Daily Archives: November 15, 2013

True Confessions of A Dizzy Blonde by Valerie J. Patterson

It’s okay—and some would even say healthy—to take a serious look at one’s self and see the humor in your own life or even in your own behavior.  So, that being said, I thought this month’s blog should be about poking fun at myself.  I am—after all—a natural blonde who has a tendency to do funny things.

First, it’s true.  I am a dizzy blonde.  I suffer from bouts of vertigo that render me completely motionless because my surroundings are spinning at a high rate of speed.  This is not anything meant to humor you.  I just wanted to explain why I am a dizzy blonde.  <smile>

But, you came here to laugh.  Hopefully, after reading some of my, erm, happenings, you will have laughed out loud.

Let’s start with high school since this is as far back as I can remember having what my husband affectionately calls “blonde moments”.  All through high school I worked for a florist.  It was a way to stay out of trouble and earn a few bucks.  Every Christmas season, the florist would hold a giant open house at its corporate offices, and I was usually one of the hostesses wherein I worked in a certain room selling products, packaging them up, etc.  After working one of the open houses, I left the florist and went to my regular Friday night babysitting job.  I got the kids tucked in bed and went downstairs to watch a movie.  All of a sudden there was a loud crash behind the house.  I called 911 and they offered to send a patrolman to my address to take a look around.  Minutes later I saw the flashing red lights in the driveway and saw an officer with a flashlight go around back while his partner checked the front.  They came to the door and rang the bell.  I opened it and ushered them inside.  They proceeded to tell me that the wind had knocked over the metal trashcans and thrown them against the house, which was brick, thus explaining the crash I’d heard.  One of the officers was younger than the other and he leaned in and asked, “Is there anything else we can do for you, Valerie?”

Okay, I’ve seen enough horror flicks to know if a policeman you’ve never met knows your name, he’s not a policeman, he’s a serial killer.  Right?  I mean, isn’t that the most logical explanation for why he knows your name?  So, I began to slowly back away, turning my head to gage the distance from the front door to certain safety.  I was all prepared to flee when he cleared his throat and pointed at the name tag I was still wearing from my shift at the open house!  Color my face red!  But surely this has happened to you, too, right?

Should I wait for you to stop laughing before I continue?

Next up would be entertaining some friends at my house.  I was trying to impress a certain guy, and my close friend (also a guy) knew that I was nervous about this little party I was having.  Everyone arrives and I pass out some food and beverages and then decide to take the seat across from the guy I wanted to impress.  I’m positive I’m graceful as I sit down.  Next thing I know, I’m sprawled out on the floor because not only do I lack grace, but I also missed the chair completely!  Thankfully, my friend throws himself on the floor beside me and says, “You’re quite right, Valerie, it is much cozier down here on the floor!”

By the way, that story won me first place in a radio contest for most embarrassing moment.

Everyone’s heard the joke about the blonde who goes into an auto parts store and asks the clerk for a 710.  Turns out, she was looking at her oil cap upside down.  While I’ve never done anything that, well, dumb, I have had some memorable car moments.  Most recently, my husband and I purchased a new car.  I was in a parking lot one day and when I used the remote to lock the car, the trunk lid of the car parked beside me popped open.  I looked around expecting to see the car’s owner approaching ready to place some packages in the trunk.  Nope.  No shoppers in sight.  I looked around and discretely closed the trunk lid.  Apparently, I had opened it with my remote.  Either that or someone from Candid Camera was playing a trick on me.

One day, I got on the elevator and pressed the button.  Nothing happened.  The doors didn’t even close.  I pressed the button again and waited.  Nothing.  Doors still open.  I stuck my head out of the elevator and looked around.  No one else there.  No one pushing the elevator’s call button.  I go back inside and press the button again.  Nothing happens.  Getting frustrated, I virtually pound the button into submission.  That’s when I realized I was pushing the button for the 3rd floor, and I was actually on the 3rd floor.

Lastly—because I’m out of time and not because I have no other blonde moments to share—I’ll tell you about a home remedy that probably works for everyone but me.  I was feeling poorly, doing battle with a horrible cold.  I hadn’t had any sleep in a couple of days because I could barely breathe.  A friend of mine told me about rubbing Vicks-Vapo-Rub on the bottom of her children’s feet when they had a cold because it somehow allowed them to breathe easier and cough less.  She instructed me to rub some on my feet and then put on a pair of white cotton socks and lay down covered up.  So I go home, change into my pajamas, and scoop out some Vicks, give each foot a solid rubdown, put on a pair of socks and hobble to the sofa with my favorite blanket and cuddle up expecting to be able to breathe and nod off for some much needed sleep.

About ten minutes later my feet started to tingle.  I snuggle deeper into my blanket and think, “Wow, this is really going to work for me.”

Another ten minutes later it’s like my feet were in a sauna and the temperature gage was set to boil!  I threw off the blanket, shot off the sofa and blew past my husband yelling, “My feet are on fire!  My feet are on fire!”

He’s following me down the hallway as I am shedding clothing left and right all the while yelling, “My feet are on fire!  My feet are on fire!”

I make it to the bathroom, turn on the shower and jump in—because by now I haven’t a stitch of clothing on—and scrub my poor little feet in hopes of removing every last trace of the Vicks.  By the time I emerge from the bathroom clean, dry, and clothed, my poor husband asks what in the world got into me.  I explain my friend’s home remedy and he suggests that one of two things happened:  I’m either allergic to Vapo-Rub or perhaps I should not use half a jar next time.

Either way, I slept like a baby, but I tend to think it was due to sheer exhaustion from hobble-running down the hallway while doing the striptease and throwing myself into the shower and scrubbing vigorously at my feet.

I hope you’ve enjoyed this month’s blog, and I hope my little anecdotes provided you with some humor.  I apologize for being late this month, but I thought today was Thursday!

Until next time, may there always be laughter in your days, and may you have compassion for the blondes in your life!