Some of you may already know, but for the majority it probably has yet to become apparent, but I have had a thing for pretty little blond ladies for a very long time now. One question that has always dogged me about my attraction to this very particular make and model of females is why it has never evolved to become more inclusive of other hair colors? I mean, it should have evolved simply out of necessity, as I have always restricted myself to just 5% of the American female population, a percentage that dramatically shrank when I found myself living and dating on military bases after joining the navy at eighteen. Why couldn’t I have had an attraction to pretty ladies regardless of hair color or stature?
Since we tend to blame the first half of our lives on our parents, let’s see what culpability my mother had in this. I have heard we tend to marry women who remind us of our mothers, and this would not have been so bad because mine was, and still is, a beautiful woman. However, besides hair color, my mother has a fatal flaw as she is tall, at least compared to my qualification to meet the requirement of being little. By excluding women who are like my mother, I eliminated taller women, as well as brunettes.
My lack of attraction to darker-haired ladies is also a direct reflection on my childhood, particularly my relationship with my sister, who always has had jet black hair. I only have one sibling, but I can say with all certainty while growing up, she was not my favorite. As a matter of fact, I used to say my sister’s hair was as black as her heart. With brunette and raven hair being disqualifying factors in my self-imposed laws of attraction, this only left blond and red hair. Even though I dated one or two auburn beauties in m my life, they just couldn’t turn my head and make my heart skip a beat the way a pretty little blond lady could, and thus my lot in life was cast.
AN INTERDICTION FOR AN ADDICT
For years I suffered in silence, not wanting my attraction to pretty little blond ladies to be misconstrued as shallowness on my part. I was certain I hid this obsession well from others, but much like an addict, my issue was all too well known among my friends and family. All the perception of the hiding of my desire for pretty little blond ladies came to a head one afternoon when the black nature of my sister’s heart reared its ugly head disguised as a helpful interdiction of sorts.
I was visiting my mom while traveling between duty stations when, for the first time in my adult life, I shared that not only was I dating someone, but was pretty sure I was in love with her. My mother was shocked and asked why I hadn’t told her before. She then chastised me as to why I hadn’t brought her to meet my family and nonchalantly asked what she looked like, because we all know mothers are curious about what their grandbabies will look like. When I showed her and my sister a picture of the prettiest little blond lady in the whole world, Miss Black Heart commented, “She looks just like all the other women you ever dated.”
There it was, my helpful interdiction, and with it my sister was trying to change the very makeup of my DNA, trying to destroy the very fabric of my existence in this universe by normalizing my most-perfect, pretty, little blond lady! It was with that callous comment I was reminded why my sinister, I mean sister, was still my least favorite sibling. What shocked me about her callous comment was we had both grown up in the same house and along with our mother had so much to overcome. It was as if she didn’t even care about all the wonderful lessons those blond ladies had taught me over the years, lessons that would help me become the leader I am today, lessons we should all take to heart, whether we have our very own pretty little blond lady or not.
LOOK AT ALL THAT HAIR
Looking back, I know why I chose pretty women, yet I am not one hundred percent certain why I choose the little or blond filters for my life. For years, I had always thought I could squarely lay blame for this issue on a pretty little blond lady who I met at the movies during the early 1980s. Someone magical; however, someone whose magic seemed to fade as quickly as it started, probably due to the shallow and fickle nature of teenage love. I met her standing outside of the movies one cool Friday evening and was immediately taken back by her small stature and beautiful blond hair. We talked and agreed to sit next to each other during the movie, holding hands like young teenagers do. We left each other that evening with a peck and a promise to call each other Saturday morning. The very next day our phone rang and I ran into the kitchen to answer it, happy it was her. We talked for hours about our likes and dislikes as well as our future plans together now that we were dating! We met Sunday on the Lake Front in New Orleans East for our second date, but it wasn’t a happy time as this is where our love began to fade and come to an end. Yes, we didn’t even make it through the weekend because I noticed her arms had more hair on them than mine and at my tender young age, it was kind of scary. Hey, don’t get mad at me, I admitted I was both shallow and fickle! Plus, I didn’t tell her it was her hairy arms causing me to break up with her as that would have been mean. Shockingly, no matter how much maturity I showed by holding back, she still didn’t take it well.
Even though our love faded and eventually died out over three long days, my attraction to pretty little blond ladies never has. And while I am certain this hairy-armed, pretty, little blond lady put this Voodoo spell on me, I am not certain what I did to I deserve a life sentence. And a life sentence it has been as no sooner would one pretty little blond lady leave my life, than another one would enter. It was always with the telltale sign of a slight skip in my heart occurring as soon as a small statured female with golden locks of hair came into view. Over time it became abundantly clear this pretty little blond lady thing I had going on was getting pretty tiresome. It was not tiring in a sense that pretty little blond ladies were some rare and elusive creature, a creature that required a concerted effort to locate, no it was because South Louisiana had and still has an overabundance of them.
Even though my obsession with pretty little blond ladies has always been a strong one, it has not always been an exclusive one, as I occasionally found myself pursuing someone other than a pretty little blond. Ashamedly, through my preteen and teenage years I fell in and out of love with a raven-haired Spaniard in Ibiza Spain; with a brunette who had quite the height advantage on me in Metairie Louisiana; with a smaller-framed, redhead who had a limp from a childhood injury; with a brunette French student; as well as a few others, but none of them could break the spell hairy arms had put on me. Simply no other make or model of female could make my heart skip a beat.
For years, I blamed this “follicly equipped” maiden for cutting off 95% of the American female population from me, yet surprisingly I still find myself thanking her for the lesson she taught me over our weekend of everlasting teenage love. I have found her lesson particularly useful in my career as a construction manager, and that is to not get too worked up over someone before truly getting to know them. We must work with someone for a period of time before we promote them so we can learn how they react under different situations and differing degrees of pressure, and also to learn what they look like without a long-sleeved shirt. Furthermore, we also never want to demote someone over a small issue. Who knows what could have been between us had we allowed our love to blossom during a colder part of the year? Take my advice to heart, after all it comes from a blond lady.
THE ORIGINAL VAMPIRE
The very existence of my reality was shaken while helping my mother go through pictures for a photo album. Sitting there on the couch opening one photo envelope after another, reviewing memories in a way that has since been lost due to the onset of digital media, I saw her! It was with the discovery of this picture a flood of memories came roaring back to me, memories of being nine years old in Georgetown, Texas and of someone who I was now sure was the original pretty little blond lady. I mean it had to be her! I could vaguely remember my mom coming to school for a special event and me asking her to take a picture of my friend, her, the one in the picture. This pretty, little, blond lady in a white, flowered dress of the era, was forever captured in a faded 35mm photograph; ironically she had also forever captured my heart for the bewitchment of future pretty little blond ladies. It was with the discovery of her picture I just knew she had to be the original vampire, the original pretty, little, blond lady who mesmerized me with her small stature and golden locks while forever engraving deep into my soul, the need to seek out pretty little blond ladies through my journey of life. Immersed in thought and holding onto this piece of my past, I briefly questioned my memory as I realized it had deceived me before and lied about the hairy one being the original pretty little blond lady. As I sat there, I asked myself if she was truly the original one, the one who forever changed the very makeup of my DNA in terms of my laws of attraction? She just had to be, and I went on with this belief for years until something happened that jogged the deeper recesses of my mind, further back into the 1970s.
SUMMER LOVIN’
In the time when VCRs were king, and a rainy day inside no longer relegated me to watching a dancing horse on the Wild World of Sports, I unpacked an even deeper, recessed memory of a pretty little blond lady. As the video started, the cartoon caricatures of the students of Rydell High made their way across the screen to Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons belting out the theme song to Grease. It was with these auditory and visual clues I was immediately transported back in time to the 1970s, a time that brought us green Coke bottles and the saying, “No shirts, no shoes, no service.” It was here I found her, suddenly set free like a Genie who had been locked away in the deeper recesses of my mind. My mind raced, remembering my mother’s youngest sister bringing my demonic sister and me to see Grease in the summer of 1978. It was during this movie I first met her, the original pretty little blond lady. She was right in front of me on the big screen and it was no wonder she had formed this hold over me. After all, she had Hollywood movie magic behind her along with an incredible soundtrack full of catchy songs which I purchased as a double album just a few weeks later. I played those albums over and over again on my aunt’s record player, all summer long (with exception of Beauty School Drop Out, I really didn’t like that song).
Sandy, or should I say Olivia Newton-John, was the original pretty little blond lady. Most people knowing my tender young age would have been upset an older woman had taken advantage of me, but I was a willing participant and to this day am very thankful Sandy lit this spark in me. I am thankful because I do not believe I would be as successful in life without the lessons I received from her and all those pretty little blond ladies I met along the way. After all it was Sandy who taught me to be myself. Think about it, if Danny would have just been himself, the guy she met on the beach, he wouldn’t have had to deal with the embarrassment of being caught wearing that long-sleeved, white letterman sweater. Sandy also taught me girls don’t like wimpy guys willing to roll over and change who they are. That blond lady taught me it was ok being myself, so long as I wasn’t a wimp. So, there we have it, another lesson from a blond lady. To be successful in life I just needed to be myself and it was with this lesson, I knew one day I would have a cool car and a pretty little blond lady to boot, just like Danny.
THE MONA LISA
There it was the original pretty little blond lady wasn’t anyone I met in person, nope she was a Siren of song and screen, the one I wanted, the one who touched deep into my soul and forever changed my life. I took that record back home after spending another amazing summer in Thibodaux and proudly placed it on my record player next to my bed, the bed that was right under my poster of Farah Fawcett… Wait, what was that hanging on my wall? A poster of Farah Fawcett? Yes, and it was the most famous poster of all times, the poster that was so popular future art collectors will one day fight for the original print as if it was some long-lost Leonardo da Vinci masterpiece that rivals the Mona Lisa! Yes, I had Farah’s poster hanging on my wall just like 11,999,999 other men and boys across America did in the 1970s. Could I have been wrong again as to Olivia Newton-John being the origin of my attraction to pretty little blond ladies? I mean simply by looking at the sequential timeline of my life, Farah Fawcett had to have been the original pretty little blond lady, and an Angel on top of that, one of Charlie’s Angels to be more specific. However, this pretty little blond lady was so much more than just one of Charlie’s Angels to me, she was my very own guardian angel who stood watch over me while I slept. It was with this realization I understood all the hard times, all the heartaches, all the joy, and all of life’s lessons delivered to me over the years upon the flowing golden locks of those pretty little blond ladies. Farah Fawcett was the original vampire who forever changed my DNA and she accomplished this while sitting there in her sorceress poster while I innocently slept. You may have guessed it; this very first pretty little blond lady also taught me something. First, Texas was a good place to find my very own pretty little blond lady because that is where Farah came from. The second was my Bohemian Hippy mother never should have allowed a young boy like me to have that poster in my room, because some things, no matter how popular, are just not age appropriate. To put this into a more modern Building Dancing Horses perspective, I did not have enough experience, nor was I qualified to have Farah Fawcett in a red one-piece bathing suit, perched over my head, at least not at that point in my life.
THE FASHION DESIGNER, THE CRIMINAL, AND TOP GUN
Life went on with me falling in and out of love with pretty little blond ladies all along the way. However, it really picked up speed in 1987 when not long after my senior year of highschool started, I was thrown into the arms of a pretty little blond Cajun lady who approached me in school saying she found me and my fashion sense very interesting. Although I appreciated her interest in me, I didn’t have the heart to tell her “poor white boy” was not as much a fashion sense as a fashion necessity. Although we talked for a while, we never dated, because she said she still had feelings for an ex-boyfriend. No dirt off my back, because the lesson she taught me has easily transferred into my current job and that is not to spend too much time pursuing a potential client when they obviously want another company. However, she also taught me to never stop visiting them, because that pretty little blond lady’s ex-boyfriend spent more time worrying about me than her thus allowing me to live rent-free in his head for most of my senior year.
Then there was a couple of weeks of infatuation with The Criminal who taught me I needed to stick with like-minded people regardless of how little, how pretty, or how blond they are. The Criminal and her friends were definitely not like-minded, and that whirlwind romance culminated in me getting booked into the Terrebonne Parish Juvenile Justice Center for something I honestly didn’t do. They certainly did it, but since I chose to leave just as their fun had begun, The Criminal and her friends were nice enough to give my name when they were found in the area. I should have been angry, but I actually found myself thanking The Criminal for teaching me another lesson – never rob a bank with Scott! That’s right, I sung like a canary. Singing cleared my conscience but not the charges and I was lucky my uncle knew a high-powered defense lawyer in town who said he would be happy to have a client who was actually innocent. He took my case pro bono because of my mother’s financial state and his dislike of the deputy who arrested me and just like that – all my charges were dismissed.
Next there was a pretty little blond lady I met while on another trip with Greenhorn and his family, this time to Destin, Florida. We stayed at a really nice resort The Barrister had found and sure enough that very first night I found the hit of my next drug of choice on the dance floor. My heart immediately skipped a beat when I saw her, and I hurried over and asked the DJ to play the smoothest love song I knew at that time in my life, “You’ve Lost That Loving Feeling” from the Top Gun soundtrack. I know stupid, but hey I was seventeen years old and what seventeen-year-old isn’t stupid. Remember this when you complain about the quality of young workers. Our teenage love ended as quickly as the holiday was over, but what didn’t disappear was the embarrassment of me and Greenhorn re-enacting that scene from Top Gun in a room full of people! And what did this particular blond lady teach me? Ashamedly, that mistakes we make in our past cannot be allowed to hold us back, because although I am still embarrassed by my teenage Top Gun moment, I will never let it define me. Also, I learned never to serenade another lady, no matter how pretty, how little, or how blond she was.
BE CAREFUL, THEY SHOOT SQUIRRELS!
The last pretty little blond lady I met in this speed-dating period of my life was at a hotel in New Orleans where the U.S. Navy puts up recruits before flying them out to boot camp. Our recruiters gave us very specific instructions not to leave the hotel and I nodded in agreement not wanting any trouble because joining the navy was my way out. I grabbed my stuff and headed to the safety of my room, away from South Louisiana’s overabundance of pretty little blond ladies and the troubles that comes with them. Around dinner time I went down to the lobby, and as I rounded the corner, I saw the distinct and mesmerizing glow of flowing locks of gold coming from the distinctive small stature of a pretty little blond lady. “Damn this curse,” I mumbled to myself as I shot a beeline for her. We made small talk, and quickly found out we were both flying out to bootcamp the very next day. She asked if I wanted to go out since it was our last night of freedom. Knowing I wanted no part of getting into trouble with the Navy I said, “Sure, there no reason we should stay cooped up!” We walked a few blocks to the French Quarter, but being 18 in New Orleans…., well it didn’t stop us and she and I shared a few drinks, dances, and laughs.
We sat next to each other on the bus to the airport and then on the airplane, but upon arrival at Recruit Training Command Orlando, Florida she was ripped away from me by someone who was a little overly-aggressive. As she was torn from the safety of my side, I was issued a stern warning from a Navy Company Commander, “Listen here, from this point forward all females in boot camp are no more interesting to you than trees and you aren’t some damned squirrel!” Did I mention he was just a little overly aggressive? So, did I ever get caught looking at her or any other tree from this point forward? Unfortunately, being that she and I started boot camp the same day, we often ran across each other, usually while marching in opposite directions or waiting in line at the chow hall. And despite the stern warning I received about not being a squirrel, she was a pretty little blond tree. Sure, I was caught a couple of times and the push-ups they made me do had me thinking twice before looking her way again. A few days later, after thinking about it twice, I was caught looking her way and I still think it was the loudest anyone has ever spoken to me. “Get your damned eyes of that tree Lewis! I told you that you weren’t some damned squirrel. Do you know we used to shoot squirrels when I was a boy?” His words had wisdom and I thought back to squirrel hunting with my grandfather as a boy and the distinct barking sound a squirrel made when he sensed danger. I really felt I should be barking like a squirrel in danger, but just then I remembered squirrels usually barked right before a shotgun blast tore them off the tree, causing their lifeless corpse to fall into the leaves below. The very real fear of being sent back home to my life as a poor, white boy quickly straightened me up and I said I would ignore her from that moment on, and this time I meant it. When she whispered to me in line, I turned my head the other way. When she nodded my way while passing each other marching I simply kept my eyes forward and sang the cadence louder. My plan worked and I graduated near the top of my class and without any more disciplinary push-ups simply by following the rules!
Then I ran into this pretty little blond lady while out in Orlando after graduation. We talked and shared a dance or two, but someone else she met in boot camp showed up, cut in on our dance, and she left me for him. She did apologize saying she met him after I chose to ignore her and I believed her as his arms were as big as my thighs, probably because he didn’t mind doing push-ups for her. As I walked away from her callous and shallow disposal of me, I thought back to the shallowness I had exhibited when I left that pretty, little, hairy, blond lady behind on the Lake Front. I walked away a little embarrassed, but as you may well have guessed I walked away with a lesson from a blond lady which was I had joined the navy to change my stars and not to get sent back home. I had learned the easiest way to avoid getting in trouble was to follow the rules and this has forever served me well in life. I have no idea where she is today, but I hope she is ok and enjoying her life with swole-up squirrel boy.
THE WALLET, THE SCANDANAVIAN, AND THE DEAD ZONE
After bootcamp I was sent to three simultaneous military schools in three different states and my curse followed me, just like a loyal dog. In San Diego there was a pretty, little, blond, beach lady, whose youthful skin was surprisingly tan, but also felt a little like a wallet. Lesson learned, never mention to a female their supple tanned skin feels like a wallet, it doesn’t end well. That is, just because you think it, doesn’t mean you have to say it. Great Lakes, Illinois brought a pretty little blond lady of Scandinavian descent, but nothing past a date or two and a lesson that local cops will not ticket a pretty little blond lady for underage drinking, but they will underage men – life is not fair so quit expecting it to be. New Jersey brought a reconnection with that pretty little blond Scandinavian lady and a less than memorable 4th of July in Philadelphia with her. Sorry-to-say she did not care one bit about my desire to see all of the wonderful historical sites of Philadelphia and thus I learned I needed to find a pretty little blond who liked and believed in similar things as me and this lesson works in business too.
I was certain my curse would never end, and maybe the only thing this obsession would bring me would be an early death due to the gradual weakening of my heart from all of those palpitations induced by pretty, little, blond ladies. My curse proved especially horrible when I found myself stationed on Naval Air Station Adak, Alaska in the Aleutian Island chain for a year and half. This island was solely a military base and one of the furthest inhabited parts of the United States and because of this, it had a ratio of about five men to every one woman. Why was I sent here? Was it to heal my damaged heart or was it a penance of sorts for unconfessed sins in my life? I looked and looked, but for a year and half and found not one pretty, little blond lady who felt the same way about me! Still, the ones there taught me lessons … because of them not feeling the same way about me, I was able to throw myself into work and advancement studies, earning some really good evaluations, advancement to petty officer, and upon transfer, three long sought-after schools. As I said bye to all my friends and boarded that Reeve Aleutian Airlines flight out of Adak, I thought maybe spending a year and half in this dead zone and enduring a period of abstinence from pretty little blond ladies had finally broken the spell. Flying over the Aleutian Island chain, I smiled as I thought about finally being free from this curse.
AN INSECURE OLYMPIC SPRINTER
Yet the cruel fate that is my life had different plans for me and my little hiatus from pretty, little, blond ladies only served to strengthen the spell I still found myself under. Not long after my arrival stateside, I quickly realized the power this now strengthened curse had over me.
I was walking toward a break area while on a base in Texas when I saw her standing there in her Battle Dress Camouflage Uniform (BDU). Now BDUs do absolutely nothing to accentuate the figure of any woman, and that is why they had never been featured at Paris Fashion Week. Yet there she was as elegant a pretty little blond lady as I had ever seen, evidently ready to rock her BDUs on the catwalk during Paris Fashion Week. Upon seeing her standing there, my heart immediately leapt past palpitation into a full-on cardiac arrest. My goodness Farah’s lesson about pretty little blond ladies in Texas was right! It was time to move, and I knew which lesson from which pretty little blond lady I would listen to.
Following Sandy’s lesson, I confidently walked up to her and said hello. She proved to be as sweet and kind as she was pretty, little, and blond. In an angelic tone she replied, “Hello,” and the sound of her voice flowed over me, swirling around me before finally entering my ears and burrowing deep into my soul. As our hellos turned into a full conversation, I found out she was actually from Texas, just like Farah! I also learned this pretty little blond lady was also a Military Working Dog Handler, just like me and it was with these revelations I knew she was my destiny. Without worrying about the water depth or the rocks below, I dove deeper into our conversation, a wonderful one where she shared with me the prettiest smile I had ever seen. All of a sudden, I found myself frozen, unable to talk. Wait, what was happening to me? My heart raced, and insecurity took control of my body. I instantly went from a bad-ass, gun-toting, Military Working Dog Handler in the prime of my life, to letterman-sweater-wearing Danny Zuko from Grease. I just stood there in front of her wearing that stupid letterman sweater babbling and tripping over our my once eloquent words. I just lost it and was not all being myself like Sandy taught me to be, or was I? It was as if every bit of insecurity I had ever buried deep down inside had all at once roared to the surface and I excused myself, hurrying away like some damned insecure Olympic sprinter! I ran away from someone who very well could have been my destiny, someone who was head-and-shoulders above every other pretty little blond lady I had met up to this point, including both Sandy and Farah.
Later in my barracks room I cursed myself and the fear and insecurity I let overcome me. It was at that point I promised myself I would never again run away from a challenge, no matter how inadequate I felt, regardless of the situation. This lesson in life has served me well as I always meet people by showing confidence in myself and letting them know I have the same confidence in my staff, my supervisors, and my crews.
Later on, that very same day, I regained my composure, and swore I would find her. Oh, and I looked. I looked everywhere for her, but to no avail and before I knew it my brief time at this base was over and I departed knowing she was the one that got away. As I flew off to my next base, I laid my head back in my seat and closed my eyes remembering her smile and angelic voice, cursing myself for ruining destiny.
THE GOLDEN GODDESS AND PRINCE CHARMING
A few months later I was sent to another school and as I pulled into the parking lot in front of my new command, I ran into an old roommate of mine from Adak Alaska. This was very odd as even though we didn’t consider ourselves close friends, we had lived together for over a year and had no idea we were heading to the same school. We shook hands and laughed at the coincidence, then made plans to go out to a club later that night. I grabbed my bag and headed for the door. Grabbing the handle of the door at a new base had always been a metaphor of sorts for me, as I thought of it as I was grabbing onto my next adventure. So holding on tight to that door handle I walked through to my next adventure, an adventure that was immediately stopped by some unknown force so strong that no matter how hard I tried I just couldn’t proceed forward. My heart skipped a beat and then went into full-on cardiac arrest, because there she was, sitting in a chair, one leg crossed over the other in a pair of cream-colored, slim-cut slacks and a cropped white blouse. Oh, my goodness, what was happening to me? I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t think straight, heck I still couldn’t move. I just stood there in what could only be explained as a timeless void somewhere between reality and a dream. There, not 20’ in front of me was not only the prettiest little blond lady I had ever seen in my life, but the exact same one I had fled from just a couple of months before. Amazingly, that golden-haired, BDU goddess, was even prettier in civilian clothes and I needed to speak to her. Yet, I just stood there, stuck in a timeless void, unable to move out of the breezeway, I spent my time thinking about what I would say to this goddess. I needed something smooth to overcome the fact that not too long ago I had made a fool of myself by fleeing from her because of my own perceived insecurities. I thought back to all the lessons all the previous pretty little blond ladies had taught me. I ran through those lessons quickly because right in front of me, separated only by the glass of the second set of double doors, was an opportunity at redemption. It was a chance to be with someone that I was convinced had to be my destiny. I reached out my hand and grabbed the last door handle knowing it was going to be perfect as she didn’t even notice me about to make my grand entrance.
“Dude, what the hell!” my friend said as he ran into my back. “I ain’t going anywhere with you this evening!” I snapped back. In a perturbed tone he asked, “What? Why?” and I simply replied, “Her!” He chuckled as he replied, “You have got to be kidding me. I have been here for three days now and have seen her turn down every dude on this base! Scott, there is no way in this or any other parallel universe, that you could even get close to her. Get real man, she is so far out of your and everyone else’s league!” Wow, you have got to love it when a buddy offers you support when you need it most and I simply replied, “Destiny,” as I pulled open the second set of double doors, walked right up to her, and flawlessly executed my plan with a smooth, “Hey, it’s been a long time!” There it was fate and destiny had just collided, the stars and the moons were all in perfect alignment, because upon hearing my familiar voice this angelic beauty turned and looked my way. I confidentially reached out to her, softly taking her fingers into the palm of my hand to gently reinforce my happiness to reconnect with her. I had never felt this feeling before and I just knew it had to be love at first sight, or second sight, but there was no need to be legalistic while relishing in a monumental moment like this one.
She was obviously happy to see me as she stared directly into my star-stuck eyes. Me, I just stood there, still holding her hand, waiting to hear what she had to say about fate bringing us together again. I waited to hear her words enter my ears, and rest on my rapidly beating heart! I just knew her response would be that she felt the same way about me, yes, that fate and destiny had most definitely given her another chance at what could only be described as true love! It seemed like an eternity that I waited, but in my mind, I could almost hear her thoughts. As I stood there still holding her hand her eyes said, “It’s as if Prince Charming has come back for me.” Here I was, Prince Charming, minus the white horse, because we all know from A DANCING HORSE, that it wouldn’t have end well if I was riding a horse. Here it came, confirmation of my feelings of fate as her angelic, red-tinted lips slowly and seductively parted and she said, “Um, yeah, hey. How are you doing?” and it was with that loving response I just knew this pretty little blond lady was destined to be mine.
YOU SAY STALKING LIKE IT’S A BAD THING
Over the next week I got to know her better by finding every opportunity to place myself in her path so I could make the most of even the briefest of encounters. While writing this I can imagine some of you may feel my behavior could have been considered stalking. Let me tell you it is exactly this type of attitude toward destiny that is holding you back in your life and stopping you from reaching the mountain top. Also, it was not considered stalking in the 1990s, my behavior was considered persistence and that was, and still is, a positive trait to have. Furthermore, your inability to see my persistence for what it truly was shocks me, because I was a mountain climber of sorts, one who had been scaling the most dangerous of mountains, full of the hazards that were pretty little blond ladies. Yes, you also missed the fact this mountain climber had reached the summit and found the one waiting for him, the one who had obviously been kissed by God before being placed into her mother’s womb. Here I was, barely back in her life and she was already teaching me more lessons from a blond lady, like we should never give up on our dreams, and that a carefully-planned task will give you rich rewards. Rewards like I received when she said, “Um, yeah, hey. How are you doing?”
Eventually, my efforts paid off and our chance encounters turned into a friendship or so she naively thought. As for me, I was already dating the prettiest little blond lady in the world. Regardless of the joy I felt being around her all the time, I was getting worried she would never see past our most-perfect friendship to realize we were destined to be so much more. I began to realize I had fallen off of the mountain top and into a deep crevasse, and although I was so close to that pretty little blond lady, I was still so far away. I dared not share my dilemma with anyone because of the laughter and ridicule that was sure to follow me into the depths of the friendship hole I had dug for myself. It was with this realization I learned yet another lesson from a blond lady, which is the first thing you need to do when you find yourself in a hole is stop digging! And it was with this lesson I stopped digging and began clawing my way out of the friend zone and back up the mountain.
THERE WERE SIGNS
Finally, she had gotten to a point where she couldn’t take the tension between us any longer as she began showing me signs she too had developed true feelings for me. Signs were everywhere, with kind words from her, being asked to share a dance or two at the base club, even a few passing brushes of her foot against my leg as we sat at a table with friends. Passing brushes that turned into a full on rubbing of sorts and I just knew I needed to get her out of there and away from everyone. It was then my friend from Adak gave me an opportunity when he asked if I would take him to another local club located off base. I immediately agreed and asked her if she wanted to go for a ride with us. She said yes and we left, headed to another club and I could see the rim of my friendship hole coming within reach. I let my friend out and he asked if we could wait while he checked to see if his other group of friends were there. While we sat in the front seat of my car it happened, the first deliberate touch, the first kiss, and with this kiss I knew I had read the signs properly.
She looked into my eyes while holding her hand on top of mine and asked, “What are you doing? I thought we were just friends!” I replied I had noticed her becoming more interested in me over the last couple of weeks and tonight I had felt every touch of her foot against mine, every intentional brush of her body against mine while we danced, and I heard every word of encouragement that came off her lips. I told her there were signs everywhere, signs that she had made clear, and I just knew she no longer wanted to be just friends. Still staring dead into my eyes, her hand now gripping mine a little tighter, and with a look of desire that oddly resembled confusion she said, “What are you talking about? I never touched you once.” “Damn him,” I muttered, quickly pulling away as I saw my friend coming out of the club to tell us he was staying. We drove off to talk and it quickly became obvious my friend was the one rubbing my leg under the table! The biggest problem I had with this realization was that I was pretty sure he was not doing it as a friend to help me find the courage to make a move on that pretty little blond lady. You see my friend was always a little different from us, even when we were in Adak Alaska, but we never asked why, even though we probably knew. No matter how violated I felt, I couldn’t be mad at him because it was with this violation of my personal space, I finally found the strength to grab the rim of the friendship hole and haul myself out. And it was because of this violation my life was now complete because only a few weeks later she and I started dating. Here it was yet, another lesson from a blond lady, and that is to be cautious interpreting signs when you are too emotionally involved in the situation, as all those signs may not be what you expect them to be.
KAT SONGS, LETTERS, AND PAYPHONES
Here I was, cool Danny from Grease with my very own Sandy and I had the cool car too, a 25th anniversary Ford Mustang and I even made her the obligatory mixed tape, called Kat Songs. She and I spent every possible moment together for the remainder of the time fate allowed, but yet again our time came to an end when we were separated due to military obligations. However, letters and phone calls kept our relationship alive and strong. Although I loved the letters we exchanged back and forth, the phone calls were the best. Since I lived in the barracks, and cell phones were not yet available, we were forced to use pay phones. Ah yes, does anyone remember those banks of pay phones lined up, side by side, that either took an AT&T calling card or coins? It wasn’t the most efficient and private form of communication, but it was the best we had, and we made full use of it. Thus, in a letter or at the end of a phone call we would schedule the next date and time we would call each other. Most of the time I would call her as she had military housing due to her having a wonderful and sweet little girl. I just would like to clarify even though she said her daughter was from her first marriage, I still say it was a period in her life when she chose to breed poorly. Although I initiated most of the calls, at other times she would tell me she wanted to call me, I guess she felt that good communication needed to be an effort made by both parties. Her initiating the call was no easy task as we had to plan which pay phone she would call on what date and time, along with one or two back- up numbers in case the first pay phone was already in use.
Wow, how different it was compared to today when we have cell phones, which that pretty little blonde lady affectionately calls my electronic leash. This lesson from a blond lady is no matter how difficult it was, we managed to call each other, because it was important to us. I hear it all the time, “…but I sent them an email and they still haven’t got back to me.” Then, pick up the phone and call them, this is what I and that pretty little blond lady did to maintain our relationship, and this is what you need to do to achieve a similar result, whether the relationship you are trying to maintain is with a client, an owner, a supervisor, an employee, or your very own pretty little blond lady.
A SIREN’S SONG
Time eventually melted away the distance between me and her and I soon found myself standing at the altar as she walked down the aisle, no bouquet in hand, because she left it in the changing room. Now, here it is over thirty years later, and although she is and will always be THE one, ashamedly she was not the last pretty little blond lady to teach me a lesson. One day I found myself sitting at a computer in our living room preparing a playlist for our 25th Wedding Anniversary when something popped up. I knew better than to follow popups on computers, but I did, and it led me to yet another pretty little blond lady. What was I thinking? How dare I look at another, yet alone listen to her angelic voice trying to lure me in like the Sirens did to Odysseus around the year 693 B.C. Yet even knowing the rocks were close and my ship was in peril, I found myself drawn closer and closer to her song and ultimately to her. Then it came on and snapped me back to reality, one particular song that brought back a flood of memories to me. With this song, I remembered that pretty little blond lady and our first chance meeting, a meeting that ended with me retreating out of a self-inflicted defeat. My mind raced to our second meeting and those magical words of encouragement she spoke to me, “Um, yeah, hey. How are you doing.” I remembered that dude rubbing my leg under the table, and later my first kiss with my pretty, blond lady. This one song brought back memories of our times together, our times apart, and the efforts we made to call each other. Yet, even with memories of my pretty little blond lady, I still sat here looking at another pretty little blond lady on the screen in front of me, another pretty little blonde lady who knew how to use a telephone. It was Debbie Harry, otherwise known as Blondie and her knowledge of the importance of a phone call was so on point that I thought about how good a construction supervisor she could have been if her singing career had not taken off.
Knowing my pretty little blond lady for all these years and her tender Heart of Glass, I chose not to pursue this other one past using her lyrical wisdom in this short story. You should know Blondie released one of her many hit singles, ‘Call Me’ in 1980 and the lyrics of this song should be a lesson to all of us striving to be great leaders. Pull up the song and listen to Call Me while reading the lyrics, because you will find them to be a useful management tool. By simply following the lyrics to this song you will become a better leader, without having to read some cheesy self-help book about communication. To save you some time I am going to share my cliff notes version of the song’s chorus with you, because the rest of the song deals with a type of love I do not feel about any of you. In the chorus of Blondie’s hit song “Call Me,” this pretty little blonde lady tells the other party to call her. She further lets them know she is available for that call at any time, letting that person know if she is called, she will show up 24 hours a day, seven days a week. It certainly sounds to me like she is reachable if the person she is singing to would just pick up the phone and dial her number.
I AM REACHABLE, BUT ARE YOU TEACHABLE
Over the years, while working through construction-related issues here and there, the question I often have is whether or not I am reachable. I, for one, believe I am currently, and have always been, reachable. I am certain of this because even when I am at the in-law’s ranch with no cell service, I always send out a mass email with their home phone number letting everyone know how to get ahold of me. If you still don’t believe I am reachable, just ask that pretty little blond lady. You will quickly understand I am when you see the disgust on her face as she tells you I have answered a call in the middle of the Mayan ruins in Tulum, in the Smokey Mountains near Gatlinburg, and even in the middle of the night in Madrid, Spain when a corporate lawyer called, not knowing I was on vacation. Furthermore, much to that pretty little blond lady’s dismay, the company has always purchased me a communication package for any cruise we go on, as well as an overseas plan when we go to Europe.
So, I will say I am accessible. However, I still must ask myself if I am approachable, because you can have every desire to make a call, send a text, or an email, but if the person you are trying to reach is unapproachable, all of your efforts at communication are just wasted time. I would also say I am approachable, and my reasoning would be that regularly, while walking job sites, employees from superintendents all the way to helpers feel comfortable enough to walk up and talk to me. Once, while on a job site for an incident investigation, the helper involved in the incident overheard my conversation with the superintendent, came up to me, and shared that he was the employee in question. Furthermore, he voluntarily walked me through the day’s events starting from the first JSEA, onto the incident, and to the use of Stop Work Authority. We continued to have an open conversation where we discussed what could have been done better, what the solution was, and when we would complete that scope of work.
If a helper on a job site felt comfortable enough to approach me, then no one should use an excuse they feel I am unapproachable. Not calling me when something happens or when you have a question, is a matter of personal choice and not any sort of unwritten rule due to my position. Please do not fail at the art of communication like I did when I almost blew my destiny with that pretty little blond lady by having some sort of self-induced insecurity.
Let’s go back to this pretty his little blonde’s chorus again. She sings, “Call me” thirty times in the song and this should be enough confirmation we should all listen to this lesson. And why does she sing “Call Me” thirty times? Because it is important to her! What is important to you? Is something happening on your job site that may trigger an incident investigation important enough to call? Let me repeat myself, lest someone forgets, if it is important enough that not calling could possibly lead to an incident, then it must be important enough to call me or someone else to assist you. Let’s look at two more things she sings in her song most people think are about a lover, but are truly about managerial skills, the first being when you can call her. Blondie lets us know she can be reached anytime, anyplace, any day, day or night. Furthermore, she repeats these options of how available she is to receive a phone call nineteen times, because she is a good supervisor who wants everyone to know she is available. She then reiterates her commitment two more times by saying that she will show up if called. This blond lady has a serious commitment to communication, and we should take her lesson to heart as we must have the same commitment.
Lastly, I am not sure if my very own pretty little blond lady will appreciate my long-winded anecdotal short story that includes so many references to others. Heck, I am not even sure calling someone a pretty little blond lady is even culturally-appropriate anymore, but that is why I have my own LLC, Building Dancing Horses, so I can get a message out without spending too much time worrying about how it is delivered. Please never fail to encourage people to call so they can accurately use the resources on hand, whether it be your company’s, your clients’, or any of the governing bodies, such as OSHA. Many companies even have a Safety Hotline you can call if for some reason you do not feel comfortable calling a supervisor or peer. I bet if you just call, your concerns will be addressed.
In closing, which one of you does not feel comfortable reaching out to staff or peers for support? Which one of you does not feel comfortable asking a question to a supervisor? Although the chain of command is important and needs to be followed, the safety of the employees is more important and if you are ever feeling like you are being put in a difficult situation, especially where the safety of others or the quality of the job is in question, you must put yourself in the feet of that last pretty little blonde and feel free to call someone including me, anytime. No matter what the preferred make and model of your companion; we all can find love for pretty little blonde ladies, especially when they have shared so many useful lessons with us.
Afterthought: CALL A FORTUNE TELLER, NOT ME
When my Marketing Guru Chick recommended introducing that pretty little blond lady in her very own short story I listened, but I wasn’t sure what it would be about. It wasn’t until I began writing LESSONS FROM BLOND LADIES, when it became perfectly clear that communication had to be the point I drive home. So, why is it many of us still cannot pick up the phone and call when there is a question or especially when there is a problem? I often hear the excuse they should not be blamed for problems on their job site, problems that oddly enough never would have happened if they had used good communication. Better yet is the excuse it is not in the site supervisor’s job description to let me know of every single little problem that arise on their job. Shame on anyone who would use excuses to not to call for assistance, or advice, especially for safety-related issues! I cannot imagine my relationship with that pretty little blond lady making it through the separations of time and long distances if we had not purposely chosen to pick up the phone. Furthermore, I cannot imagine making it over a quarter of a century with one company without calling and asking a supervisor or a peer for their opinion concerning a difficult or out-of-the-ordinary decision I was about to make. Maybe it was me being away from the corporate office on remote job sites, overseas, or attached to an out-of-state district office for most of my career that made the phone an important tool for me, and it should be for you as well, regardless of distance. So please take this lesson from a blond lady to heart and do not hesitate to pick up the phone
