Steal A yacht Just Cuz it is EAZZZZYYYY!!!

Seeing how the yachts are floating in water and fences are a bitch to build around them...just take a dingy out at midnight during the week when it is dead silent in the marinas.

Of course you have to be careful of what marina you hit because lurking around are moronic nemesis'  known as 'live-a-boards'. Losers who bought a boat and do not own a home nor do they have the tenacity to ever see their boat leave the dock. Most of the boats can't leave the dock for immense need of repair. And most of these morons are so busy getting their drink or drugs on that they are just looking for anyone to chat and they will tell you all you need to know.

Immense chuckling from me right now...

Back to story...

They will give a complete stranger-who happens to be anything female and looks like it can be screwed-the entire dish of the marina and thus opening up which boat is ripe for the taking.

Halleluiah drunken never gonna go sailing, sailor!!

The Blonde is digging you for your ripe info and..............


....do not even think about touching me!

Here!! Suck down your 7th mixed drink from hell with rum from the bottle with the naked chick on it...I am sure it is a supreme maker. (Sarcasm is alive and well in the living dead).


I have my target yacht and just a few more nights with douche of a drunk 'live aboard', and I will be golden.

I really want to tie him up with duct tape and set his 37' out to 'no where' island but like I have said...I am trying to maintain my humanity.

The Blonde...deep breathe and maintain...

I am maintaining but I am feeling this one should be drowned for fun....



Yoga breathes, yoga breathes...





still want to kill him





I will not kill

not know
but maybe


yess, yesss.yesss...

OK..I want to kill him!!!

Good therapy this yoga stuff!!!!

Yachts do come with alarms and high tech gear to detect theft and that is why I previously said I need a techno wingman. I am currently searching for one but in the


In this Life an Undead Needs a Wing Man

It is not fair!!

I am not a super hero nor a vampire and the books and movies make it seem so easy. They all have money and side kicks.

Movies suck for information. Dracula and the Highlander had money stashed from accumulation through the centuries. It is amazing they never made a bad investment deal. Could you imagine if their fortune was invested in a super ponzi scheme?

Alas, movie scripts are for entertainment and not for educational purposes and so I read Anne Rice's books.


\Again, she makes it all to easy for the undead to skirt through life with accumulated wealth.


I am undead for less than 30 years and anything I accumulated was taken from me by men that were completely wrong choices. Online dating is all about wrong choices. I am thinking about making up for that by killing some and taking their things.

I am trying hard not to go down that root and keep the bit of humanity I still feel in me but in reality, I know it is slowly slipping away. I am feeling more detached everyday.

I think if I had a wing man that could keep me connected than I will be ok for awhile.

But...and this is a giant BUT

I find it difficult that anyone would believe my condition. And the way America is dumbing down, I am not sure they could really be a useful sidekick anyway.

I have to figure out how to buy a car, a house, and be as normal as I can.

I have a young dead girl's ID but can't use it until I know its clean.

What I really need is one of those whiz black hats who can create a whole new identity for me.

Right now I have to find a country that I can set up bank accounts that ask no question and I only have two options to get to said country; by yacht or by private jet. Since I do not know how to fly and have no wing man, I am thinking yacht in an easy port.

I am not worried about the yacht situation because if I get caught I will just sink the damn boat.

I may not have super powers but being undead, I can float in an ocean forever and since I do not need water to drink and I have no blood sharks can smell. I will just drift until I land somewhere.

Hopefully that will not be the case. I just need a yacht with an owner too broke to fill the tank!

Not too hard to do these days.

The Blonde is headed to a yacht club!


Being New to the Living Dead

I know I have been dead since 1986 but what is new to me is finally accepting it.

I have lived as if it never really happened. In my mind it was all a bad dream that was produced in my psyche while I was in a coma.

I was able to keep the lie going until last year.

Having my world fall apart and having to fake a death when I am already dead is very hard.

I want to call my family and friends and say I am still here but I can't and I have no one to turn to.

Writing this blog is my only salvation now. I am only glad that I never let anyone close to me know about it.

It is not like I can go to a shrink. They would put me away for observation.

I have only you now. An unseen audience to help me deal with this.

I want to cry but I can't. I have no tears. I feel something like heartache but it is not. My heart no longer beats.

I can not explain it where a living person can understand what I am feeling but its like wanting to sneeze and you can't. The perpetual feeling of a sneeze that won't let go.

You do know that feeling, right?

You know you have to sneeze and it builds up and even if you stare in the light, you can't do it. It begins to hurt and your eyes squint and all you want to do is relieve the forced feeling.

That is what it feels like to be undead and broken away form your emotional state.

The Blonde has to go now and look for a stronger light.

The Dead Help the Dead

I have been scouring cemetaries looking for a baby that died in 1986. I found one and headed toward the office that holds birth cetificates when I stumbled upon a body. I was riding my bike around the lake to get to downtown where the birth records are held...

and there she was.

This pretty young girl, laying near the lake. At first, I thought she was just a homeless person who was asleep and I wanted to leave a few dollars by her side.

As I approached her, I thought she may not be alive. My heart did not race since I do not have a heart beat but I did feel instantly a connection to her.

I felt her.

I wanted to help her.

She can't find the light.

I went up to her.

Her spirit is standing over me. She is sad and angry and alone.

I am new to this and I do not know what to say to her. She is over me.

All I said in my mind was that, "I need you".

She smiled and then she left.

Her body was so petite, not more than 5ft. A pretty little thing that had no life left. I picked up her back pack-a well worn blue Jansport- and before I could look through it, I saw a kayak with two people coming near the shore and so, I took off.

I now have the identity I need. I know I am safe because I just found an article in the newspaper showing this young girl as a Jane Doe without dental records or finger prints on record.

Yes, you may want to hate me for this but the dead help the dead. I know you may not understand but look at it like this...

She was an organ donor but since her organs were not viable she was able to still give something. She gave me an identity so I can find the Doctor who did this to me.

I will make this up to her.....but for now,

The Blonde needs to leave this state and move on ahead!


Why the Undead Live in the Cities

  It is a new day, a new dawn for me and having to find a new identity that is age appropriate. I can see why New York and Los Angeles are attractive destinations for the undead. They have public transportation and identification is not needed unless you want to vote but the undead do not vote since they have lived long enough to understand, its a futile act for a represented constituency group that is severely under represented.

I wonder if vampires are able to get a photo id using a digital camera? Hhmm...but I digress...


Since this is my first time doing all of this undead red tape, I have to figure out how to get an id. I remember watching 'The Highlander' back in the eighties and it has some smart information in regard to roaming a cemetery looking for a young child that died in the year that I need for my new driver's license.

I guess that is where I will start.

 I do not even want to think about my next step which is housing, employment, how I am going to keep my law degree.

At least all these little details keep me busy and less depressed about leaving the family. I miss them.

I could have explained my condition to them but if you previously read any of my blog, you would know my parents would end up sending me to a loony house and my son would be thoroughly embarrassed of his crazy Mum and never speak to me again, so really maybe in twenty years when I still look the same he will believe.

I just have to find the Doctor that experimented on me 30 years ago.

But right now...

The Blonde is off to the graveyard shift.


The Problem with Death

My time line is off.

I am mixing up what happened when I was alive with stories from my death.

I did not have this problem before I was buried but than again, this is the first time I had to die for others.

I do not want to discuss what happened after the night I died but I do want to tell you what happened  that night.

In 1986, I was pregnant and I was riding in the car with my boyfriend. He had a 1969 GTO. We were coming back from a drive in movie and I told him that I was pregnant and wanted to have his baby.

It was our two year anniversary and I thought he would be happy.

To this day, I have no idea if he was happy or angry because the minute those words fell from my lips, he put full force of his leg muscle down on the gas pedal and rammed us into a brick wall.

We both died instantly but for some reason, I was kept on life support and in a coma until a baby was born and than they unplugged me.

The funny part about this story is that, my parents took the baby and left me to die and I did die but came back.

This is the part of the story I can't tell you now...

but the Blonde will, one day!

New Readers to My Blog

I can only relate dating horror stories from my past.

I died again, last year.

I deleted the posts of my impending doom and erased them all.

I should have started a new blog but like anything else, secrets boil over and it needs to be spilled.

I am spilling them.

It was a very tough year for me.

 I know longer could hide my age.

My family and friends all aged and I stayed the same.

My son started looking older than me and I knew that I could no longer stay.

I died of heart failure due to asthma and I was buried in a cemetery in a small town on the Rhine River near the border of Poland in Germany last year.

I was dug out of the ground this year.

I want to share so many stories with you accept for one:

The story of my real death in 1985.

The Blonde knows death last only a minute!


Prejudice runs A Muck Everywhere

When I was a little girl growing up in North Carolina, our elementary class went on a field trip to an art museum. There was one piece of art that stuck out in my mind and has been placed in my memory forever.

I long since forgotten who painted it but I remember it was a political painting because my teacher told us it was. At the ripe old age of 7, I would not have known its meaning nor the impact it was meant to have until now.

Trayvon Martin unlocked this memory for me.

The painting was of a Carolina shoreline with a giant ocean rippling on through and there were words painted on the sky above on a ribbon saying, "Swim Back to Africa".

When you looked in the ocean, in the painting, there were many black men swimming out to sea with a white man under each of their arms trying to swim back to Africa. I understood they would not make the journey and I understood that two white men would drown with them.

I stared and stared at that painting. I knew I liked it, I actually loved it but not for the reason you think.

My Mother and Father are from other countries and I grew up being called a pollok and a natzi. Again, I was too young to understand what that meant but I knew enough to kick someone in the balls when they said it.

I ended up in the Principal's office a few times regarding that particular issue.

I was pleased with myself each time I did. The Principal, a wonderful man who happened to be black, understood and so my penalty was a simple, "try not to do it again." I love the fact that he said 'try not' because it left me open to defend myself.

I loved that painting, not because the black man would drown but because the white men would. I was sad for the black man but held no sympathy for the white ones. 

I was bullied by anglos...and I was white, just not the right white.

This "Stand Your Ground" law is fine if someone is coming after you. I go to a university that has someone robbed at gunpoint for their smart phone, so I am all about stand your ground, but... to follow a person and provoke a fight in which you begin to loose and then shoot them...that is not standing your ground. You left your ground and walked over someone elses right to feel safe.

I believe in defending myself against others but I do not carry a gun because the weight of having to use it would haunt me.

I prefer a taser...



Oh, do not try and get up, fool!



I said don't get up.

In the end, I would want them to get up, preferably in handcuffs and knowing I thwarted an attack without killing anyone.

Stand your ground on your own turf but do not go looking for a fight you can not win and then shoot to kill.

Politicians do that and they have the aftermath on their shoulders.

The general public need not follow in their stupidity.

The Blonde


The Stare Down

I have to set the story for you or the great parts will get lost without context.

I live in a hood where homes do not fall under a million bucks. I am not bragging, just showing you country hicks can invade anywhere.

A new neighbor moved in a year ago and has since built one of those hideous barbeque slash pool house slash left no money room to build a decently high end fence. They also hung a tyco tree chair in the front yard to make sure all the neighbors know they are new parents.

We know, we just do not care.

This is not a neighborhood where anyone is neighborly. There is reason for all the fences and the homes built back from the drive.


This dick wad's Grandmother died and left the grandchildren a pretty penny and so he and his wife were able to afford the house and the remodel and now think their wad does not stink--sort of like the Kardashians but on Texas steroids.

Oh yes, one more thing...

It is in my opinion, this is that guy, back in college, who liked getting girls drunk to the point of oblivion and having sex with them while they were unconscious and then brag to his buddies that he just banged the hot chick from chem class.

OK setting complete, now for the story:

Come 4th of July we bought fireworks to celebrate a very special soldier's first 4th of July since his return from the middle east--and no I will not capitalize a geographical area where woman are considered expendable but  I digress....

Not the second pop of a firecracker went off  before this bloated-belly, bourbon, drinking, dick wad comes over...

"Uh, y'all need to pack it in. I have a kid I need to lay down and sleep."

By the way this was at 9pm at night and remember only one firecracker went off.

I also had some some Shiners in me and booya, my mouth had some fireworks of its own.

"Fuck you and the hillbilly horse you rode in on and get the F...off my property! These soldiers just got back from Afghanistan and they don't sleep until after midnight. It is one night a year...Maybe instead of the fancy barbeque, you should have saved up for double pane windows and sound proof walls for hillbilly junior."

Seriously, we bought $150 worth of fireworks that would not last more than 15 minutes. This dick could have stuck it out.

"Hey, I was just trying to be a gentleman," dick wad said.

My response, "No your not. A gentleman would have introduced himself and ask politely but this is your second time coming over here demanding something, you have no business to demand. Now get your fat ass off my property"

Before all this happened, anytime his wife drove by in her gas guzzling, I am a true, Texas, Bush loving, dislike Obama because he is a Muslim Republican Chevy Suburban.....she never once looked my way. She always turned her head but today...

Guess who gave me the stare down?!


Wife of Bourbon Billy!!!

I just kept looking at her  with that look of "Really?" It was two weeks ago and you still have a hard on for me? I was over you with the echo of my last F you to your husband.

The problem with Americans is we don't tell people what we feel.  I do but most do not and so that sentiment just starts stewing in their little heads and it comes out in stupid passive aggressive ways.

I much rather someone roll down there window and let's get a verbal get on and than be done with it.

We now both no where we stand. I don'[t like you. You do not like me. Let's agree to ignore each other like we always have.

But stare downs from now on, really?


The Blonde will start getting her middle finger ready for some flicking action!!!


When a Man Loves a Woman

Andy Garcia makes me melt every time I watch him in any movie.  But the one movie that makes me fall to my knees praying I could find a man like him is when he plays the character in "When a Man Loves a Woman".

I know its is just a movie but lately that is what I use to fill my heart with. I can't find it so I watch it in films. I watch the romantic, perfect. made for movies and not at all like real life love I crave.

I craved it so much that I fell for an italian race car driver that said all the right things in the beginning and I fell for it.

And then his words started to fall away from the man he really was and so I fell away from him.

His accent was cute in the beginning but when he started to talk about things less romantic, his voice started to sound like nails scraping on the proverbial chalkboard.

For the following statements, use an Italian accent in your head.....

" My wife was not good looking."

"I do not know why I married her"

Are you sticking to the Italian accent in your head?

"I am so kinky and my wife would not allow me another woman. I think you and I should have another woman with us."

"You know my Mother was an italian model but she married such an ugly man. "

"I love women so much. I adore them and love making love with them. I think we should try anal sex. I think you would really like iiiitttt." 

"You know when I lived in South Africa, I lived with two girls and we made love together and they wanted to have my babies."


OK..you can kill the italian accent. It is me again.

What a pratt!!

He was italian but drove stock cars and he sucked at it. Never made it in the top 10 position sin any race. he had two accidents and said he quit.

Yeah right...

I think the sponsor ditched your loosing streak.

By the way, women are following the sponsor and ditching you left and right.

After all, you did show me all the photos of the pretty girls who no longer found your accent any more attactive than I did after your word vomit about anal sex.

The Blonde hates Italian anyway...too many carbs and no substance to keep me going!!!!!!



Dexter of Serial Daters

I was contemplating going back on the dating sites and picking out grossly inflated profiles and picking off the little liars Dexter style. Albeit that would interfere with my plans to graduate from law school if I get caught. But on the bright side, I could defend myself in court if I ever get caught and I could play the Sharon Stone's character in Basic Instinct.

Why would someone write about killing and then kill in the exact manner that she writes?

I think just a well plotted smear campaign against the atrocity of serial daters on Match should do the trick in warning women and men that they could be victim to assholedness.

For instance:

My last date of last year involved a bipolar freak who stole my brand new pair of union jack printed jeans I ordered specifically from London, at a pretty penny to me.

Why did he take my pants? He took them as leverage, saying that I owed him a $2000 for the two weeks we went out. The food and drink tab he wanted repaid.

What a WANKER!

I am 5'9" and 128 lbs. If I could eat and drink a thousand dollars worth of food in a week; I would be extremely thrilled with that kind of wicked, awesome metabolism...

but that was not the case.

We went out a few times and maybe a couple hundred greenbacks were left at the restaurants but the rest of the time he and his brother cooked dinner and lunch with amazing amounts of carbs.

They consumed amazing amounts of scotch and wine.

I ate very little and drank my Shiner. Hardly a thousand dollar pallet.


He has my pants and I ordered a new pair.

But do not think for a minute that I did not dream up fabulous ways of breaking into his house with a taser gun and waking him up in the middle of the night to scare the pants right off of him. Alas, it was only dreaming. In reality I had to succumb to the fact that he probably gave my pants to his next victim.

I wonder what he will take from her?

The girl before me lost her antique make-up table that he kept and let his new girlfriends use but she lasted 2 months. I am glad I got out early and off easy.

La Blonde says "C'est la vie, thief"!!!!


I am at a Crossroad

I have reached that point in life where I no longer look outward but inward. My life is nothing more than introspection right now. This thought only comes from the feeling that I am missing something.

I used to fill that feeling of missing something by searching for a man but that never seemed to pan out and got only worse the more I searched online.

I sometimes blame the internet dating sites for killing my dream of love.

And that sometimes thought is a reaffirmed every time I make the mistake of trying it again.

I no I said I would quit and I have.

I believe I should start a dating anonymous 12 step program for people who were suckered into the thought that anyone on those sites were worthy of true commitment.

A 12 step program for the hopeless romantic that was disenfranchised and lost self esteem due to disgusting displays of worth based on nothing more than superficiality.

I have been sober from dating sites for more than a year and the next few stories you will read are offered to you as a warning.

Get sober and boycott match.com and other dating sites.

Let us start a grass roots movement to kill online dating and get back to the fundamentals of courting.

The Blonde wants Match to loose their game!!!

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