Cause I'm a blonde.

It's not all fairy floss and glitter you know.

I've never enjoyed being blonde.
I've never enjoyed the attention or the assumptions.
As soon as I reached an age where I was able to, I hid it.
Better red than dead. That's right isn't it?

But after 5 years of dyeing my hair to avoid dealing with it, it finally dawned on me that I'd prefer to be able to identify those who judge others on appearance rather than merit, quickly and easily. To screen the calls as it were.
And what better way for me to flush them out than to just give in and be blonde?
Really, really blonde.

But today, something else occurred to me. Something that really should have occurred to me much sooner.
Sadly though, it's taken me almost 40 years to understand this point, which in retrospect, makes me feel a little dim. Blonde even. ;O)

I'd had glimpses of this ugliness quite a few times before, but I'd never seen it for what it truly was.

This morning at work, an old lady sidled up to me (bigots always sidle) and told me how glad she was that she was going to die soon.
Of course, this struck me as a fairly interesting thing to say.
Her reasoning was that the world was fast becoming so awful, that she was relieved she wasn't going to have to watch much more of it.

Now, this didn't throw me at all.

I'm always interested to hear from that generation, they've seen plenty during their tenure.
By and large I love old people. I have an enormous amount of respect for them.

I'm sure you all know people who are naturally good with children, well I'm certainly not, but I am naturally gifted at dealing with older people.

So, a statement like that didn't provoke from me the typical response of, "Oh, no, you don't mean that," or whatever it is that people say when they're being bland (not blonde) and polite.
I was interested in getting her to expand on her theory and perhaps compare her experiences of our history with the way we live now.

And sadly for me, she did just that.
She went on to explain to me that she now had to catch the bus with "licorice all-sorts" and that it should be illegal for Lebanese (they're all crooks you know) and Asians to have "so many children".

I'm sorry I asked.
Old folks today, huh? Tsk, tsk.
Pity you can't put a young head on old shoulders.

Well, so now I finally get to the point I keep trying to dodge.
The unnerving truth is this.

Bigots assume that I'm one of them.

They take one look at me and trust that whatever ghastly beliefs they hold dear, that I too am inherently capable of such viciousness of mind.

Isn't that great?

So, apart from my unfortunate colouring giving ugly false impressions as to my intellect and chastity, I now discover that even my morals are brought into question.
Not by anyone who counts perhaps, but still...
I'd never added this up. I just thought I attracted the loons. derrrrrrrrrrrr

And you know what I thought at the end of this very disappointing, yet illuminating exchange?
I thought, "I'm glad you're going to die soon too."
You and all those like you.
Every one of your miserable generation who has never allowed experience to temper bias and who know less about tolerance than a child who has done just 2o minutes in a playgroup sand pit.

As shocking as this encounter was for me, at the end of it I really felt uplifted by the thought that really, things can only get better.

So, I'm now thinking maybe black hair or even a veil may be of benefit as rudimentary bigot repellent.

Anyway, miserable old twats aside, if you've never been fortunate enough to enjoy Julie Brown as a blonde, here's a link to perhaps the best song in the world and her lyrics to Cause I'm a Blonde.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0rNfZxgkH7k

Because I'm a blonde, I don't have to think.
I talk like a baby, and I never pay for drinks.
Don't have to worry 'bout getting a man
If I keep this blonde and I keep these tan,
'Cause I'm a blonde, yeah, yeah, yeah.
'Cause I'm a blonde, yeah, yeah, yeah.
I see people workin, it just makes me giggle
'Cause I don't have to work; I just have to jiggle.
I'm a blonde, B-L-O-N-D.
I'm a blonde; don't you wish you were me?

I never learned to read, and I never learned to cook.
Why should I bother when I look like I look?
I know lots of people are smarter than me,
But I have this philosophy:
So what?
'Cause I'm a blonde, yeah, yeah, yeah.
I see girls without dates, and I feel so sorry for 'em,
'Cause whenever I'm around, all the men ignore 'em,
'Cause I'm a blonde, nyah, nyah, nyah.
'Cause I'm a blonde, nyah, nyah, nyah.

They say that to make it, you need talent and ambition.
Well, I got a TV show, and this was my audition:
Umm ... okay ... what was it? ... umm ...
Don't tell me ... Oh, yeah, okay.
"Duck, Magnum, duck!"
'Cause I'm a blonde, yeah, yeah, yeah.
'Cause I'm a blonde, yeah, yeah, yeah.

I took an IQ test, and I flunked it of course.
I can't spell VW, but I gotta Porsche,
'Cause I'm blonde, B-L-I-N-D.
'Cause I'm a blonde; don't you wish you were me?

[spoken]
I just want to say that being chosen this month's Miss August
Is, like, a compliment that I'll remember for as long as I can.
Right now I'm a freshman in my fourth year at UCLA,
But, my goal is to become a veterinarian 'cause I love children!

'Cause I'm a blonde, yeah, yeah, yeah.
'Cause were a blonde, yeah, yeah, yeah.

Girls think I'm snotty, and maybe it's true.
With my hair and body, you would be too.
I'm a blonde, B-L- ... I don't know!
'Cause I'm a blonde, yeah, yeah, yeah.
'Cause I'm a blonde, yeah, yeah, yeah.
'Cause I'm a blonde, yeah, yeah, yeah!

A truth universally acknowledged.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that Charles Dickens was a somewhat boring old twat.

A fact clearly reflected by his work.

His ability to draw attention to social injustice was and still is, remarkable. However, having read many of his books, I can honestly tell you that reading his work always made me feel as though I was suffering a great social injustice myself.
Ghastly stuff.

No way was the beginning of A Tale of Two Cities the best opening sentence ever written.
No way.
Perhaps the people who judged it to be so, realised at a glance that it was going to be an appallingly dreary and harrowing read and only got one sentence into it before craftily pulling up stumps and reviewing it.
Fair enough too.
But they don't fool me.

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times."
Fuck off.

No.

To Jane and Jane alone must go the glory.

Start as you mean to continue. I’ve always liked that idea.

Immediately declare to your reader what you're thinking. Thus giving them an opportunity to read on or close to book without wasting their time.
I hereby thank each and every author who has had enough respect for me to do this.

So many notable exceptions, aren't there?

For me to pick up a book and discover the author seemingly in mid-thought, I feel as though they're sharing their story with me rather than selling it to me.

So, here is my very favourite first sentence, courtesy of Jane Austen, taken from Pride and Prejudice.

"It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a young man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife."

There. That's how you do it.
Just fucking say something. Don't just dribble on and torture people.

After something as good as that of course, the risk of coughing up a second sentence that leaves the first swinging in the breeze is very real.

But no. Not Jane. She had the balls to back it up to the hilt.

"However little known the feelings or views of such a man may be on his first entering a neighbourhood, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the surrounding families, that he is considered the rightful property of some one or other of their daughters."

Damn her. Now I have to read the book again.
Oh well, I'm a quarter of the way through the first page now anyway.

But then, my second favourite first sentence comes from something and someone completely different.

It comes from an "unauthorised autobiography" by Chuck Barris, called "Confessions of a Dangerous Mind", written the best part of 200 years later.

Chuck Barris of course, being best known for creating and producing some really awful television in the 50's and 60's like The Dating Game, The Newlyweds Game and even The Gong Show in the 70's.
Yikes.
I found him interesting because in addition to all this, he claims to have worked undercover as a CIA assassin during all these years. :O)
I don't even care if that's true. I just think it's a cool thing to say.

And if you've seen the movie, please don't assume that the book was anything like it. The movie was dreadful in the extreme.
Pretty much like Chuck's TV shows, so I guess that's somehow right and fitting.

But, it's not even the first sentence of this book I found so enchanting. It's the entire first page. Maybe even a couple of lines of the second page too.

He opens on his 50th birthday as he stands in front of the mirror and describes the appearance of his naked body to the reader.

I cannot actually locate my copy of the book, so I’ll just let you know that he doesn’t miss an inch, but that he probably should have.
And that at some point he compares his penis to a rasher of bacon and mentions that despite his best efforts, “the fucker is still dripping piss on the rug.”

I read that maybe 3 or 4 times before I could move on to the rest of the book.
I also went back and read it many more times before I made it anywhere near the end.

A rasher of bacon. Isn’t that terrific?
It's certainly better than not enough porridge, anyway.

Lots of love, you dog, Clair.

If you arrived home to discover not one, but two hand written letters from the same person waiting for you in the kitchen, you would most likely be surprised.

And rightly too.

For one thing, who posts two letters to the same person at once?
No, the government doesn't count. Anyway, I think they use machines, don't they?

Apart from that, who actually takes the time to write letters these days?

Well, there's always one, isn't there?

And I always seen to have befriended them. Or to have been befriended by them.
Not exactly sure about that dynamic. I'm still too busy enjoying it.

And even if you accept that quirky people are an important and cherished part of my life, who starts a letter with, "Hi Trollop!", anyway ?

And why aren't there more people like that?
I'm not going to get my crackers in a twist about it though, because I happen to know that there's at least one more on the way.

Trollop?

Bloody hell! I'd forgotten all about that word.
But I like it. I really, really like it.
It's no twat of course, but I'm bringing it back nevertheless.

Lurking beyond the glamorous salutation, the contents were informative, accusative and then insulting - if you think that being referred to as "FUCKING SIMONE!" is insulting.
I don't.
I'd never have survived.

Finally, this marvel of modern science was signed off with,

"Lots of love,
you dog,
Clair
xoxo"

Now, call me sentimental, but at this point I teared up and sheepishly snuffled my way to the tissues. I then thanked my lucky stars that I have friends who can say I love you in so many ways.
And that I have friends who choose to do so.

Most of you know that all those God-awful, phoney, mainstream Hallmark friendship blurbs in cards nauseate me.
And they make me cranky because I feel as though they say what they should and what's expected, rather than having any real respect for the concept of friendship itself.

To hit the nail on the head, all you need ever do is simply acknowledge what's shared and remarkable between two people. To let your thoughts and feelings for someone become generic is such a terrible waste.

So, to be approached by an adored friend with such absolute confidence and freedom of expression is truly remarkable.
It shows me that the friendship is very real. And that it's ours to keep.

Hallmark be damned.


BTW Clair, you're really something, but get a dog up ya, ya dirty twatted mole.
xoxoxo