#44: Tourism

Anthony Bourdain once said “travel isn’t always pretty…sometimes it hurts, it even breaks your heart.”

Clearly, Mr. Bourdain has never been to Latvia (ok, he probably has… that guy got around!).  But, I am certain he has never been to the “Go Blonde Festival” in Latvia; had he been he surely would have changed his opinion on the pretty part.

While I love to travel, I have no need for this new brand of “towhead tourism.” If I want to see a “parade” of beautiful blondes, all I need to do is stand between two mirrors and, viola, infinite blonde beauty as far as the eye can see!  (I’d invite you to see it, sometime, but you’d probably ruin it… no offense.)

Besides, towhead tourism is really just Latvia’s way of cashing in on the “Blonde Bump” (which should not be confused with the “blonde bumps” as that’s another post all together).  The Blonde Bump I am talking about is that little “boost” you get around a beautiful blonde, the little “lift” you get from proximity to a light haired lady.

Back in 2009, the blonde brain-trust that is the Latvian Association of Blondes (LAB) decided that bringing literally hundreds of golden goddesses to Riga, the capital city, would help lighten (pun intended) the economic crisis that was darkening everyone’s doorstep.  The LAB figured returning to the gold standard (by which I mean hair, of course; I am not an economist, I’m a blonde) would lift the people’s spirits, if not the economy.  The event turned out beautifully, of course; what else would you expect from a literal parade of golden goddesses?

Someday, maybe, I’ll make it to the Latvian “Go Blonde Festival” but, until then, I will stay put and keep America’s gold standard going strong.

About time we returned to the Gold Standard. (Actual picture taken at the Go Blonde Festival:  https://www.bbc.com/news/10191164)

 

 

#43: Moths

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe put it perfectly:

“Beware of her fair hair, for she excels
All women in the magic of her locks;
And when she winds them round a young man’s neck,
She will not ever set him free again.”

Yet, despite this fair (and poetic) warning, men seem drawn the brilliant beauty of my golden tresses like moths to the flame.  I don’t suffer from mottephobia, the fear of moths, so that’s not my problem.

What’s at issue here is that my glowing golden aura may encourage men to approach, but when they get rebuffed, when they get burnt, somehow that’s on me.

According to a recent set of studies published in Scandinavian Journal of Psychology, about how often blondes were approached in a bar, “in study 1, the blonde confederate was the most frequently approached but was judged as less attractive than the brunette in study 2. [Even though] the blonde was judged as being as approachable as the brunette and redhead.”  (No joke, this is a real study:  https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/homo-consumericus/201202/do-gentlemen-prefer-blondes)

Furthermore, “it would appear (at least within this restricted sample) that blonde women might be approached more frequently in a nightclub but are generally judged more harshly along a wide range of traits.”

So despite the fact that blondes were found to be less attractive, less intelligent, less approachable, and more incompetent they were still approached more frequently than their less golden counterparts.

Why?  Is it because we blondes are brilliant beacons in the bar?  Is it because you get more flies with honey-hued hair?

I argue it’s because, like moths to a flame, men cannot resist a golden goddess glowing brightly because once a blonde her lovely locks “round a young man’s neck,/She will not ever set him free again.”

Does anybody have some bug spray I can borrow for Saturday night?

 

 

#42: Bottled Blondes

As a blonde, the most apropos way for me to stay hydrated is to reach for a frosty, refreshing blonde ale, right? 

Sure, blonde ales, just like all blondes, range in color from a pale straw to a deep golden, amber.  And ordering a blonde ale brings a crisp, bubbly, refreshing golden goddess to your table, just like going out for drinks with an actual blonde.

And sure, blonde ales are considered to have a hop character that is “of the noble variety” and are considered well-balanced and light bodied.  Basically the very embodiment of blonde bomb-shelledness.

But I just can’t do it!

First, let me suggest you reread Problem #2: Blondies for my thoughts on cannibalism.  The same extends to blondes drinking blondes (unless it’s under the table, then game on).

Second, in case is not abundantly clear from this blog, I cannot, in good conscience, condone bottled blondes.  No, not even frosty, cold, refreshing ones on a hot summer day.

Third, have you considered how it feels to have your very essence distilled (fine, Captain Technicality, brewed) down to one little bottle, easily procured from your local watering hole, so that everyone- and anyone! – can say they “know” you because of some pathetic little English major’s words on the back of a label?  Blonde? Check.  Bubbly?  Check.  Refreshing? Well balanced?  Check and check.

You haven’t, have you?  Well, I, for one, won’t stand for it (figuratively and definitely not at the bar because my gorgeous golden halo guarantees me a primo seat at the bar, even at Happy Hour).  I refuse to think that all my golden glory can been captured by one 12 ounce bottle.

I challenge you to think about that the next time you order a blonde at the bar!  We blondes are not some commodity that you can order and have dropped off at your table; we’re people, gosh darn it, beautiful, golden haired people.

Ok, so, maybe you do  know me.

#41: Ventriloquism

I am sure you would be surprised to hear that I have been called a “dummy” a time or two in my glorious golden existence.  But, it’s true!

Now, I refuse to chalk it up to my beautiful blonde brain; no, rather it is due to the fine, ancient art of ventriloquism.  I know what you’re thinking – I look nothing like Jeff Dunham or Achmed the Dead Terrorist (probably the best known ventriloquist out there… I will reserve comment on who may be the best known dummy as 2020 is an election year).

Why, you ask, is ventriloquism to blame for such slander?  Because Mr. John Q. Brunette refuses to accept that blondes have anything worthwhile to say.  Take, for example, this almost verbatim transcript of a discussion I had the other day:

<In the middle of negotiation/settlement talk>

Me:  If you were to take a look at the controlling case law,  *blah, blah, blah, insert legal mumbo jumbo here*

John Q. Brunette: <interrupting> Nope.

Me:  ….you are barred by the statute of limitations from bringing such a claim at this time.  Wait, what do you mean, “Nope”?

John Q. Brunette:  I meant nope, not buying it.  No way you figured that out… by yourself.

Me: You got me, WE figured it out.  You know, me and that mouse in my pocket.

John Q. Brunette:  <reads case, hangs his head>  Damn, that’s a smart mouse.

 

I think it’s time to take our show on the road, Mousie!

 

 

Publicity shot from my one man act with Mousie.  He’s a damn fine mouse.