That’s where they hide the creme filling

I both loathe and love the reading of other’s tales. There’s nothing like a thought provoking or smiling inducing work to make you want to punch one out (anybody who thought that meant a person gets a flogging). Of course, a certain mood is invoked after reading such prose; whether it is anger, sentimental, or poor inquistive depends on both the reader’s prior views and the authors ability to induce emotion.

Ok, the above paragraph sounds both thought-provking and dull at the same time. Mostly, because it sounds like something out of a college text book. Not that I would know, I haven’t been to college yet. I start in the fall.

*mini-half-joy/half-don’t-fall-on-face-bored dance*

Continuing, after reading other’s ljs, I tend to find myself wanting to share in the world of what is going on. I don’t always have the most excited lifesytle hiding behind the curtains. Andie, dear, please keep your mouth shut and facial structures at a secure, immobile position. If we include the sometimes present odd timed laugh or the random blurting of in-coherent thoughts; there is some amusement.

I have found that people perceive my views on certain subjects amusing. My lack of tact at times, irrivociably haunting or my un-repeatable blondematchbox-iese frightening as it may be; it’s nothing but par for the sock to me. With that notion in mind, I want to lay on all of you something that I have recently discovered: I do not find myself funny     I do not always remember where I parked   I tend to over-stress I have blonde hair.

Yes, this may seem like old news to you, but to me in was a striking revelation. I was trying to figure out why certain things did not make sense to me. For instance, I am not quite sure why there are eight hot dogs in a package, but ten hot dog buns in a bag. I could not figure out why one traveling in the opposite direction of traffic must stop and look at an accident in the other lane. I was at loss as to why the higher up the corparate ladder one is, the lower their IQ goes? Nor was I able to comprend why the spider always insisted upon traveling down my corsett until I was fully dressed in my garb.

It was upon contemplating another age old question, “Why socks didn’t have a left or right side”, that I discovered I was blonde. I was staring at said sock when someone came up to me.

“What are you doing?”
“Trying to figure out why there is no left or right side for a sock.”
(pause) “You’re blonde.”

This is where I became confused. The nice person proceded to tell me that because I was blonde I would never be able to figure out all the questions the plague me. Questions such as why chicken noodle soup tasted best when sick; why the grass was always greener on the other side, and why is it that the more expensive the movie food is, the greater it lacks in taste?

Apparently, it is all because I am blonde. I will never figure out all of life’s great mysterys. I guess it was a good thing that giant bunny with eggs in it’s basket came by. Otherwise, I would have started to think I was crazy.