What is it about blondes? Do we have more fun or make our own fun?
by Panty Parade / Off Go the Panties
Except for a brief hiatus when I had skin cancer and thought it might be a good idea to try the exotic brunette / light eye look, I have always been a near-platinum blonde. Fair haired and fair skinned with gray eyes, my Barbie doll combination rounded out with long legs and a serious, natural rack suits me to a tee. Call me a bimbo all you like, he’s asking me for my phone number—not you. Personally, I’d rather look like Pamela Anderson than just about anyone else on this planet. She knows how to work her blonde, embraces the sex symbol role playfully, and knows that her manufactured look—no matter how over-the-top—makes us all dream a little wetter. Love her or hate her—you cannot take your eyes off of her.
The thing about having a frienemy is that it’s a whole lot easier to criticize than accept her. Take Dr. Psycho, for instance. We met in the bathroom of a local pub one Happy Hour last year and really hit it off. We both love baseball, she was delightfully crass, and seeing that she was a plump, petite brunette, I figured we could go out and attract different men. At the time she wanted to become pregnant despite being 48-years-old and single. God bless her, right? The plan, as she explained it, was to either become a mother by the New Year or go blonde and lose 25 pounds.
Well, I guess this is one New Year’s Resolution that stuck, because she was able to take her dark, brunette shoulder-length hair to a brassy yellow and is now a size six. Bitch.