I feel as though my life is a circular room and that God told me to go find a corner. In that corner, would be the solution to all my problems and the end of an infinite life-long search. Every day, I feel like the blonde who took the backpack instead of the parachute in the plane crash. I’m hopelessly lost, searching for the corner-that-is-the-solution-to-all-my-problems in my circular-room-life with my parachute-less backpack.
The unfortunate part of Life being like a circle is that it’s always the same. No matter if you take a left turn, or a right turn, you always end up in the exact same place. It’s the circular room of life. Imagine the circular room of your life is a track. At the 100m mark, you begin preschool, at the 200m mark you end primary school and enter middle school. At the 300m mark, you start high school, and at the 400m mark you begin college. It’s all the same, you see. Mr. Kelly says history repeats itself, just not in the same frequency or intensity. Damn, is he right.
You see, Life really doesn’t like me. AT ALL. On top of things, I’m blonde, which personifies my problems to ten times what they really are because I just have no idea what’s going on and my head is just processing everything into one big-fat-giant mess of WORDS IN MY HEAD THAT I DON’T WANT THERE. Yea… life’s not been good to the good ‘ole blonde brain cells.
I really hate being blonde. Going thru life as a blonde makes me feel like I should go smell a scratch-and-sniff sticker at the bottom of a pool. I swear it’s like God keeps g-mailing me the location of the corner in my circular-room life. But when my computer tells me “You’ve got mail” I keep running to my empty mailbox, frustrated I can’t find God’s message.
Being blonde is harder than you think. It’s so FRUSTRATING being a blonde. Even if you dye your black, or brunette or- God forbid- GINGER, you’re still blonde at the roots. Everybody expects blondes to be either an Elle Woods or a Britney. I’m a hopeless combination of the two. I don’t know the answers to the questions I make up. I’m a freakin’ blonde with big boobs who can’t get a half decent guy to like her. I’m forever going to be stuck searching for that stupid corner in that stupid circular room that is my life. Everything’s always going to be one big-fat-giant jumble of stuff I can’t understand. According to Mr. Kelly, I’ll most likely end up working at McDonald’s at the rate I’m declining. To that I say: At least I’m blonde. I can always give up on life and be a prostitute! Sarcasm intended.
It takes a blonde to understand a blonde. If this makes no sense to you, dear reader, I suggest you invest in a hair appointment. You never know when bleach and a perm will win a law suit. It’s amazing how much your hair color can affect your life.