Kiss Your Own Fingertips


I’ve forgotten what it’s like to love myself.

To look at myself in the mirror and see beauty instead of flaws.

I’ve forgotten how to love myself.

To touch my flabby and cellulite covered skin and not hate it.

To rub my own feet with thick lotion and not wish that the heels were softer.

To hold my hips and wish I could remove all of the fat inside of them.

To trace my wrinkled hands across my ample breasts and hope that someday a man will behold their beauty again.

To gaze at my face in the mirror and not see wrinkles, but amaze at the brightness of my blue eyes and the perfect symmetry of my lips.

I’ve forgotten how to love myself.

To find that little girl that resides inside and tell her that she’s going to be okay.

That she is loved.

That she is free.

That she is important.

I’ve forgotten how to love myself, but I do hope in time I’ll be able to again.


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


Don’t have a lot of time to write today. But I wanted to say thank you for the support. I’m at 502 followers as of today. I’m shocked. I’m elated. I’m ecstatic and I have so much more I could say. I will, I promise. Today I’m off to watch our mighty UM Wolverines kick some ass. Much love, hugs and kisses to you all.

I’m working on a story and a video for my next entry. Have a lovely Saturday!

Tales of an Addictive/Compulsive/Impulsive Sparkly Girl

No, I didn’t break out in handcuffs. However, I did break out in stupidity. Read on, dear reader, read on. Oh and on the subject of RDJ, yeah I’d hit that. In 100 different ways. Giggle!!!!

I started writing this on 10/19/2012. Not sure when I will post it. Not sure of anything as of late. Except the fact that life is only as good as you make it. So I’ve decided to make a good life for myself and those around me. First off, I have a confession to make. I am an addictive personality and very compulsive/impulsive. I think with my heart most of the time, and to hell with the outcome. Then my conscience gets the better of me and I have incredible panic and anxiety over my actions. I’ve always been this way. It’s not something I can shut off. It’s something that I must live with and control every day. It sucks, but it’s who I am. Secondly, I am an alcoholic. Yes, I am. My addictive/compulsive/impulsive brain thought that I could drink again after all the weight loss and exercise. What I got was a big, fat nope, you can’t do that!  I got the message after I proceeded to drink a magnum of wine one night and pour my heart out to a friend that I had no business pouring my heart out to.

My Roger Darling knows nothing of this binge and if he reads this post this is where he will find it out. I’ve been married to the man for 23 years. He’s kinda got this sparkly but tarnished girl figured out. For reasons completely unknown to me, he stays. He stays with an addictive/compulsive/impulsive woman who does stupid shit when she drinks. He stays with an addictive/compulsive/impulsive woman when she doesn’t drink and still does stupid shit. He stays. And why does he stay? Because he loves this addictive/compulsive/impulsive woman. Yes he does.  For that, I love him with every part of me that I can.

He sat down with me a few days ago after my wine binge, which he might have known about but didn’t acknowledge, and said, “woman, I love you, get your shit together.”  I said, “you’re right honey, I’m sorry I will.”  AGAIN! I’ve been saying shit like that for hmmmmm, going on 23 years now. That evening he had to go back to work for a few hours. We sat, had coffee, watched the Tigers sweep the Yankees (YAY!) and chatted. I gave him my word that it was a night for me to disconnect. To watch 30 Rock, Up All Night and The Office on NBC. Then it was bed and a book. No computer. No writing. No texting. Nada, nothing, zip, zilch, and zero. And that my friends, is exactly what I did. I threw out the empty wine bottle, I kicked my feet up and watched crappy t.v. Which isn’t that crappy because 30 Rock is the shit! Tracy Morgan makes me laugh so hard, I wet myself. I talked to Roger Darling on the phone. Then crawled into bed with the Wonder Schnauzers nestled around me and slept the best I had in weeks. I never even heard RD crawl into bed with me later that night. I was out!

The next morning, I awoke and I was happy. Maybe even a little sparkle had returned. I’m a little tarnished still. I always will be. Because, well, I’m an addictive/compulsive/impulsive girl. But I’m one that is dearly loved by her Roger Darling, her Meggie, and her Adam Boy. And by many, many, many others.

First and foremost I need to find the love I have for myself. I’m a good person. I have a good heart. I love with all of it. Though not too wisely sometimes. I am smart. I am funny and sarcastic as fuck. I say fuck a lot! I’m a bombshell and dammit, I’m a fucking rock star! Yes, I’m in therapy. And that man is a fucking rock star too. He keeps me in check and makes me realize I AM NOT CRAZY! I am not bi-polar, and I’m not narcissistic. The highs, lows and and intense emotions I feel are what make me, me. This is me!

Here’s a bit of random trivia for you. Robert Downey, Jr. was born April 4, 1965. I was born April 3, 1968. We’re both Aries (stubborn/bullheaded/fiery/passionate/sensual/adventurous/fun). We are both addicts. Why am I not surprised I am born under the same sign and only a day apart. I’ve always loved the man, but now I get it even more. Hey, I watched Biography recently because, well the man flips my damn trigger. I’d let him watch t.v. while he did me for the love of God! Okay, enough about him. DAMN is the man HAWT! Seriously, enough.

I’ve been sober for a week. I’ve been getting better by the day. The depression is waning and so is the anxiety. I went back to exercising. Which is such a good addiction to have. My joints hurt and my muscles are sore. But hey, it’s so much better than a hangover.

Not sure why but the song below resonates with me. He was newly sober, but had incredible support. I have incredible support. So on and on this sparkly but tarnished girl goes. BTW the book writing continues…… On and on I go….. With love in my heart, and love by my side.

Special thanks to Harry for sending me a message to tell me to keep writing. You’ll always be my BFF who gets me. Why in God’s name you are still my friend after 14 years I will never fully understand. But I love you Harry.

St. Cecilia and the Sparkly Girl

St. Cecelia, Patroness of Music

As you all know I have a lovely friend named Harry. He is my best friend and was the first person in my life to give me the gift of words. He also gave me the gift of music. He is a man but I tell you he has the gentlest heart and a song lyric can bring a tear to his eye and a catch in his voice. I love that about him.

He was the one that told me to send my entry I’ve Become the Lionhearted Girl to Florence + the Machine’s peeps. Little did he and I realize, they were having a contest, so of course I entered it. The winner is to be selected in the middle of September (now!!!!!).

I emailed him last week, freaking out because I hadn’t heard any word from them yet. He set my mind at ease and told me to hang in and wait. To know that the winner had not been selected yet and they were probably trying to select the proper limousine to bring me the news of my win. I tell you the man always know how to make me laugh and not take things too seriously. He told me to just relax. For some reason when Harry tells me that, he calms me. Not many men have that effect on me.

When I arrived at work the next day, I found this wonderful story in my email inbox. Like I’ve said before, Harry can always set my mind at ease. I love him and I love his words. He told me I could share his story. It is below. Please check it out. I know you’ll like it. I sure did.

St. Cecilia and the Sparkly Girl

St. Cecilia knew of your eventual success as a blogger.  She told Emperor Marcus Aurelius of a majestic goddess of blogs, Renee of Michigan.  She said your words would be read by people the world over. At that time, the preferred method of quickly spreading knowledge was to send a runner with a message, as far as he could run, until he died.  The Emperor thought, that’s not scalable.  How will Renee of Michigan’s words reach so many people?  The runners we’d need to send to their deaths just to distribute these writings will deplete the population quickly.  So the Emperor declared her insane for babbling about blogs, whatever they were, and calling for the mass deaths of these marathon runners, so he had her beheaded.

After she was canonized, St. Cecilia felt this burning desire to tell the world of this eventual woman of worldy words.  So she spent a millennium preparing for the perfect time to unveil her prophecy. After toiling for over 1000 years in a desperate attempt to do you justice, she knew it was time.   In 1310, there was a Maori tribesman from what is now New Zealand. Bone Bekke was visited in a dream by St. Cecilia. She foretold of your impending arrival to the tribesman in great detail. In the dream, she used scrolls to explain your writings traveling the ether and reaching the four corners of the world.  She created vivid imagery, invoking a color palette never before or since equaled in it’s vibrancy, in an effort to evoke to powerful emotions yet to be exposed to civilization.  And she sang him songs she composed herself to make the world aware of the day when your blog would be.  
Being an artist, she was a little flighty, and hadn’t considered that an isolated Maori tribesman in the Southern Hemisphere wouldn’t understand Latin. She was to be greatly disappointed to learn that he had no idea what she told him.  All he got from the saint was some yellow haired woman with a mouth to match the size of her boobs visited him in a dream, and she was coming.  He thought to himself, she’s not the only one!  Whoa, baby!  I’ll never be able to look at a grass skirt in the same way again!  So St. Cecilia said screw it, I’ll just work on inspiring musicians to write songs.  Hopefully that’ll eventually lead to Renee of Michigan to discover blogging.  She decided giving presentations wasn’t one of her strengths anyway, and wondered what she had been thinking.  Luckily though, St. Cecilia, patroness of musicians, was successful, and Renee of Michigan found blogging, and the world found a new voice.  🙂

I’m Auditioning for Blogger Idol!



Click on the link above

Because Writers are the New Rock Stars!

Good morning my sweet readers and followers. I wanted to let you all know that I’m auditioning for a groovy thing called Blogger Idol. I’ve only been writing since January 2012, but I decided what the hell. I might as well give a shot. My readership goes up every day and so does my follower count. You all complete my sparkly ass and make me feel my words matter.  You see my passion and feed it. For that I’m so grateful. The competition will be fierce I’m sure but it can’t hurt to try. Who knows maybe I’ll make the top 12 or maybe I won’t make shit.

I was talking to Vikki (The View Outside) and commented on her entry, You Know You’re a Writer When….. I told her I knew it when:

I knew it when I could look at a photo and see a whole story unfold before my eyes. I knew it when I could see a word or hear a phrase and write a whole page about it. I knew it when I saw a couple in an SUV arguing in my rear view mirror at a toll booth and I wrote a short story about them. I knew after realizing that I thrived on every written word that I had ever read. Whether it was a book, a letter, a card or an email from a dear friend. I knew it and I know it still. I hope and I pray that the words never stop coming. It is my passion, my life, my story. I never ever want it to stop.
  • Beautiful rheath40. I wish I’ve have expressed myself this well.
  • Wow honey, I am in awe…and so very very jealous! ;)


    • No need for jealousy. We are both writers. We get better as we write. We get better as we read other writers. Isn’t this a great experience?
    • It certainly is honey! :)
      I’m excited about the competition. The prizes are pretty kick ass. A Samsung Galaxy Tablet 2 7.0 Student Edition. Blog2Print so you can make a book. God wouldn’t that be awesome???? The first runner up gets chocolate, Ghirardelli no less, and Dragon Naturally Speaking. Yeah that’s just what I need voice software so I can write more. Roger Darling will divorce me for sure, because I’ll never shut up! There’s organic foods, gourmet coffee and retail therapy prizes too. Because God knows after my weight loss I’ve become a clothes and shoes whore. By the way, I got a new pin up style mini skirt yesterday that I’m in fucking love with!!!
      There’s six weeks of assignments to do. I have no idea what they are yet but I’m sure it’ll entail writing. DUH! So hang in my readers, followers and friends. Vote for me please!!! Tell your friends and have them vote for me too. Even if they think I suck. Giggle. This is going to be the most  fun!
      Thanks my loves, from the bottom of my sparkly girl heart!

The Fear of Being Forgotten

I was speaking with a fellow blogger yesterday about a photograph and quote that he posted. It was a photo of one of my idols, Marilyn Monroe. I told him that I felt her pain. He then asked what emotion(s) do you feel when you look at it. All of a sudden this torrent of words flowed out of me. I was so floored by what I wrote and how I felt, I became exhausted in mind, body and spirit. I then thought more about it. What is my emotion when I look at that picture of Marilyn. It’s a simple photo. She, laying on a bed, reading a book. On thinking ability, no less.

That’s where my fears of inadequacy creep in. I think about not going to college, so I don’t feel smart enough to write well. Speak well. Act right. Be normal. What the fuck is normal anyway? As Salvadore Dali said, I am not strange, I am just not normal. On that thought, why be normal? I’m happy with my angst, my eccentricities, my stupid horse laugh, and my mannish sounding speaking voice.

I have this insatiable need for validation. To be told I’m smart, pretty, funny, loving, etc. I tell you all that I fear nothing, but I do. I fear being forgotten. Of being bi-polar. Of not doing everything that I want to do. Of getting fat again. Of not being enough. Of, of, of, of all of the above and more.

I fear the fact that I may get thousands of likes but that one dislike kills me. Why should I give a shit, really??? I’m good, I’m happy, I’m loving and I’m loved. What more could a silly blonde girl want?

I fear that I’m a narcissist, arrogant, and I fear being alone. I fear that I will drown in my own abyss of self-destruction. Of which I have control of right now, but what about tomorrow? I fear that the words within me will stop. That I won’t be able to find them. I fear that I will be exposed. That you will find out that I’m not what I say I am. That I’m not a sparkly girl. That I’m a moody girl that cuts herself metaphorically with music and the written word.

I don’t say these things to get you all to feel sorry for me. I say them because these feelings are real. My biggest fear is being forgotten. I think it’s why I act the way I do. So you don’t forget me. I’ve said before I’m like a cheap red wine. I’ll show you one hell of a good time, but you’ll feel like shit in the morning when the buzz has worn off.

I don’t want positive reinforcement from this post. I’m just saying what I feel. Bleeding as it were. I want to keep bleeding. I want to hemorrhage. Hemorrhage a fantastic novel, I hope. We’ll see.

I told all of this to my dear friend, the Biker Renaissance Man today. He looked into my eyes and said, you will never be forgotten. You are our Nae. We come to you to share our stories. Our sadness, and our joy, because you love us and you applaud us. You feel everything we feel. He took me in his arms, hugged me and then gave me a fist bump. He said, you will never be forgotten because of what you give us, and that is connection. I was so overwhelmed that I couldn’t speak. I just let him hold me, and in that hug I knew, I knew I would never, ever have to fear being forgotten.