Being With Oneness

Living with your elderly parents can have its onederful moments.

One is always cold and the other is always hot.

One turns the heat up to a boiler room and the other turns down the temp to sub zero.

One likes wool blankets and the other likes feather duvets.

One runs around half naked during the day and goes full Boticelli late at night in her art room.

One drops his pants to retuck his shirt in the foyer.

One barks orders at his wife and the other barks orders at me.

One like to be neat and the other likes chaotic clutter.

One steers the car and the other is a backseat driver.

One stays up late and the other rises early.

One swipes my bath towels for the laundry and the other swipes my toilet paper when she runs out.

One messes up the kitchen and the other one bitches about cleaning it.

One can't live with out the other and the other can't live without him.

Its as symbiotic as love gets after 50 years of being together and I have the distinct privilege of seeing it first hand.


The Blonde will have the same one day!!!


No Right Turn

I have a 1995 jaguar vanden plas, She is black, sleek, gorgeous and can't make right turns on account of the steering rack is shot all to heck and back. If you do make a right turn it can not be sharp and you have to straighten the wheel immediately before the steering fluid has a chance to leak out completely.

I have found a way to get around town without having to make right hand turns, which I think for Blonde, is quite an extraordinary feet. My preferred gas stations are all on the left hand side of the road. My grocery stores, dry cleaner and drug store are all left hand turns with large spaces to circle to the left to get back on the road.

I even plan my weekend evenings out and what bars and restaurants to attend based on my ability to travel left way. Even the valets dowtown know my cars plight and work around the left for me. they also know a jackson will hit their palm if i don;t hear screeching from an empty steering pump.

Its almost like writing a book without the letter E. The book Gadsby ( not to be confused with the 'Great Gatsby') is a 50,000 word novel written by Ernest Vincent Wright, without once using the the letter 'E'.

I am calculating my mileage and I think I can drive for at least another 2,000 miles without turning right, because quite frankly that is how long it will take to find a replacement steering rack under $2 grand.

I could give up my car and buy a new one but quite frankly I love her. She rides like glass and no one would put up with her idiosyncrasies the way I do. We are both a bit high maintenance and have worked out our differences. The other day, just to be nice, she actually lighted the stereo and clock for me out of the blue.

She hasn't done that since last year.

And when I wash her, she actually allows me to play the CD player for a few days before going on the fritz.

She has 129,000 miles on her but she is a Tuesday car. A Tuesday car is the one that will always be true to you. If you look on the inside of the door and you will see the code that can be looked up on the web to see what day it was built. Never buy a Monday car, because the workers are hungover from the weekend, and never, never buy a car built on Friday, because the workers at the plant have already checked out mentally way before they punch the time sheet.

Since I am Blonde and go for style more than function, I have to be careful when picking out my cars but I am not.

My Triumph was definitely a Friday car and she was in love with my mechanic, she spent more time with him than me. The Range Rover was a bit dodgy being a Thursday car, it hated red lights and would kill its engine in disgust ay every one.

My Saab convertible is a Wendesday car. She is unhappy that fat Sophie uses her canvas top as a hammock and now refuses to go down without a bit of a shove. I don't drive her because Boo took her off to college to impress the other girls.

God just puts these cars somewhere with a sale sign in the window and I fall in love at first sight. It has been that way for all my cars and I always hold on to them longer than I should.

But what can I say.

The Blonde is a romantic at heart!!


Blonde Momment 473

I was running late to meet the Captain for margs.

I got in my car, started it up, and pulled out of the driveway.

All of the sudden, I saw smoke surrounding my car.

Great, just frecking great!!

My engine blew!!

As a tallied around to the corner to go back into the driveway, I noticed the smoke was all over the road!

It was precipitation; also known as dew, fog, vapors, and the smokey stuff that ruins a blonde's hairstyle!!


I admit, I am not perfect, while alive.

But, I am still holding out for the saint dooh-hickey award thingy from the pope when I croak.

The Blonde was in a fog!!!

But only briefly!!


I Am Offically Reformed

but unofficially, after 6 hours of driver's rehab online, I am going back to my old habits. I guess I don't feel my minor law infractions warrant a full sobriety from speeding. I rarely go over 4, 5, OK...maybe 10 in the city....but I only hit 15 over signage on the highway during really long trips. But in my defense, this is Texas, there is a lot of ugly country and roadkill to speed through on my way to a city landscape.

I missed 4 questions on the video part because I didn't bother to watch the videos and the trick questions got me. I missed only two on the written part, but again I didn't bother to read that either.

I already know the law.

How else would I know when to dart my eyes around looking for the boys in blue before I break one?


I will have to say, I am amazed how the test actually validated me as a considerate and more than decent driver. I passed my driving rehab with flying colors.

Where is my key chain?!!

And now that I know I am a reborn again and a better driver than everyone else, I want to host intervention parties for the zillions of people that refuse to admit they suck at road courtesy which by the way, made up for a third of the entire test.

Here is a little test to see if you need driver's anonymous:

Do you stop at the on ramp because you can't accelerate and navigate, at the same time, to get on the highway?

Do you play secret traffic cop driving the speed limit in the left left lane and not allowing others to pass?

Do you put the cell phone to your ear before shifting in reverse out of your parking space?

Don't even think about saying, "NO" you liar!!

I am no saint, but the Pope should think about making me one after this test!!

I'm kidding!

I cant be a saint until I am dead!!

And considering how bad most of the drivers I share the road with are....that title could come quicker than I want!!

(Excuse me while I knock on wood)

I will admit to one unsaintly act on the road"

I cut very inconsiderate drivers off! But only after they really, really, really deserved it.
Had they taken the time to check in their rear view mirror and realize tailgating is a polite form of saying get the @#$%@#$!! out of the left lane, you $#@$$%#&&*# , I would never need to pull my pedal punch. But as the christians say, "There is a devil, at ever corner, waiting to tempt you into sin."

I just didn't realize it meant, literally, every street corner!

Blondes don't like being driven crazy on the road!!


Defensive Driving Online

I was snagged by a totally unfair speeding trap last year and ever since, I have been procrastinating to take my defensive driving course. But alas, my time has run out and I have to take my proverbial spanking before I take a beating in court for failure to deliver my certificate of authenticity as a reformed driver.

I might be in for some rocky road when navigating the test considering I make judgment calls to the law, when I feel it is not in my best interest to obey them. For instance, I believe its moronic to stay for an entire red light when I am the only car in sight, so after I have made a complete stop, evaluate safety conditions, and see no copper in sight , I go through the light. Afterward, I make peace with myself, justifying my decision based on the eco-friendly mindset that an idling car at 2 AM, when the atmosphere, in my time zone, is more susceptible to poisonous and unnecessary exhaust.

Anything I can do to help the planet, is in all our best interest.

I wonder if i can argue that in court, if I ever get caught?

Driving with a perfect license gets you kudos with no one but if you slide a bit on the law and get caught, you are rewarded with a 10% discount on your insurance when faxing them the safety course certificate minus the infraction ticket. Lets face it, no one takes the course unless they are forced into it.

At least I will be able to drink and drive my way through this long road to redemption.

The Blonde is in for a long haul!!


Parents Are Away, Time To Play

My parents come home from the camping trip I supposedly orchestrated myself out of to house sit and have decadent parties, or so they think.

It does not matter how old you are, when you are under your parents roof, for whatever reason, you are a horny teenager looking to get into trouble.

When they arrive home:

My Mother will inevitably search the house for signs of guests. She will see the beach towel I placed on one of the porch chairs and think it was from a late night scrub and rub in the hot tub, when in actuality, I put it their because one of the cats took a tinkle on it. And even though I cleaned it with tilex, I didn't want to sit directly on it.

My father will head directly for the downstairs bar and wine cellar, which he locked, to check for sign of break ins. And even when he doesn't find signs of knife wounds and pb and j on the door jam, he will count his stock of dusty wines.

They will interrogate my cats, looking for doped up eyes and signs of frolicking feline paw prints on carpets throughout the house. They will search for mounds of fur balls on beds, sofas, and fresh laundry.

Because I was bored, I did the laundry and cleaned the house but the neuroses of my parents will inevitably have them view this as a sad attempt at hiding the remnants of a Bacchus wine party.

They will even go as far as seeing this post as further evidence to my cover up.

So, I must confess:

I doped up the cats and let them loose in the house
Broke into the wine cellar with a cheese knife
Drank the chateau margaux and replaced it with cherry koolaid and recorked the bottles
Partied naked in the hot tub with AIG execs
Ordered call girls and male strippers on the Amex card

and I hired a full cleaning staff to hide the evidence.

As a teenager, I would have just ordered a keg and hit up myspace friends but I am older now and not the teenager my parents still think I am.

Blondes are all grown up now!!


Pavlov's Theory Applied to Blondes

Ali Abu owns one of the many gas stations I use around town to buy my Nat Sherman Fantasias. For those that do not take pride in the art of smoking, Fantasias are crayon colored smoke delights with a gold tip, no junk added beyond natural cancer causing agents, and cost around $9 for a gold scribed box.

I used to average 1 to 2 cigarettes on the weekends with a glass of wine until I tried the nicorette patch, way above my level, which gave me nightmares and an increased craving for my colorful chick sticks. I am now up to 3 to 4, with my wine, and have decided to go cold turkey one day in the near future. Considering I inch closer to the mirror every morning to check for lines induced by obsessive paranoia inflicted on me by beauty product propaganda, the day of smoke freedom is closing in fast. I would quit based on the cancer societies death toll ads but they are annoying and not as convincing as the Oil of Olay Skin Regenerist cream threats on aging skin.


Back at Ali Abu's, I use the self slide debit machine and for more than a year, the cashiers have had to reach over and help me finish my transaction.

Slide card

hit debit

enter secret code

and the Blonde waits for her receipt.

Meanwhile, the cashier must reach over the counter

hit the button for

cash back


button for

amount correct


waits for printing of receipt

and hands it to me.

Today, I actually completed the sales transaction all by myself.

Had the cashier just slapped my hand every time I prematurely ended the transaction...I would have learned sooner.

Blondes can learn new tricks!!

Happy Pi Day

HapPy St. PaTricks DaY


Testes the Talking Fish

Dallas has spun some stories far more interesting than the Captain and I am enthralled once again of colorful accounts too far fetched to write from my imagination, no matter how many bottles of vino I drink before settling down to write.

Dallas, as you may have read, is the gentleman who was going to allow me to board my mini cow on his ranch. But do to the fact, I do not trust him enough not to turn my mini cow into sliders and ribs, and the fact that while its fun to think of owning a mini cow...its still a cow and I have enough issues with my cat's litter box, I have quickly put mini cow ownership on a reality halt.

The story of Testes the fish started a long time ago. Dallas was camping with friends near Garner State park, along side a large lake. In the darkest of evenings as he sat pondering his adulthood, a fish came out of the water and talked to Dallas. I am not at liberty to discuss the conversation because, quite frankly, I was scoffenheiming the reality of the fish speaking, that I failed to hear what Testes had actually said to Dallas.

Now, Dallas swears he was not smoking anything funny that night and from knowing him not to be one to take a puff on the canibus leaf, I have to just assume he had a crazy moment.

After discussing worldly insight with Testes the fish, Dallas went back to his friends only to discover a statue named 'Mauie' perched on top of a rock. Apparently, Testes left him the gift.

I am not sure if it was Testes or Maui that brought on the following events but according to Dallas, its all true.

On 9/11,four years after the talk with Testes, way back when before the real 9/11...Dallas and his friends were shot and left for dead. Dallas has the bullet wounds to prove it!! Four years later on 9/11...Dallas' house burnt down with Maui left half charred and burnt. Four years after that 9/11, the real 9/11 happened.

I know you are probably asking yourself right about now, where do I meet these guys. Internet dating sites? Where else?!!

Anyhoo, back to crazy!

Then one night, while out drinking, Dallas ran into a a few women that said they were Wiccan and could cast a spell to protect him. And sure enough, Dallas went for it and a full blown wiccan
party entailed and candles were burnt and voila!!

Ever since then, Dallas has been free from 9/11 turmoil but I still have no intention of ever spending a September with him, considering I have not had the same spell afforded to me.

With the Captain and Dallas at the helm of my freindship list, you can certainly understand why I would find dinner parties with talks of visits to St. Barts and the economic crisis with normal peeps, a total bore.

Blondes like tall tales!!


The Sunscreen Song

Every year I look at my Victoria Secret bikini log, I think of 'The Sunscreen Song'. The song was created by Baz Lurhman but it was actually an article, written by Mary Schmich, for the Chicago Tribune in 1997.

Spring Break is about to hit Texas and I think of all the young hotties that will bake away in the sun not realizing that when they hit my age, they will wish they didn't (I know I am) so I, being in a generous mood tonight, have decided to offer up a social contribution. I am bringing out the decade old advice and dispensing it for future genz.

As for the videos of lude acts that will inevitably hit SEXtube....not my problem. Mamma and Daddy should have done a better job raising you!!

The Blonde never bakes!!


Who Knew Voo Doo?

Of all my friends, Captain Caribbean has to be my all time favorite. I am so in love with his story telling that I can't wait for margaritas and a moon to listen of his tales with exotic women.

Far from the exotic shores, the Captain settles his sails for titty dancers, latin persuasion hotties, and stress reducing rituals with happy endings, which sadly enough for him, came to an abrupt halt when a sting operation shut his Mamma San down.

Tonight's plate of forbidden fruit was laid out with tales of the colorful and offbeat religion of santeria. 'Santeria' also known as Regla de Ocha, which is spanish for 'one who works the spirits' had my blonde arm hairs in a prickled state.

The Captain has a pretty little lass who has become an Iyalorishas (high priestess) and she invited him to a party celebrating her deceased Mother. The party was hidden behind an unassuming store filled with santa maria candles and religious artifacts on the east side of town where white skin and a Range Rover Sport with pop daddy hot rims and super sport upgrades is a beacon for paroling squad cars looking for a major drug bust. Even with the heat burning his bumper, the Captain did not sway from his invitation.

The Captain was greeted by a very large dark cuban man that ushered him to a large room behind the store. There he was greeted by his twenty something treat, 3 chickens in a cage, an albino in a pimp daddy suit, and a white dove who sat above an altar table of offerings. Along the walls was an endless array of congo drums and spirited musicians banging rhythmically away.

The white dove was the encapsulated spirit of the deceased; the albino was the new sugar daddy of the priestess; the cuban fellow was just a bouncer, and the 3 chickens now have their heads on a milk carton asking if you have seen them.

The Captain enjoyed the party and the only odd thing he was asked to do was smear a cucumber on his face and lay it on the table beneath the dove. I googled this ritual and it is called 'cleansing of palo mayo'. The Captain was being cleansed of bad spirits that have him plagued for a life long sentence of bachelorism and non-monogamous relationships.

This chica, the priestess, has been on the captain's tail coat to move in and settle down, like any woman interested in a man would want, but I have to applaud her bravado and the great extent as to which she will go through to cure my friend of his philandering. A blonde chick would never be so creative.

After slurping our frozen margs down in a casual pace, I left the Captain behind thinking I would visit him for a few more rounds at the hacienda, but something stopped me this time. Perhaps it was the thought of Mother dove sitting on his cucumber that had me head straight for home instead.

The Blonde was spiritually guided!!


Those Snakes

How utterly apropos is it to find this lingering outside my door as I left to deal with the bank?While banks, on a whole, are as slithery as my new found friend, their employees are not hideous creatures and are willing to help a blonde out. All my charges were reversed by a super handsome bank manager called Eduardo.

The Blonde is back in the garden of green!!!

We Don't Need No Stinkin Banks, Man!

I have a plethora of funny and fab tales but unfortunately today is the day I have to clear up some bank fraud with my account and prepare my taxes, so needless to say, my humor is on hold.

Bank of America is a good bank but they are a sneaky little outfit sometimes. Twice they have double debited items and if it were not for my deliciously low funds, I would not catch their errors.
Due to bounce fees without a negative and without transactions to account for it, I have caught them once again.
I can only wonder how many people don't catch banks accounting glitches and pay the $35 fee thinking they are at fault. I guess it only becomes a problem when billions of dollars are at stake.

In times of economic struggle I understand thievery is on the rise but its easier to spot your missing bike than it is to see how fraudulent accounting practices end up hurting the average blonde and everyone else with darker shades of hair.

Banks and credit card companies are the new Bonnie and Clyde of our times. They may not carry guns but they are definitely shooting off the hand that feeds their greed.

The Blonde is policing banks today!!


My Iphones Funky Foot Fetish

My iphone has spawned into a voyeur. It seems the sneaky shutterbug, has a thing for my feet. Every time I try to use the camera feature for a quick pose, my trusty little cell uses its little camera icon button to deceive me into a foot photo.

I am trying hard not to judge my iphone but it is a little creepy if you ask me. I was thinking about putting my iphone into therapy but I can't find a Doctor willing to work with the little guy.

Go figure?!

I think therapy for my iphone and my electronics would be appreciated. I could get my toaster to stop burning my toast over feelings of being inadequate next to the microwave. A therapist could have told me to move it to the counter near the wimpy can opener to give it positive self image.

Maybe I can find some alternative therapy like a hypnotist that would be willing to work with my iphone's fetish, my can opener's desire to squirt tuna juice, and my alarm clocks unwillingness to reset itself to snooze a few times instead of making me do it.

The Blonde has some ill thoughts!!


Bloom and Doom

I want to feel like this:

but I feel like this

The Blonde is under the weather!!


Dallas Wants to Eat My Mini Cow

Dallas wants to raise mini cows and turn them into sliders at your local brew pub.

And while I love sliders, especially with cheese...I do not want to think that one of those tasty treats had a name, or was a pet!

Dallas can have mini cows for milking only!!

He can evaporate the milk, bottle it in cute glass baby bottles with pink ribbon, and sell it as 'mini moo-moo milk bath' in exclusive boutiques in New York and LA.

But he will not be raising them to send to the butcher.

How can you even think of looking in those big mini cow eyes and telling them they are going to be baby back ribs at Chilis?!

Blondes are chickening out!!