Excerpt



So…what the hell is a Renaissance Blonde? Good question.

Simply put, the Renaissance Blonde is me. Or rather, my alter ego. The little-known, secret identity part of me capable of leaping tall buildings in a single bound while wearing heels, spinning webs from my magical, bullet-deflecting bracelets while responding with all haste to the illuminated RB search light beacon.

Okay, maybe not. I don’t even have tights and a cape. It’s probably better that way.

The Renaissance Blonde will not be storming to the pages of a comic book near you or busting onto the big screen in a multi-million dollar action/adventure flick worthy of the newest superhero. It’s not like that at all. The Renaissance Blonde is the mouthy part of me fighting for truth, justice, and the American Way on paper; trying to provoke a conversation, spark an idea, plant a seed. I write about whatever happens to move me that particular second of that particular day. It may not always be as lofty an ideal as say, democracy; it could be rude drivers. Quite possibly the over-use of television as a mental sedative; but most definitely the sheer stupidity of the majority of blonde jokes.

Think of it as a diary.

It’s not a bad comparison; I write about what moves me, and what may move me one day could be a bit of weirdness, maybe occasional frustration with the status quo, and quite certainly the rampant idiocy that I see far too often for comfort. Maybe I’m just feeling good for no better reason than it’s a beautiful spring day and my dog just snuck up and licked my toes…it could be that random.

But mostly, I’m moved to anger and impatience by the feeling of not fitting into society’s expectations of a 30-something female. I’m not married, and never have been. I do not have a boyfriend. I do not have children. Three strikes and I’m out? You wouldn’t think so, but you might be surprised. The attempted pigeonholing by society, as perpetuated by mass media, has become far subtler than the wearing of pearls and heels while cleaning house days of our grandmothers. Media is vastly sly and insidious, and so adaptable that it’s coming at you from all directions. It raises you up with one hand (single, homeowner, self-employed, and independent? Good girl!), and slaps you down with the other (no man, no kids, no six-figure salary? What the hell’s wrong with you?).

All these chapters really are are my own battles with just trying to be myself. There are ups, and downs, and even some really interesting sideways diagonals from time to time, but I’m still trying. Some days I’m feeling inspirational; some days, I think I should never have gotten out of bed. Where unfairness and inequity raise their shady heads, I’ll usually have something to say about it; albeit somewhat smart-assed and sarcastic as it may be. Sometimes, I’m just trying to bring attention to something that we may all see, but are too busy to think much about. Often, there’s no rhyme or reason at all; it’s not even in chronological order because I’ve written these chapters over a number of years as I’ve struggled to come to grips with the reality of my life as it is, not as I thought it was going to be when I was young and idealistic.

Remember, my “name” should be your first clue to the quirkiness afoot: Renaissance Blonde. To some folks, it looks to be a bit of an oxymoron. To others, they might think I just called them an ox and a moron. They could both be right. I mean really, what is a renaissance: enlightenment, discovery, rebirth, and learning? And blonde: dumb, ditzy, empty-headed, and shallow by popular definition. Huh? How could these two divergent concepts possible be combined this way? Shouldn’t it be illegal? Is it amoral? Possibly contagious?

I certainly hope so…