Tremendous Blondette

Listening to the radio is one of the simple joys of driving. A nice refreshing beverage (iced coffee, a Sonic delight, or something from Quik Tip fills the requirement) open road, sun shining (or clouds-as I previously blogged, I LOVE clouds) and the glorious play of color from nature.

So, you’re driving around (and not getting flat tires, right Tammi?)

Cruising along, you suddenly hear horn honking, engine revving, tires screeching, and sirens blaring. OMG WHAT’S GOING?! WHERE’S THAT COMING FROM? Instinctively, you check all mirrors, look out every window, and then realize, the “emergency” is coming from the radio. #asjklkasjebastardsklsfdjoiewkl

Opinion #1. Radio Commericals should not be allowed to use horn honking, engine revving, tires screeching, sirens, or any other emergency signal. These are distracting and have caused me distress on multiple occasions. I’m not just bitching here–the use of these sounds is hazardous and I’ve almost had accidents because of these sounds. Okay, I work in advertising and marketing- I understand why they are used, and we even have a house tv campaign that uses this tactic, but I’m sorry, there’s a difference between flashing Warning with a jarring and irritating beep when someone is sitting at home- swaddled by the safety of their plush couch versus driving a 2 ton ball of steel and plastic and all things explosive and ouchy. I am also not a fan of music that uses these automotive sounds, sirens, etc. The only scary sounds that should be coming from my car while driving are the sounds of me screaming along with Kelly Clarkson or Carrie Underwood. ANNNYYYMOOOOOORRRREEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!

Opinion #2. Wedding shows. ENOUGH. There are too many of these shows. Go away and give me more meerkats, mysteries, or ghost shows. [okay, I'd really like more book adaptations] (House flipping and decorating shows be on your guard–you’re just lucky right now that I like home repair, real estate, and decorating.) This leads me to…

Opinion #3. Getting married is not an excuse to waste an asston of money and be a raging, disrespectful, selfish bitch.
The decadence and behavior that some people consider acceptable and normal when it comes to planning a wedding sickens me. There are shows where brides are bitches, shows where brides are spoiled brats, shows where brides choose their dresses, blah blah blah. I admit, I used to watch “A Wedding Story” and I enjoyed it; however, it focused less on the material issues of a wedding and more on the couple.

My personal opinion is that weddings are overrated. I’d rather focus on the marriage than the actual wedding. Steal me a way to a lovely candle lit church with just a priest and we’ll say our vows. Not that I don’t want to include my friends and family, but I don’t need the craziness. I’d much rather have a gathering afterward to celebrate the beginning of my marriage.

I’d rather remember my vows than my wedding. I’d rather spend $500,000 on a house, land, and furniture than on a room that I don’t get to keep, food that people will poop out in 5 hours (average- some folks are more regular than others!), flowers that will wilt and die, and a DJ or band that will annoy me because they will complain about my music selections. Oh and let’s not forget the expense of buying “the perfect dress!” It’s hand beaded by spotted Malaysian orphans, woven with the silk of russian war refugee silk worms, and tailored by the Pope himself.

I admit, I had the fairytale dream when I was a little girl (and maybe for a few years after) but reality and maturity set it at some point and I realized that it is much more important to remember the way you feel about the person you’re committing to, why you’re making that commitment, and how you plan to build a life together than it is to remember Blush and Bashful.

I’m also way too indecisive to choose bridesmaid dresses, flowers, etc.

Opinion #4. Dry turkey is yucky. It just is.

Friday, June 13th, at 3:30pm, I have an appointment. I am finally getting my hair cut and colored. My last scheduled appointment was on February 21st (my birthday!) I am way overdo for a new do. My hair is getting to that icky, “wow, your hair’s gotten so long!” but it’s full of split ends, a tell-tale two tone streak, and no style what-so-ever. Despite what some people think *coughMikeSchulercough* my hair actually is naturally blonde (it’s just on the dark side of blonde now- and no that’s not like the Dark Side of Oz—or is it…hmmm.) Anyway, I’m going to a different stylist so I’m thinking about trying something new. I still love Polly (the lady I’ve been going to for at least 5 years–responsible for all the looks you see in the slideshow), but sometimes you just have to venture out.

In the end I’ll do what I want, but I thought it would be fun to put together a slide show of old hair styles and see what the public thinks I should do with my hair. Now, these are not all flattering photos–this I know. But I’m willing to humiliate (okay, I’m not humiliated) myself for the greater good.

The first thunderstorm I remember was in Georgia. I was running through the rain (or near rain?) into the kitchen of our house at Fort Benning. It was green and grey all at once and then I was home in the bright light of the kitchen. I don’t remember the smell of the honeysuckle (not that day anyway- there was honeysuckle behind our house, lots of it) but remember singing “I’m a Little Teapot.” I’m not sure why these memories blur; if they were the same day or not, but alas, memory is not perfect when you are 3 years old. mmm watermelon ice cream from the ice cream man…Brian, does this ring any bells?

My next memory of the rain takes place in Oregon. It was 1980 something and I was at the Temple’s house across the street. Good old DeVos Street where I saw a smushed snake on the road, where I walked with my family to the weird natural structure that now makes me think of the Grand Canyon, where I watched my brother learn to ride his first bike. My mom gathered me and we ran across the street to my white house with the red door (is that right? or am i remembering my red Mini-Mouse tap dance shirt–the routine that I practiced on that front stoop) and I had cheese bread and apples slices and listened to the storm in my living room. It rained a lot in Oregon and there were always icky, icky worms to avoid. I also danced to my Rainbow Brite record in the living room and the stairs were angled and had patchwork carpet. This is supposed to be about the rain, but I’m flooded with memories now. Like the time we pulled up the carpet in the kitchen, my parent’s waterbed, falling asleep in my crumpled bed linens on the floor, the Tickle Monster, a vomit enducing tantrum (throwing up spaghetti on the couch-even though it was hideous- not a good idea.) Bing cherries in a bowl…

Are these experiences where my love of thunderstorms and rain originated? Tonight, I watched clouds darken the sky, lightening brighten the coal once again, and wanted nothing more than to absorb it all. Nature’s excitement and release. Perfect for pondering, loving, reading, and doing all things cozy and indoors. Give me a country cottage with a window seat in rainy country. (but give me a basement or a cellar too please. )