I'd Like to be Buried in a Mountain of Middle Eastern Desserts

The Sparkles Plenty workplace phone: [one ringy dingy]

Me: This is Kristina. (Please note how I answer the phone like a high-powered executive. BECAUSE THAT IS WHAT I AM, PEOPLE!) (Shut up.)

The Mister: Good afternoon! I'm back home. I got the shopping done for everybody's presents.

Me: Yay! I happened to get some shopping done too, birthday boy. I feel like I've just been prison-raped, so I hope you like your gift.

TM: I'm sure I will. What did you get me?

Me: A nice sundress and some sassy sandals.

TM: As long as it flatters my figure. So anyway, how are you doing?

Me: Fine, but I'm devastated by hunger. I haven't had lunch and I might pass out at any moment!

TM: You haven't had lunch? It's almost three o'clock. When are you going to eat?

Me: I could go to the deli downstairs, but if I have another turkey wrap I will probably vomit into my trashcan. So I'll probably wait until I get home and find some leftovers.

TM: There's that baklava we brought home from the restaurant last night if you want that.

Me: But man cannot live on baklava alone!

TM: I guess not.

Me: I think I might like to try sometime, though.

The Time Has Come For Me To Kick Some Landscaping Ass

A few years ago my husband and I hired a local fella to mow our yard once a week. Our yard is not large, nor is it particularly difficult to maintain. We are just that lazy. Our trusty lawn guy did a good job, and over time he expanded his business. He now has his own bonafide landscaper's truck and a crew consisting of several young Hispanic gentlemen who don't speak much English. I suspect they are illegal residents, though I don't know for sure since I never asked to see their work credentials; they are just mowing my yard, for God's sake. Also, I am not a gigantic tool.

This past Saturday the whole gang arrived to tend our yard. I toyed with the idea of going outside to habla with them for a couple minutes and exercise what few Spanish skills I have, but since the extent of my bilingual vocabulary is the equivalent of please, thank you, and rubber band I figured they'd tire of the conversation pretty quickly. Besides, going outside would have required me to get off the sofa and thrust myself into crippling heat, prompting a whole new session of complaining from me. And nobody wants that, because I can complain like it's my job.

So there I sat in my jammies in air-conditioned comfort, remote control in one hand and corn chip in the other, while those poor bastards worked in the July sun doing a job that I was too lazy to do. But as I was flipping through the television channels I had an epiphany. There was a segment on the news regarding dirty illegal aliens and how they're taking all the good jobs away from hard-working Americans who now are reduced to sitting around eating dirt and drinking swampwater because they can't find work anywhere. Amen! If I had a nickel for every time my friends and I had discussed our burning desire to trim hedges for a living I'd have... uh, I'd have... OH, THAT IS NOT IMPORTANT RIGHT NOW.

Suddenly enlightened, I crammed a handful of corn chips in my mouth and glared out the window at the Mexican menace in my yard. Oh sure, they looked harmless as they happily worked around the lawn, but I knew better. Under that cheerful, hardworking demeanor lurked diabolical minds full of insidious plans to destroy America, one weedwhacker at a time.

I thought about what my plan of action would be, because I love America and there's no way I'm going to allow it to be corrupted by people hell-bent on grooming my lawn for an affordable price. Perhaps I should go outside and give them what-for, letting them know in no uncertain terms that I would not stand for their shenanigans. If there had been a way for me to express my fury in terms of rubber bands, those guys would have gotten an earful. Oh, they might argue that they were merely performing a service and if I felt that strongly about it I could do it my own damn self, and that would appear to be a valid point, but... OH MY GOD THAT IS NOT IMPORTANT RIGHT NOW EITHER.

As it is, I suppose I will have to maintain a watchful eye on whom I allow to cull weeds from my yard. It's obvious that some people are only out to hose us citizens and cannot be trusted. I must develop a means by which to protect the good people of America from those who want to sully its good name by providing excellent lawn care services. But if that plan involves me performing any manual labor or leaving climate-controlled comfort, that shit ain't gonna fly. Nothing is going to keep Mama from her Saturday morning cartoons, cool air, and snack foods.

Dear Sparkles, Vol I

It is with tremendous excitement that I announce a new feature here in Sparkles Plenty land: an advice column hosted by none other than yours truly. I cannot tell you how desperately in need the majority of the population is of my incisive commentary. I've got an opinion on everything, and why not share it with the people who are desperate for my insight? So without further delay, let's get to it. It's time for the healing to begin.

A reader in West Virginia found Sparkles Plenty by way of a popular search engine. They wanted to know "haw [sic] can I suck my own dick?"

Ah, that is a question for the ages. I imagine that as long as there have been men on the earth they have been searching for ways to do this very thing. Clearly no one has been able to figure out an easy way to do it, because if they had then no man would ever leave the house. Also, the bitchy side of me would like to point out that perhaps you would be well-served by spending more time brushing up on your first-grade spelling skills instead of trying to figure out how to blow yourself. But you didn't come here for condemnation, and I will not judge you, my friend. I'm here to help. I have three suggestions for you:

1. Enroll in some yoga classes. I don't think yoga is the total solution to your dilemma but I'm pretty sure it's going to come in damn handy. You see, yoga will not only provide you with enhanced flexibility but with a sense of relaxation too. I think that relaxation will be especially good for you, because you seem a bit, uh, pent up, if you know what I mean. And I think you do.

2. If you're on a tight budget, fashion a device out of hammocks and/or circus trapezes. Some pulleys would probably work well here, too. I can't give you the particulars, but sit down with some graph paper and a protractor, do some sketching, and I imagine something will come to you. Make sure you design an indoor version though, because if you do this outside you'll get arrested for sure. I don't need that shit on my conscience.

3. If suggestion #2 is not feasible, go the manufactured route: the Craftmatic Adjustable Bed. I doubt the bed will come straight from the factory with a "Blow Myself" setting, but with a little creativity and a can-do attitude, you'll be your own girlfriend in no time!