For a long time, I've fought the urge to be called a blonde. I've battled, complained and argued with anyone who called me one.

Over the years, I've learned that maybe being a "blonde" really isn't such a bad thing after all.  I've always felt I was fairly intelligent, and had the grades to back it up. Being blonde doesn't mean you are dumb; it just means that you see the world differently from others.

I might not have the best memory. I tend to mix up stories because I forget a lot of the facts. I do silly things because I have a lot of thoughts constantly going through my mind. I find myself in a lot of situations I didn't plan on. Drama seems to follow me around.

 All of these things create the "perfect" blonde stories, which my friends have enjoyed telling for years. I figured I may as well share them with the rest of the world.

My first job was at a camp near my house. I worked in the kitchen, which was full of bored teenagers, always looking for a way to entertain themselves. A few of the misfits were immature, lazy, and pranksters. A lot of their pranks were played on fellow co-workers, especially ME. I was an easy target, as I gave the appropriate response to their annoying tactics. Some of the many things they have done include wrapping an entire car in saran wrap, going to the bathroom in someone’s car, and locking people in the walk-in freezer.

One of the most famous stories that has traveled around camp involves me. I was a bit of an over-active teenager, and tended to easily get upset. The guys figured that if something important where to go “missing”, I would probably be really funny to watch. Thus, they decided to “borrow” my keys.

I’m not quite sure whose idea it was, but one of the guys grabbed my keys from the stockroom (a place where we left our purses and other items) and put it in a bucket. They filled the bucket with cold water and dragged it down into the cooler. This was early in the morning, because they knew it would need a few hours to freeze.

When it was time to get ready to leave around 1pm, I was looking in my purse for my keys. I couldn’t find them, so I looked all around the stockroom. I started freaking out a bit, because I knew that I needed to get home and I couldn’t find my keys! I heard the guys giggling in the kitchen, so I stormed in and asked if they knew where my keys were.

The guys tried to claim that they had no idea, but they just started laughing too much. Finally, they told me to go down in the freezer and see what I could find. I found an ice bucket sitting in the middle of the freezer and my keys clearly frozen at the bottom. My face turned bright red and I stormed upstairs with the heavy bucket. I took it in to the stockroom and used hot water to melt the ice. My friend Michelle took a picture for me, because I decided I wanted to scrapbook the moment.

When my brother was little, he wanted a kitten. My parents happened to know a family friend who was having kittens, and decided to let my brother pick one out for his birthday. I was pretty little at the time, but I still remember how excited my brother got picking out his favorite.

Nick named the kitten Tiggy, and he was a lovable cat. He lived most of his life outside, chasing animals and becoming very fat. One day, my mom discovered he had worms from some animal he'd eaten. After that, Tiggy had to live the rest of his life inside. He was constantly trying to escape.

Tiggy had always loved eating wild animals, which made him a great mouse chaser.  I hate mice. Absolutely loathe them. I'm not sure how Tiggy learned this fact. They say cats know who hate them and always want to be petted by those people. In this case, Tiggy wanted praise for his dead animals and I was his intended victim.

I would wake in the morning, and start getting up. I'd put my foot down on the ground, but instead of feeling warm slippers, I'd feel a dead mouse! Tiggy had left me a lovely present. I'd scream, my mom would come running, and she'd take care of removing it from my foot. This ended up happened quick a bit, for Tiggy loved catching mice, and I was too forgetful in the morning to remember to look for his presents.

Eventually, I started to hate waking up in the morning, because it happened so often. It was because of this fact that one year, for April's Fools, I yelled out to my mom that there was a mouse. She came running and then I told her "April Fools". She got so upset! I couldn't stop laughing.

The worst situation I found myself in that involved mice happened at Timber-lee. The guys I worked with were in full prank mode one day, and I was cleaning in one of the back rooms. I was pulling the mop bucket with me when suddenly one of the guys came running up to me with a dead mouse in his hand!

I screamed, and ran away from him. He started chasing me, and yelled for the other guys to join him. They started chasing me, and ended up trapping me by the bathroom doors. One of them grabbed my arms and tried to keep me tied down while the other tried to shove it down my throat! I was kicking and screaming when the head cook came out and yelled at them to get back to work.

This head cook also liked to play tricks, so instead of yelling at them for abusing me, he just laughed and told them to get rid of the dead mouse. I was shaking and had red marks around my neck from one of the guys almost choking me. Looking back now, I really should have told someone, but most of the cooks knew about the stuff that happened and didn't do anything.

I haven't seen those guys in years, and Tiggy has passed away, so my experiences with mice are hopefully over!