It's True Blondes Have More Fun...

Dear Cheryl Tiegs:

You probably haven't given a whole lot of thought to that commercial you made back in the late 60's, early 70's for "Summer Blonde" by Clairol but I certainly have.  As a matter of fact, just about every summer that rolls around I think about that commercial and how doggone much I wanted to be that long haired beautiful blonde ("now your hair can have that summer look all year long, with Summer Blonde by Clairol") with legs from here to Tuesday, horizontally perched across the chests of half a dozen baby-faced, blonde-haired, blue-eyed, perfectly chiseled Adonises in Malibu.

I used Summer Blonde on my hair religiously.  By the age of 13 that dreaded puberty phase had set in like a pair of pantyhose with a run right up the front. My naturally blonde hair had begun its nose dive in to the spectrum somewhere between "mousey brown and dishwater blonde".  A dishwater blonde was practically no blonde at all so something had to be done to bring back that youthful cotton-top look of my babyhood. Clairol promised me that sun-kissed look, maybe not the hot guys on the beach just waiting to hold me like a human surfboard but blonde locks anyway.  Though somehow, Cheryl, I never quite got the look I was going for.  I wanted to look like you.  Never mind that you were about 5 inches taller than me and probably 40 pounds lighter (and believe you me, being a size 12 back in the Twiggy era was like being a size 22 today.)  Back then a girl's weight had to be in double digits only and her dress size in a single one or else you were destined for eating potato chips with the sweat hogs on date night, or at least that's what I was afraid of.  It never quite got that bad but at times I did think that unless my hair grew down to my shoulders over night and I grew legs the length of a lamp post that I'd have been relegated to sensible pumps and clothes from the "chubby" department for size 12's.  I can't say that the horrible, misguided opinion about a girl's weight has really changed much since I was a teenager but at least now people are more aware of its consequences.

So Cheryl, how are you these days?  Had any hunks pick you up like a big catfish on Hillbilly Handfishin' lately?  Is your hair still long and blonde?  I hope so because in my mind you're still hanging out in Malibu putting Summer Blonde on your hair and spinning old Beach Boys tunes on a Hi Fi.  Lately I've decided to let my "inner Cheryl Tiegs" and I'm growing a pony tail.  Yes, a pony tail. I know I'm awfully old for one and during this steamy, hot Alabama summer I've threatened to whack this hair that's grown down below my ears off but I keep thinking "what would Cheryl Tiegs do?" and I put the scissors back in the drawer. I've never had one, a pony tail that is, not a real one anyway, in my life.  But I'm going to have one and it's going to be blonde.

I've also done a quick analysis of my vital statistics and found them to be sadly lacking in several areas as far as you are concerned and unless I can grow about 5 more inches, lose about 80 or 90 pounds, bob my nose to a perky little button and change my eye color to blue I'll never have anyone stop me and ask what Cheryl Tiegs is doing here in Trussville, Alabama.  But you've given me hope, Cheryl Tiegs.  I may not can grow vertically but I can lose horizontally and I'm doing it all for you.  Well, that's not really true, but you have definitely given me a goal.  I'm going to lose 90 pounds to get me back to my high school weight (hard to believe that in 40 years I've put on 90 pounds but if you do it slowly enough it'll  creep up like kudzu on a telephone pole.)  And you can bet your bottom dollar that when I get my pony tail all out there and I've got it "blondeened" to the proper hue that would make Clairol proud, I'm going to round me up 6 of the cutest young hunks I can find (or rent, for a nominal fee) at the beach to hoist me up just like you were in that commercial.  My sweet husband will just shake his head and laugh I'm sure, but he'll be a good sport and take pictures. (my friends can be counted on to play some Beach Boys tunes on their iPods while I pose.)

I'll keep you posted on my progress, Cheryl. I may not be a California girl but I've got a great hairstylist that can give me that summer look all year long!

Yours very truly,
Modine Gunch
See you in Mala-Boo

Just Call Me Big Maude from "Convicts at Large"

If you asked me if I was a law-abiding citizen in good standing with the local constabulary I believe I would quickly tell you that, yes, I am, other than the occasional breaking of the speed limit; and even then I am prudent with my decisions.  I love animals and trees and anything else that one might could hug and still be legal about it.  I want to save the dolphins and the whales and polar bears. I even have a heart for  those little tiny little snail darters which, for some unexplained reason that only God knows the answer to,  have found themselves to located in only like 4 places on the entire earth and two of them happen to be in a pond near Roebuck Recreation Center and in Turkey Creek.  I've been to both of these places on more than one occasion and I can attest to the fact that they've got some hard living going on there.

However, and you knew there was going to be a "however" didn't you, those who know me well, there is a place where this law-abiding citizen will draw the line and quicker than you could say "satan's handpuppet" I'd become the Bonnie Parker, Ma Barker, Belle Starr, you name her and I'd be it, of crime, and this is concerning an article that I saw in the Birmingham News yesterday where the Eastern Diamondback rattlesnake is being put on the endangered species list and that it will become law that they can not be killed.  I'm getting out my imaginary six-gun right now and loading it up with enough virtual ammunition that would rival anything that was ever seen in the wild wild west on a hot Saturday night and would blow away the first one that I saw with nary a thought (actually, if I really saw one, I'd probably set a new land-speed record for a fat girl in a pair of flip flops.) I am not saving rattlesnakes from extinction nor snakes of any kind.  There.  I've said it.  I will break the law, officer get out your handcuffs and take me away, I just don't care.  If I happen to have the bad luck of driving through somewhere that Eastern Diamondback rattlesnakes lurk (because I surely don't want to be on foot) and see one crossing the road you can bet your sweet Aunt Fanny that I'm not going to put on the brakes for it to get to the other side (I've stopped more than once while driving through our neighborhood to give some silly squirrel enough time to make up their mind about which side of the street they really wanted to be on.)  I don't care that the paper went on to say that the snakes keep the rodent population down, bring on the rats, that's what we have cheese for.

I am all about conservation, preservation, the Sierra Club, Auntie Litter and even the tiniest fraction of a smidgen of Al Gore when it comes to keeping things "All Things Bright and Beautiful".  The Father indeed "made them all" and left us in charge of keeping this earth clean, green and healthy.  But I'm falling back to Genesis on the snake bit (oh, a pun!) and I'm going with the cursing of anything that crawls on its belly and has fangs.  Snakes don't belong in my world and I'm giving them fair warning that if they come around my house (please please don't) I'll be looking for something in my virtual arsenal where weapons only exist in my imagination or, for my very real and trusty hoe with which I'll show you some extinction!  Sorry, you snake lovers, if you're out there, you can put 911 on your speed dial and send a squad car after me if I encounter one of the new "endangered species" because I'll be going to jail.