Of functioning alcoholics and the baggage claim...
So I decided today to start a new blog. It was one of those whims, that just came to me, and here I am, in my blonde and fabulous glory, wasting time at work writing pointless crap that not many people will read.
So anyhoo, I was just in my supervisor's office watching The View with him and the intern. The intern's last day is tomorrow, so I have taken it upon myself to take her to the bar next door for happy hour in a late attempt to get her drunk.
I had been wanting to try to get the intern drunk for a while now, but I am a douche at making plans sometimes so the "office happy hour" I suggested, like, 4 months ago, never actually took place. So tonight I will try to get the intern to take some shots with me. She has already refused my suggestion of shots, but she looked intrigued when I explained what a shooter was, so perhaps I'll get her to ingest some kamikazes.
Why am I trying so hard to get this poor, innocent soul drunk you ask?
Why not?
She's a sweet girl. A sort of old-fashioned farm girl, from a hog farm in Minnesota. We don't have much in common, other than the fact that we both seem to enjoy laughing at me. She laughs at me a lot. Not in a mean way mind you, in a sort of "OMG THIS CHICK IS ON CRACK AND IT'S FUNNY AS HELL" kind of way. I get nervous when people laugh at me like that. I become uber conscious of the fact that she has never quite met anyone like me before and that she is sort of laughing at me in this kind of semi-shocked way, as if she can't quite believe I'm real and that people like me actually exist.
People like me you say? What is a person like me? I don't know. I'm blonde, I like pink, I'm bubblier than Moet, I'm cynical and sarcastic as all hell and I am obsessed with Martha Stewart and everything that entails. I wear my heart like it's the latest handbag and Disney movies make me cry, but if you get me drunk chances are I'll start using "bitch" as every other word and I just might make out with you. Or slap you, you know, whatever is required for that evening's dramatic effect. I am fabulous. My nickname since early college has been "Fabulous + myname." However I will not include my name, which is kind of unfortunate b/c it starts with an F and is the perfect marriage with the word fabulous, but for the purposes of this blog, I am The Blonde Menace. Or Hurricane Blonde, you know, whichever you prefer.
I am the kind of person who required a leash as a child. I remember it fondly, it was orange and plastic and springy-looking. It went around my wrist. You may think putting a leash on a child is cruel, but I can assure you I deserved it. I just shared this story with the intern and from the looks of her reaction, she agreed. I mean it's no big deal, really, I just had an incident in an airport. Who can blame me really. I don't remember all the details, seeing as I was about 2 at the time, but we were in an airport, most likely arriving or returning from Egypt (Daddy was a Diplomat) b/c that's where we lived at the time. I'm thinking I was just incredibly excited to be off the plane, as I have never much liked planes, although I handled them a lot better when I was a child than I do now. Anyways, children should not be allowed to even LOOK at the baggage claim. It's a big fat tease, that's what it is. What child, in their right mind, would not want to get on the baggage claim? I mean come on, it moves relatively fast, but not fast enough to scare you out of your three year old wits or make you hurl, it goes through little tunnels into secret areas that no one can see, it's begging for you to climb on it and join it's circular trip through the airport world. Except no one likes it when you act on your desires and actually jump onto the baggage claim. I should know. I had to wear a leash after I tried this one. My Mother started chasing me, in her heels and dress (people used to dress up to travel you know, it's just how things were done) and I became even more excited because now not only was I on this fun new ride, but Mommy decided to join me and from the looks of it, she wanted to play tag! So I kept crawling around, going down the chute with all the bags, oblivious to the fact that people were freaking out all around me. Cut to the chase: I told you I deserved the leash.
So sometimes I don't have much common sense, and I am very impulsive, and I have problems saying no to myself. I don't always think things through before I do them, I am stubborn as hell, and I do my own thing regardless of what others say, think or do. This was clear back then, and it's still true today. This can be both good and bad. If I'm going to be all happy-go-lucky-my-glass-if-half-full-bitch about it then I'll go so far as to say that it is usually good, because even when it's bad and I do stupid things that make you shake your head and maybe even want to hit me and rip out my lovely golden locks, chances are in a month or 2 (or a year, you know, somethings take time) whatever it is I've managed to do will probably make you double over in laughter if for nothing more than because you'll sit there wondering "what the fuck is wrong with this chick" and then we all have a good laugh at the absurdity of the things that make so much sense in my head that may not make sense to anyone else. Besides, isn't laughter what life is all about?
Well it's also been made apparent early on that I have a slight case of ADD and easily lose track of whatever point I am trying to make because I get distracted by the details and end up telling completely different tales than I had intended. It keeps me on my toes as much as it does anyone else, I assure you.
Toodles for now,
Le Blonde
So anyhoo, I was just in my supervisor's office watching The View with him and the intern. The intern's last day is tomorrow, so I have taken it upon myself to take her to the bar next door for happy hour in a late attempt to get her drunk.
I had been wanting to try to get the intern drunk for a while now, but I am a douche at making plans sometimes so the "office happy hour" I suggested, like, 4 months ago, never actually took place. So tonight I will try to get the intern to take some shots with me. She has already refused my suggestion of shots, but she looked intrigued when I explained what a shooter was, so perhaps I'll get her to ingest some kamikazes.
Why am I trying so hard to get this poor, innocent soul drunk you ask?
Why not?
She's a sweet girl. A sort of old-fashioned farm girl, from a hog farm in Minnesota. We don't have much in common, other than the fact that we both seem to enjoy laughing at me. She laughs at me a lot. Not in a mean way mind you, in a sort of "OMG THIS CHICK IS ON CRACK AND IT'S FUNNY AS HELL" kind of way. I get nervous when people laugh at me like that. I become uber conscious of the fact that she has never quite met anyone like me before and that she is sort of laughing at me in this kind of semi-shocked way, as if she can't quite believe I'm real and that people like me actually exist.
People like me you say? What is a person like me? I don't know. I'm blonde, I like pink, I'm bubblier than Moet, I'm cynical and sarcastic as all hell and I am obsessed with Martha Stewart and everything that entails. I wear my heart like it's the latest handbag and Disney movies make me cry, but if you get me drunk chances are I'll start using "bitch" as every other word and I just might make out with you. Or slap you, you know, whatever is required for that evening's dramatic effect. I am fabulous. My nickname since early college has been "Fabulous + myname." However I will not include my name, which is kind of unfortunate b/c it starts with an F and is the perfect marriage with the word fabulous, but for the purposes of this blog, I am The Blonde Menace. Or Hurricane Blonde, you know, whichever you prefer.
I am the kind of person who required a leash as a child. I remember it fondly, it was orange and plastic and springy-looking. It went around my wrist. You may think putting a leash on a child is cruel, but I can assure you I deserved it. I just shared this story with the intern and from the looks of her reaction, she agreed. I mean it's no big deal, really, I just had an incident in an airport. Who can blame me really. I don't remember all the details, seeing as I was about 2 at the time, but we were in an airport, most likely arriving or returning from Egypt (Daddy was a Diplomat) b/c that's where we lived at the time. I'm thinking I was just incredibly excited to be off the plane, as I have never much liked planes, although I handled them a lot better when I was a child than I do now. Anyways, children should not be allowed to even LOOK at the baggage claim. It's a big fat tease, that's what it is. What child, in their right mind, would not want to get on the baggage claim? I mean come on, it moves relatively fast, but not fast enough to scare you out of your three year old wits or make you hurl, it goes through little tunnels into secret areas that no one can see, it's begging for you to climb on it and join it's circular trip through the airport world. Except no one likes it when you act on your desires and actually jump onto the baggage claim. I should know. I had to wear a leash after I tried this one. My Mother started chasing me, in her heels and dress (people used to dress up to travel you know, it's just how things were done) and I became even more excited because now not only was I on this fun new ride, but Mommy decided to join me and from the looks of it, she wanted to play tag! So I kept crawling around, going down the chute with all the bags, oblivious to the fact that people were freaking out all around me. Cut to the chase: I told you I deserved the leash.
So sometimes I don't have much common sense, and I am very impulsive, and I have problems saying no to myself. I don't always think things through before I do them, I am stubborn as hell, and I do my own thing regardless of what others say, think or do. This was clear back then, and it's still true today. This can be both good and bad. If I'm going to be all happy-go-lucky-my-glass-if-half-full-bitch about it then I'll go so far as to say that it is usually good, because even when it's bad and I do stupid things that make you shake your head and maybe even want to hit me and rip out my lovely golden locks, chances are in a month or 2 (or a year, you know, somethings take time) whatever it is I've managed to do will probably make you double over in laughter if for nothing more than because you'll sit there wondering "what the fuck is wrong with this chick" and then we all have a good laugh at the absurdity of the things that make so much sense in my head that may not make sense to anyone else. Besides, isn't laughter what life is all about?
Well it's also been made apparent early on that I have a slight case of ADD and easily lose track of whatever point I am trying to make because I get distracted by the details and end up telling completely different tales than I had intended. It keeps me on my toes as much as it does anyone else, I assure you.
Toodles for now,
Le Blonde
posted by The Blonde Menace at 11:32 AM
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