Blond Treehorn Thug: [holding up a bowling ball] What the fuck is this? The Dude: Obviously you're not a golfer.
Blond Treehorn Thug: [holding a bowling ball] What the fuck is this? The Dude: Obviously, you're not a golfer.
I must say also that it's never worked to my disadvantage that I have long, blond hair.
If I go into a club now, all the blonde girls leave my corner and all the black girls come into my corner. It's as if I'm racist towards white girls!
I'm naturally a mousy blonde, so I dye my hair, and my eyebrows would disappear if I didn't get through at least a pencil a month.
When I thought of Eric with someone else, I wanted to rip out all his beautiful blonde hair. By the roots. In clumps.
You know you've checked into Heartbreak Hotel for real when you feel less desirable than uncooked fish.
Even at an early age, I rebelled against my strict upbringing. When I was 9, I built myself a 'make-out fort' in our backyard from wood, filled it with candy, and invited my blond, blue-eyed neighbor over to kiss.
From the earliest age, I was just different. I think that's part of every writer's little revenge. You think, 'I'm not a blonde, blue-eyed cheerleader but I'm going to get out of here and do something.'
He's tall with shaggy blond hair and muscular arms. He's holding a twenty-dollar bill. He's muscular. And he's holding a twenty--wait, I already said that.
I have to say, her blonde bob was amazing. The delicate way it hugged her face and neck. The softness of it...
There is this image of a guy in a hot tub, drinking champagne with two buxom blondes. But that is not the real me. I am a father, and I am a grandfather, too.
I wanted to be like my friends. I hung out with girls who had blue eyes and blond hair and I thought, 'I want to look like them!'
We've got 400,000 girls with beach-y blonde hair, the same nose, gigantic lips, implants in their cheeks, and little Chicklets for teeth. Are they really prettier?
I like hair each and every way. I like to give scalp massages - to pull and tug on it. But my favorite style is long, real hair in a dusty blonde-brown color.
My hair got lighter, and I gradually went blonde. I liked it. Had more fun. But my image of myself in my head is this dark-haired person.
Since I have fair skin, I have to stay out of the sun. I can't stand the sun. I dyed my hair red for a while during the 1990s but I'm actually a natural blonde.
'Triumph over tragedy' - how pathetic! I think people are generally freaked out that I'm multifaceted. You don't hear people saying, 'Gwyneth Paltrow won an Oscar - and she's blonde!'
Alcoholism is a genetically predisposed disease and it does run in my family. I also think I felt like a misfit. I was in the South, everybody was blonde. I just didn't feel like I fitted in. It was sort of my way of fitting.
When I'm bored or tired of being blonde, I'll throw on a wig. It's a lot less of a permanent way to change your look, and I have about 10 - all different colors, shapes, bobs, long hair, short, feathered.
People thought me a bit strange at first; a blond haired, blue-eyed Norwegian who sang Mexican folk songs, but I used it to my advantage and got a job. And so the music became my ticket to education.
