70 MPH to Wall

I was driving from Austin to Dallas yesterday. It is a commute that I have not minded to drive because two great things are at each end- my family on one end and my boyfriend on the other.

But lately my car has been a bit scary to drive since the steering rack has been worn down to the point, that when you go around curves, missing grooves in the rack cause the car to free fly for a few seconds before finding the grooves that keeps the car from flying head on into something.

I know that when a curve comes I take it easy, I make sure no cars are around, and I glide on through with a little prayer to the almighty.

But this last time, that prayer was cashed in.

Coming to Dallas on 35E from Austin, a mammoth curve got me. I was helpless to do anything but pray that the car went into the wall instead of the big rig wheels along the other side of my death machine.

The teeth took the last second to catch but not before I scraped into the wall by an inch.

I was literally an inch from my life.

But by sheer grace the car scraped only that inch and the steering grabbed.

I was shaken.

My heart pounding I knew one more curve was coming and I would have to navigate it. It slipped again but caught again in time.

All I remember in my head was praying that it just hold until I get to my BF's house.

Seeing as that is all I prayed for and it was answered, I do not dare ask for much more regarding the steering.

Its in the shop.

God can only answer so many times before bringing his hand down on me and smacking me for being a tight wad and idiot for not getting it repaired. And he would be right to think that way.

I think that way.

Thank God for the man in charge-my BF has initiated the blue law and dealing with the car for me.

Car maintenance is a blue job. Leaving it to a Blonde will just end up in disaster.

I have made it this far on a wing and prayer and a grand man of a beau who is taking care of the car of me.

The Blonde is no longer on a crash course!!

From the Wisdom that is Aretha Franklin

My Lord
I have read this book so many times
But nowhere can i find the page
that change what I experience today


Now I Know that life is meant to be hard
thats how I learn to appreciate my God
Though my courage made me try
I can tell you i won't hide
Because the footprints show you are by my side.


You can lie to a child with a smilin' face
Tell me that color aint about race
You can cast the first stones you can break my bones
But your never gonna break Your never gonna break my Faith

Faith and Hope aint yours to give
Truth and Liberty are mine to Live
You can steal a crown from a king
Break an angels wings
But your never gonna break Your never gonna break my Faith


My Lord
Won't you help them to understand
that when someone takes the life of an innocent man
Well they never really Won because all they've really done
is set the Soul Free where it's supposed to be


For those we lose before their time
I pray their souls will find the light
I know that the day will surely come
When his will, His will, will be done

The Blonde hopes these crazy times don't kill your faith!!

No Good Flea Bag

I have been battling fleas at my parents house. They come from the deer my Mother has been feeding. They hop onto the grass and hit the cats. Even though the cats have been treated for fleas, some still hop on and ride into the house without an invitation.

Rude little fluckers they are!!

And like all uninvited guests, I want to get rid of them as fast as I can.

I went postal on flea kill for the yard, for the house, and for me.

My ankles have been hewed upon for the last time.

I hate to kill the slightest of bugs but when it comes to fleas, I take exception in a big way.

I can whole heartedly say I hate them with true fervor.

No good can come from these pests. Even a cockroach adds to the grand scheme of Mother nature by breaking down dying trees.

But fleas...they are as worthless and inhumane as terrorists!!

I say kill them all!

The Blonde shows no mercy toward petulance!!

If You have Only Nice Things

to blog about than don't bother blogging at all!!

I am stuck in a peculiar place. My love life is actually going completely and utterly sublimely.

I have no complaints.

Nothing to gripe about.

No disparaging thoughts on men.

Ughhh!!!

Its a terrible predicament to be in as a writer.

Happy writers don't blog.

They write romance novels for chrissy's sake.



The Blonde needs a new gripe!!

Blame the Fortune Cookie

Everything was going great at the beach until that one fateful night that we stumbled upon a vietnamese restaurant called 'Hu Dat' and received an almost seemingly mean spirited fortune cookie.

It read:

The greatest danger could be your stupidity.

This was Boo's misfortune and the demise of our surf side vacation.

For the day after he cracked that cookie and read its fortune, he missed the exit road off the beach and drove the car off course until the car was buried nose deep in a sandy abyss.

Before the warm fuzzy feeling of a helping hand, we took upon the task of digging out the car from its beach bed, all the while forgetting to maintain our SPF 85 that had previously saved us from severe burn during surfing. We torched our backs into a hot fuscia frenzy that would test the softness of thread count on our hotel beds. I must say they failed miserably on the count.

The sheets, while soft and cool during the beginning of the trip, had turned against us and turned prickly and rough on our sun raped skin.

Aloe vera after sun care gel became our bed buddy as we woke up several times a night to the sting of our broiled backs and arms.

Our burnt backs limited the comfort zone to a belly only snooze and a very careful application of clothing.

Bras, leather car seats, showers, backs of chairs, sunlight, and sand were avoided with the fiercest of conviction.

The beach was now our enemy.

The ferry rides that were once fun and inviting became an open coffin. Like vampires, we huddled near the middle dark of the vehicle, trying to keep from spontaneously bursting into flames while the engine was shut off during the 5 minute crossing.

Then slowly, the pain subsides, the blisters form, and the willpower to save skin from peel marks quickly succumbs to the morbid satisfaction that we got from the little squirt of fluid we felt under our fingernails as we scraped the tiny skin bubbles.

The endless re-application of lotions, oils, creams, and cocoa butter was and is futile.

The skin has no choice but to peel.

While waiting for our karma to turn, our skin to heal, and our auto to be repaired, we pondered the irony of booking a room, on our last days of holiday, in a hotel located above a vietnamese restaurant.

The Blonde is over asian food!