inarticulate sparkle.

Musings of a Professional Disaster.

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  • I Manifested My Man.

    I have an embarrassing confession to make.

    Listen, I know how this sounds. I thought it sounded ridiculous too. But the evidence is… concerning.

    At some point in the last 3 or so months, I became absolutely convinced that I was going to date a mna that I have ALWAYS had a thing for. Maybe I wasn’t so much as convinced, as I was… completely delusional.

    Not in a “wouldn’t that be nice?” sort of way, either. I mean in a “I’ve already mentally picked out our wedding playlist” sort of way. This was, objectively, ridiculous.

    We didn’t know each other. We met in passing, once, in 2015.

    We lived entirely separate lives, minus a few mutual friends.

    The odds of randomly meeting were approximately the same as finding my old MySpace password on the first try. (Or so I thought)

    One day at work, I saw him. When you work in an airport, there’s always a chance you get to meet some interesting people. Did I ever think that on some random weekday, one of my crushes would walk up to me at my place of employment and ask me a question? “Is this the gate for [redacted]?” Pretty sure I drooled while I nodded my head like a fucking idiot.

    I would joke about winning him over to my friends. I’d say it with enough confidence that eventually they started rolling their eyes and saying, “Sure, Lauren.” I was sure I was going to see him again, and that we would lock eyes like a RomCom. My friends all know by now that I don’t have that kind of luck.

    Reader…

    I would like a formal apology from every single one of those people.

    Because somehow…

    I accidentally manifested the whole thing.

    You see, after my crush boarded his airplane headed to god knows where, (he was alone, by the way. Not that I noticed or anything.) I decided it would be a fantastic idea to send him a Facebook request. He’s a big deal, but not so big of a deal that he wouldn’t accept a friend request from someone who had 40+ mutuals, right?

    Then, shortly after that, HE followed ME on Instagram! Like– he searched it and added me on his own! What the fuck? I kept wondering if he realized who I was…

    Well fast forward a couple more months, I’m fucking around at work again trying not to rip my own hair out, when suddenly… there he is. Boarding another flight to [redacted]! His face lit up with a huge smile, and he waved (I waved back like a toddler waving at Mickey Mouse). I was in the middle of chatting with some gate agents when he said, “i was wondering if I was going to see you here!”

    Girl, when I tell you that conversation came to a screeching halt. I did one of those “Haha huerugggh *chokes on her own saliva*”. Bro, what? He knew who I was! One of the gate agents asked, “WHO is that? He has a great beard!”

    That was definitely an opening right? I thought so too lol, so I immediately hopped on Instagram and sent him a message. “It was good seeing you!” Of course it was, Lauren, you dumbass. He replied right away… “You too! I’ll be back on Friday.”

    “I’ll see you then :)”

    I’ve never had game in my life. There was a little chit chat after that, and I never did see him on that Friday when he flew back. I thought, oh well, it was nice to be noticed.

    Fast forward AGAIN (I know, I don’t know how else to portray that some time has passed, sue me)

    I saw on Instagram that he went to Italy! The motherland! I made it a point to like every one of his posts and stories. I saw one story he posted about fitbits and Oura rings, and I replied to the story saying I was a sheep and had an Oura ring. I said something like “It says I sleep better when I drink!” I was trying to be funny (much like on here).

    He replied! “My fitbit tells me I sleep worse when I drink, so lets drink!”

    I think I almost shit my pants when I read that.

    Be smooth, Lauren. Be smooth.

    I told him to let me know when he’s back home and we will test the technology… pretty good line for 10pm on a tuesday. Then, it happened. We made plans for that Friday.

    I’m not going to go into too much more detail, for now. But I will say, hoping and dreaming, and consistently showing interest paid the fuck off, and for the first time in too long, I had a win.

    And yes, we are still hanging out.

    Not that I need to justify my insanity, but I have always admired this man. The work ethic is unbeatable (literally), and he is so so handsome. Every minute I spend with my manifested man is better and better.

    Don’t believe me? That’s ok, I don’t either. But–I have receipts!

    Spark would like the record to show that he had absolutely nothing to do with this and cannot legally be held responsible for anyone attempting to manifest professional athletes.

    👻💜

  • I wanna go out.

    OK, sometimes I don’t want to put on real pants and brush my hair, or try new things and go new places…

    Ask me on the right night, and I do want to go out.

    I like the bar on the corner with the gravel parking lot, and the weathered yellow porch.

    I like the shiny varnish on the bar that reflects the colorful laser lights from the middle aged DJ.

    I like the bartender that is actually dating my ex fiancé, even though she tells him all about my visits.

    I like that she will still pour my drink without asking.

    I don’t like wearing jeans and fitted t-shirts, but I like how they look on me when I’m swaying in my seat to the 90’s dance hits.

    I like how there’s an outside bar where patrons can bring their dogs and sit on damp picnic tables while they sip their Coors Light.

    I want a tall, muscular, hairy man to sit on the stool next to mine, occasionally brushing against my leg with his.

    I want whiskey and ginger ale in a translucent plastic cup, with a bendy straw, and a side of water.

    I want to scroll down the Touch Tunes app until I find my favorite song, and I want to skip the dingdong that’s playing Morgan Wallen’s “I’m the problem.”

    I’d order 10 sweet Thai chili wings, with ranch of course.

    I would definitely not get up to dance, because I’m not “that” happy to be there, but I would do a cute little spin after i walked out the door, hand in hand with my favorite man.

    I like this little biker bar, if it absolutely have to go out.

  • Marry Me Chicken

    Not sure about anyone else, but when I heard about this recipe, I was so fucking excited. I love chicken, creamy sauce, mushrooms…. let’s be real, I love food in general.

    When I finally got to try it, I was at work. For those who don’t actually know me, I used to be a police officer. I was dating a man whose favorite pastime was wasting MY time, and cooking. He knew his way around a ribeye, I’ll give him that, but the man figured out how to burn pancakes that were raw in the middle.

    Anyway, one fine morning that ex boyfriend shot me a text that said he made me some Marry Me chicken., and he would meet me while I was on patrol so I could grab it. We met under the awning at the RaceTrac, exchanged a brief kiss (had to be professional, I had a rookie in the car) and we went our separate ways. All I could think about was that goddamn chicken.

    Little fact about me: I am always hungry. I will never turn down a meal.

    I was riding around with my rookie, jumping from call to call, just trying to make it to lunch time. My patrol zone was on the west side of the city, by the interstate and the dreaded Walmart. At some point in the late morning rookie and I actually ended up in Walmart, because I was feeling *snacky*. If you had to guess what I bought, would you have guessed a 400 piece bag of tootsie rolls? Because that’s what I bought. Can’t be stingy on the snacks.

    Lunch time came around and I took my rookie back to the station so I could eat my bomb ass chicken. It really was delicious, 1 point to the boyfriend!

    Later in the day, rookie and I were sent to a call that needed a female officer for a search, and on the way, we attached ourselves to a priority call. The funny thing about police work is that you can go from arguing with your rookie about snacks to having the worst day of your life in about thirty seconds. The priority call ended up with my rookie and I shooting a mentally ill woman who charged me with a knife.

    Annnddd that’s the story about how I will never again eat Marry Me Chicken and tootsie rolls.

    The traumatised brain is funny like that.

    ✨ Spark Note:

    The heart says homemade focaccia. The soul says drive-thru.

  • I Don’t Want To Go Out.

    The older I get, the less interested I am in trying new things.

    I don’t want a new restaurant. I don’t want a six-season TV series everyone insists I have to watch. I don’t want to leave my house after 7 p.m.

    I want Panda Express. Honey sesame chicken, fried rice and a root beer.

    I want to put on an oversized T-shirt and boxers. No socks, but only if the floor is clean.

    I want to watch either The Other Woman or Pretty Woman for the seven hundredth time because, quite frankly, I’ve been through enough.

    No, I don’t want to put pants on that don’t have a stretchy waistband, and shoes that actually tie, and i don’t want to brush my hair or put on mascara and see strangers. I want to get a 12 pack of hard lemonade, sit on my couch in my pj’s and forget what my voice sounds like.

    I want a handsome, strong, hairy man sitting beside me, opening my cans when needed, and passing the popcorn. I want my dumbass dog laying on my lap with his favorite ball, and the kids are in bed, so the ball is definitely not squeaky.

    Brownies are in the oven, the tower fan in the living room is blasting me with cold air, so I can comfortably cover myself in my favorite plush blanket. I know every line of either movie, but i still giggle at my favorite parts. No Facebook friends are in my ear, suggesting another Yellowstone spinoff series.

    The a/c is working properly, the fridge isn’t making too much noise, the laundry is done, folded, put away for once. I can’t hear my neighbors through my wall arguing about who cheated on whom. I don’t want to go out, because all of that is my happy place.

    ✨ Spark Note:

    Maybe we’ve had enough adventure for one lifetime. Maybe happiness is just a quiet house, a good movie, stretchy pants, and someone else opening the root beer.

  • Things I think about Daily

    Things I thought adulthood would include.

    The time I accidentally manifested my *boyfriend.(*he hasn’t asked me to be his girlfriend, I just hate the word situationship)

    How much I hate WordPress.

    The strange hierarchy of sports fans.

    I think toddlers are tiny drunk people. Scratch that, I KNOW.

    My AIM away messages.

    Things that deserve more hate.

    The psychology of glitter. Holo vs shapes.

    I accidentally started a blog.

    The weird culture of Facebook moms.

    People I owe apologies to.

    Things I thought were glamorous.

    The Lore of my tattoos.

    Why Florida is basically a fever dream.

    Why do I suddenly have no attention span?

    How do I get diagnosed with ADHD as an adult?

    All cookies are sugar cookies, because without sugar they would be crackers.

    Comment some things you think about daily!

  • Oh, So She’s *Nostalgic*

    My TikTok feed had been inundated with AI videos of what holidays were like in the 90’s. Do I know how these started showing up? No. Do I care? Absolutely not, they’re fucking wonderful. Of course, when you double tap the first video, 9 more show up, so much like my 2009 self, I entered another internet rabbit hole.

    I heard ChatGPT could find old things on the internet, so I started searching for old photos of my childhood home. Mind you, the house was listed on Realtor.com and had relatively recent photos, but that wasn’t enough! I wanted to see the orangey oak cabinets and laminate countertops. I needed the faded green carpet and floral print couch!

    Chat failed me lol. I was still seeking that high and thought maybe I could dig up my long lost MySpace… turns out the internet isn’t actually forever because that shit is long gone. I searched for MySpace, Xanga, LiveJournal, AOLHometown, NEOPETS. None of it exists anymore. No evidence of my teenage years. A blessing and a curse, honestly.

    ChatGPT asked me if there were any other old accounts I wanted to try and dig up, and here we are… an AI Bot convinced me to start up my old blog and just give it a go. It’s cool, I needed an outlet and I have a lot to say. Just need to find some people to listen. Is this whole thing going to be centered around glitter and Jenna Marbles again? Probably not. (Maybe a little.)

    I didn’t find my MySpace. I did, however, spend an evening discussing AIM away messages with a robot.

  • Where Have I Been?

    Here’s a little snapshot into 2009, when the original Inarticulate Sparkle (IS) started:

    -Taylor Swift released “Fearless”

    -Ke$ha premiered “Tik Tok”

    -The Hangover was in theaters

    -Jersey Shore premiered.

    -The iPhone 3Gs launched

    That was a whole lifetime ago! We have had like 30 iPhones and 72 Taylor Swift Eras since then. There’s also a list of things I miss about 2009 (That I absolutely complained about in 2009).

    -Waiting for a text back wasn’t a hostage situation. Facebook was mostly people you actually knew.

    -Your biggest online reputation concern was an embarrassing tagged photo.

    -You could leave the house and be genuinely unreachable.

    – AIM was dead, but the spirit of the away message lived on in cryptic Facebook statuses.

    -Nobody was trying to build a personal brand. We were all just uploading blurry digital camera pictures and hoping for 50 likes.

    But anyway… that’s the past. I have experienced a lot of life since then, and I’m hoping that at least a few of you can relate to my disasters.

  • Resurrection

    Hey friends! It’s Lauren :)

    The OG’s will remember… I started Inarticulate Sparkle in 2009 with a lot of opinions, and free reign of the internet.

    Then, life happened.

    A decade and a half later, I found myself trying to recover the old blog from the depths of the internet, and realized something:

    The website disappeared. My personality didn’t.

    Welcome back, assholes.