmas Town, hmm…
I’m not a big fan of Christmas anymore. The music is horrid and Roger Darling insists on listening to it from the beginning of November till December 26th. It’s all this sparkly girl can do to keep from cutting herself every time I have to ride in his car with him. If you’ve read me for very long you know I’m passionate about a few things. Okay, I’m passionate about everything. But music is my biggest passion. However movies are another. And of course there’s the lovely Sally and Jack from The Nightmare Before Christmas. Sally is my alter ego. In my heart beats the musings and music of a pretty dead girl. Don’t ask me why. Some things can’t be explained, nor should they be.
I love the movie, the music, and the love story. For someone so loud and shiny, I can be quite morose. This time of year especially. I was trying to think of a song to cheer me up. Then this silly picture of Jack came up in my FB newsfeed. I knew the song I had to post up. What’s This from TNBC. Of course! I watched the video this morning and sang along. Christmas time began to buzz in my skull and I was happy. I do know the reason for the season. But it seems so many others have forgotten. I’m not trying to be sacrilegious with my post. I’m only trying to find my happy place. Of course it would come in the form of Jack and Sally. Now it’s time for this Sparkly Girl to get ready to head to Sis’s place for dinner and a crazy White Elephant gift exchange.
Merry Christmas from my family to yours. Much love to you all. Eat and drink too much and then take a shit ton of Mylanta to settle your stomach. XOXOXOXOXOOXOXOXOXOXOX

Finding the Moon, and my Christmas Spirit

George and Mary Bailey

Now you listen to me….

I don’t want any plastics, and I don’t want any ground floors, and I don’t want to get married-ever-to anyone!

You understand that? I want to do what I want to do, and you’re…and you’re….

It’s been a crazy month. Hell, it’s been a crazy year. I don’t even know where the time has gone. I need a vacation. I need a nap. I need a drink. I need, need, need something. But I’ll be damned if I can figure out what it is. Part of what I need is time. But time for what? I’m not sure. I need to dance. I need to disconnect. I need to touch and be touched. I need to sleep in. I need to read a good book. To write a good book.

I need to watch an old black and white movie. I need to go home and change into my jammies. I need to pour a cup of hot coffee, with cream and two Sweet and Low. I need to turn on my DVD player and listen to George Bailey sing Buffalo Gal to Mary. I need to get completely lost in a movie that always makes me long for Christmas. That makes me long for days when my kids were little and they still believed. When I still believed. I need to disconnect from my computer. Disconnect from the world and fall for a simple man like George. That’s what I need.

So tonight, I’ll go home and do all of those simple things. I’ll snuggle in with my Wonder Schnauzers and watch a simple man named George fall in love with Mary. It will bring me back to life. It will bring me back to me. It will bring me back to the time when I still believed. In life, love and magic.

Practical Magic or Practical Love, What Can We Do to Fill That Hole Inside of Us?

“Sometimes I feel like there’s a hole inside of me, an emptiness that at times seems to burn. I think if you lifted my heart to your ear, you could probably hear the ocean. The moon tonight, there’s a circle around it. Sign of trouble not far behind. I have this dream of being whole. Of not going to sleep each night, wanting. But still sometimes, when the wind is warm or the crickets sing… I dream of a love that even time will lie down and be still for. I just want someone to love me. I want to be seen. I don’t know. Maybe I had my happiness. I don’t want to believe it but, there is no man, Gilly. Only that moon.“-Practical Magic

It has been so long since I’ve seen this movie, but this quote moved me to tears this morning. I know I have love, but I still feel this void inside of me. Every day. Why? I have no idea. But I wish there was some way for me to fill it. Maybe that’s why I write. Who knows. Maybe that’s why I share with you the emptiness I feel in my soul. Today, I shared it with my friend, someone I haven’t seen in 30 years. But it felt normal to share it with her. I have no idea why.  I just did. As I talked to my friend, I’ll call her the Singing Siren. I was reminded that we all have this hole in us. We want to fill it. I asked her, why do we have this hole that needs to be filled?

I mean we love, we are loved, we have children, and we lead full lives. For some reason, we want more. We women, who have made it to this stage in our lives crave more. We are NOT our mothers. We are not content to sit back and grow old. I am sure  it’s why I write. I still burn. I may be almost at middle age but I still burn. I write because I am not dead yet. I will not die. And when I do, you will remember me. My words, my passion, my life written on these pages will make you remember me. It will also make you remember the stories that I’ve told and the people that I’ve made you meet. I told Rory today that I will not go silently into that good night. I will go out kicking and screaming. Fighting ever damn step of the way.

I told the Singing Siren’s friend, that we all have that hole. No matter how fulfilled we are, we all have it in us. It could be from a lost love, a great what if, or a life wasted. We all have that hole we are trying to fill. I told her to find a passion, and fill it up. But who am I? I’m just a girl with a big mouth that likes to talk a lot. What advice I give really has no bearing on anyone that I come in contact with.

My friend, the Raven Haired Angel, gave a sad status update today. It was: I used to be so positive about life and encouraged others. My life was awesome. I have a wonderful husband who puts up with the crazy and psycotic depending which day it is. I have great friends, wonderful children, great employers, and cuddle pups. So why is it I can still encourage others while I’m drowning in myself? I am so blessed and so thankful, and yet feel stupid and unworthy and incapable of anything! I awake crying for no reason, I hurt from head to toe, I stumble,I forget , I’m hot, I’m cold, and I can’t open a damn jar anymore! If this is midlife it sucks!!!!!

I told the Raven Haired Angel that a good friend gave me the subject to write about today. All from a simple quote from a sweet, sad movie called, Practical Magic. I told her she was beautiful, that she’s still viable. That she is loved and lovely. That the crazy and the psychotic we feel is normal. We’re normal. It’s okay to feel the way we feel. It makes us yearn to be more, and to do more. It means that we are not about to be complacent. I told her do NOT become so. I told her to find a passion and pursue it. I signed off telling her that I had much love to give her and if at anytime she needed to be told how normal and necessary she was, she could call me.

I’m still trying to find a way to fill that hole in me. I feel I do every day I write. Every post I make. It fills my hole and makes me whole. Makes me better. Makes my friends, readers, and followers better. It makes me realize we are not alone. We are not. And here, here we find a way to become better. To find that Practical Magic, and that Practical Love.

The Musings of a Geeky Blonde Bombshell

Help me Obi Wan. You’re my only hope.-Princess Leia-Star Wars: Episode IV-A New Hope

Geek, geek, geek. Nerd, nerd, nerd. Derp, derp, derp. Me, me, me. Yes, this sparkly girl is a closet geek, nerd, derp. Whatever you want to call it. I am. There’s nothing more fun than watching the Star Wars Trilogy on DVD on a cold, snowy afternoon in the middle of a long Michigan winter. Of course you must be wrapped up in your favorite blanket, with a bowl of fresh, buttery popcorn and a huge glass of Diet Coke with lots of ice. You must watch episodes IV, V, VI. Because I, II, and III suck ass! I watched I and II. But you couldn’t pay me to watch episode III. For the love of God I want to go smack George Lucas across the face for taking some of my favorite childhood memories and shitting all over them. I, II and III are drivel.

Of course I have the entire Twilight Zone library on DVD. I’ve watched them all at least once. But what I really like to do is watch them all on the SYFY channel on New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day. Roger Darling watches football all day. I watch the Twilight Zone marathon. I watch it in bed. The only time I stop is when I nap, need to pee, eat, or drink something. Roger walks in to check on me from time to time. When he gazes at me through the bedroom door, he sees I’m still transfixed by the episode I’m watching. Doesn’t matter which one it is, I’m still mesmerized.

If it’s dystopian, post-apocolyptic, fantasy, sci-fi shit I want to watch it, read it, devour it. I love video games, but I can’t play them, because I have terrible hand-eye coordination. And the controllers confuse the fuck out of me. I love comic books too. I so want to go to the San-Diego Comic-Con. I would be in geeky girl heaven.  All those characters, and the spectators dressed as their favorite super heroes. Ah bliss! Of course I would have to be dressed as Wonder Woman. Ha!

Geeky computer shit makes this silly sparkly girl’s heart go pitter pat. One of my favorite websites is geeksaresexy.net. There’s every kind of geeky thing you can think of all in one place. Love, love, love it!

Screw romance novels, they do nothing for me. Give me the love story of  The Lord of the Rings trilogy please. All of the love stories actually. Even the love and obsession of the ring. Of course my favorite love story in the series is the love between Aragorn and Arwen. Love and immortality, they kind of go together, don’t you think? I mean, would you really want to live forever without the love of your life? That would be merely existing. And who wants to just exist? I know that I sure wouldn’t.

So grab a book by J.K. Rowling, J.R.R. Tolkien, C. S. Lewis or a host of many other authors. Find your old Star Wars movies on DVD too. Bring out your inner geek from time to time. Or your outer geek. Whatever the case may be. It most certainly doesn’t have to be put off till a snowy and cold day during a Michigan winter.

Bette

I don’t want a new project. I just want someone to love, that will love me back.-Bette

I first met Bette when we worked together at the SSW. She worked for a project, I was the business manager for faculty and staff. If you needed something, you came to me. She did. For staplers, tape, paper.  Reimbursement and refund questions. Questions about project expenses. We talked and laughed easily. She was so damn funny without meaning to be. She just was. We tried to hook up. Find times to hang out. But my life was busy with a husband and kids. Finally, finally we were able to meet and hang out to watch a movie. It was called “Our Idiot Brother”. We both have a thing for Paul Rudd, and comedy in general, so it wasn’t surprising that our first excursion would be a comedy movie. Turns out it wasn’t that great, but we got to stare at Paul for a few hours. That was a bonus. I don’t know what it is about a funny man that sets my soul afire. Damn! I love it, if you can make me laugh.

Back to Bette. Our friendship grew. We learned things about each other. Through our talks, our texts, our emails. We hung out more. Laughed more. Cried more. I see her, this vibrant, blonde haired, blue eyed woman. This goddess that begs to be loved. She’s a magnet. She draws people to her. She gives herself easily. She’s so funny. Whenever we are together we recite dialogue from Anchorman. People look at us like we’re stupid. We don’t give a shit, really. We’re just two blonde girls having fun.

She has introduced me to some wonderful people. I now get to spend one night a month making a fantastic dish to pass for our monthly potlucks. We pick a theme, and from that theme we pick something awesome to cook. I love to cook, she doesn’t. I told her not to worry, I’m going to hook her up with some decent kitchen utensils. And then I’m going to teach her how to cook anything and everything! I tried to cook quiche at her place once. She doesn’t even have a decent measuring spoon or cup. Not saying I use them much. But the first time I use a recipe, I need to measure everything out! After that I put my own spin on things.

Bette is a beautiful woman. She’s one of my favorites to be with. I see her and I just want to hug her. Love her. Make her better. She is everything. She needs to love, to nurture, to be reassured that she is okay. Which she is. She’s perfect in her imperfection. She makes me better by being my friend. I make her better by being her friend and telling her she is loved.

I love that she calls me in the middle of the night just to laugh about something. I love that she has a filthy potty mouth. I love that she laughs uproariously at little dogs in pink sweaters that are walking with their owners down Main Street in Ann Arbor. I love the fact that I can tell her anything and it doesn’t go anywhere but to her ears and heart. I love the fact that she can tell me anything and it stays with me. Well, maybe it goes to Roger Darling, but that’s it. Roger loves her too. He has barely hung out with her, but when he has, he’s told me how much he enjoys her company. All of her. Roger Darling loves a good, strong willed, funny woman. And she most definitely is.

I hope someone sweeps her off her feet. I hope that she finds the love she needs. I hope, I hope, I hope. Not just for her, but for them. Because whoever gets lucky enough to love her, they will love her forever! I know I will. She is my sister and my friend. Forever.