Old School Barbie

I was chatting with a girlfriend yesterday and she is telling me about this Barbie her son picked out for a little girlfriend of his as a birthday present.

"Have you seen that Barbie that has a dog that poops?" she asks.


"Oh, yeah I saw a commercial for it...I don't get it."


"Well, that's what he picked out for her."


My curiosity was piqued. I thought I remembered Mattel jumping on the Women's Lib bandwagon a few years ago-waving banners about body perception and positive self image. Had they fallen off the wagon or was this their lame attempt to portray Barbie as a Liberated Woman-able to pick up dog crap all on her own?


I had to get to the bottom of this. To investigate, I went to the Barbie.com website, where I was instructed to 'Think Pink' as I waited for the download of information to come into view. Waiting patiently, tapping my unmanicured nails, I think back to the Barbies my sister and I played with 'back in the day'. The buxom, silky haired gals who were up for anything...skinny dipping in the bathroom sink, cruising topless (and sometimetimes bottomless-no embarrassing bikini line to worry about) in their cherry red Corvette convertible, or just hanging out at the townhome.



They were always barefoot because #1. their shoes (a chocking hazard) disappeared five seconds after they had been ripped from their plastic boxes and #2. my sister always chewed the dolls' feet, making it impossible to ever fit a pair of Go-Go boots on them again.


Ding-Download complete. I am now entering Barbie.com. A world...allbeit fictional, where any young girl (and some young boys) can be "...whatever they want to be!" I was dissapointed - scratch that- I was HORRIFIED at what I saw as I clicked away in this Pepto-Bismol cyberland. Mothers of young girls (and some boys) everywhere, LISTEN UP!.....This is what the Toy Gods out there are deeming acceptable.


Click-The "I can be...Barbie" No, I didn't say the I can be Barbie. Notice the three innocent dot, dot, dots following the word be. These dots may seem insignificant but they are not. They are a gentle reminder to wait, use your imagination....think of all the possibilites, kind if dots. If it would have been I can be Barbie without the dots, don't you know there would be a cyber meltdown occuring? Women everywhere clicking away with wild abandon! Anyway, so the "I can be... Barbie" page pops into view. Guess what ladies? You can be a photographer, an art teacher or even a pet sitter!!! Thank God I didn't toil away during my college years, foregoing that fraternity kegger, trying to boost my G.P.A. another couple of points, so that I could embark on one of these, "Real Life Careers".


Click-Next it's the "Bride and Groom Barbie". You can choose a black groom or a white groom. Wow! Barbie's parents are librals! Barbie is all aglow for this '...fairy-tale occassion, complete with a light up engagement ring.' A little gaudy in my opinion. Is the groom Barbie at all realistic? No. He doesn't have a clickety mechanical button on his back to make farting noises or excuses like, 'Oh, sorry Barbie, I didn't think you where in the room.'


Click-The "I Heart Pets Barbie" This is the one with the dog who really poops. At least she's equiped with a pooper scooper and isn't chasing around with a platic bag. But wait......where is Ken??? Isn't he the gallant knight that should be retrieving this steamy mess as a grand gesture of love? Oh yeah, I forgot, Ken's gay. Why else do you think they had to create the Groom Barbie? I mean Barbie and Ken dated forever and he just couldn't committ. He obviously had issues.


Click Click- There are "Chat Diva Barbies" who can lipsynch- wait are you ready for this-three different songs! And I'm willing to bet that one of them is by Brittany Spears. And hold on to your hats ladies because she also knows how to answer her phone!!!!! Hey Barbie, why don't you try doing that while you cook dinner, change a diaper and balance your checkbook simultaneously? Hmmm...betcha can't!


Click-And I can't hardly find the strength to go on...but...there are the "Pom-Pom Diva Barbies". "...flipping through the air to land on each other's shoulders...with glittery uniforms flashing these Fly Girls [trade-marked] really know how to put on a show!" Good gravey!-what's next? Stripper Barbie with a cool metalic pole?


Oh, please, (and forgive me if I sound too whiney) but I know many a women out there who are Barbies. I'm talking about the old school Barbies like my sister and I played with back in the day. The kind of gals who didn't have the media crammed down their ultra taut throats. They were naked-in a sense. Deciding on their own who they would be and what they would do. I know this because they are my friends...writers, lawyers, educators, business owners, and moms. These are the true Barbies of the real world.


By the way, my girlfirend..I'll just call her Barbie for now, took the doll back.

Ladies Luncheon

In the English language we do not assign gender to our nouns, but certain words tend to imply it. For example, luncheon. Men don't have luncheons, they have lunch. Important men have power lunches and thinking men have working lunches. But women (at least here in the South) have luncheons. The term in and of itself is more adjective than noun; conjuring up an atmosphere of relaxation, fostered by polite conversation and an air of sophistication. The 50's era Femme with pillbox hat and patent leather pumps, accessorized with pearls, fussing with manicured civility over petite morsels and frosted beverages. Splashes of cotton candy pink and hushed greens accented by the always appropriate black sunglasses seated at an outdoor cafe.

To a passerby, the Ladies Luncheon might seem trite and insignificant, a forum for gossip and giggles. Its' outward appearance gives away nothing of its' more meaningful agenda. There is no aura of glamor in the term 'Group Therapy' but it is a better fit for what is occurring.

If a crazy lady screams in a forest and no one else is around, does she still make a sound? The answer to this is No. She needs compadres who are keen listeners, able to console, empathize and offer advice. Others who have had similar experiences and can provide feedback in the form of comic relief. And this, along with the opportunity to dress in something other than my mommy uniform of khaki shorts and t-shirts, is why I look forward to the monthly Ladies Luncheon.

Often much of what is discussed is that from which we are briefly fleeing- kids, jobs, daily ho-hum. This is the cathartic portion of the session, but also, and no less significant, is the visualization segment.

At this Saturdays' luncheon, fueled by bottomless Mimosas and Bellinis, those in attendance, fantasized a girls' trip A La Paris. The logistics ironed out over a sampling of cheeses drenched in honey. The absentees were considered, but in the end we all agreed that they would vote Oui!
Looking back, maybe our future endeavor is a bit grandiose. But one can always dream!

Until next month....Au Revoir mes amies! xoxoxo

Cavewoman Mentality

There was a time in the not-so-distant past, when I could tell you the ages of my children in months and weeks. Coincidentally, or maybe as a direct result of this new found mental capacity, I completely lost track of my own age. After age 29, my brain seems to have taken a little hiatus from me-think and that portion of the cerebrum was overtaken with them-think.

An adaption of sorts, probably developed as some type of survival/coping mechanism by cavewomen shortly after they squatted and bore their first little cave dweller. I imagine that the early cave mom had to keep track of her offspring's' development in much the same way we do today...About how many loin clothes does he wet per day?...Can he drag a carcass using alternating feet?...Does he scribble on the cave wall using a dominant hand?...Approximately how many grunts is he using?....

This, along with the daily routine of tidying up the cave, making sure her child doesn't wander off the edge of a cliff, and picking the nits from cave husbands' head after a long days' hunt would leave no time for vanity.

Besides, according to Piaget, we get over self-preoccupation during our childhood. He surmises that by age 7 we are over the Me Stage (the preoperational stage ) and are no longer as egocentric as we were from the ages of 2 through 7.

But then, just the other day I'm reading my friends' blog (Sugar Mama), and she's answering this chain email that asks all sorts of random questions. The purpose- to glean some insight into the kind of person you are-you know-likes, dislikes etc. I had answered the same email from a friend months earlier and was not surprised that many of our answers were similar. I like to think that I'm like her because she's funny, smart, successful and not in the least bit vain. OK, I'll admit that she has a leg up on me here. This is a woman who considers Chapstick makeup, whereas I apply only for medicinal purposes. Anyway, our answers to question #16 - What's the least favorite thing about yourself? totally caught me off guard.

I didn't even have to blink to answer this one. I put, Thinking I know what others are thinking about me. She had answered, Worrying what others think about me. I had been so proud of my statement because I had carefully side-stepped the stereotypical female responses dealing with issues of outward appearance-ie weight, hair and skin and breast size (the excessive, the bad and the lack of- in that order). I was a higher level thinker and my answer to question#16 would be proof to any doubter who came across my cyber-profile. How on God's Green Earth could our answers to this question be so aligned?

The answer is simple. In fact, it's held secure by a nondescript magnet on the surface of my mom's refrigerator. A plain white 4x6 index card, neatly fonted gives Piaget a run for his money. It states:

When we are 20 we worry about what others think of us.
At 40 we don't care about what others think of us.
At 60 we find they haven't been thinking of us at all. -Ann Landers.

Maybe my #16 answer was not as original as I had thought it to be. Maybe, it's just an age thing. A kind of adult psychological stage of development that we weren't exposed to in college. Or maybe Ann Landers is a descendant of Piaget (along with Heloise and Dear Abby) and she took it upon herself to extend his theory (modernizing it and making it more relevant to us in our post-collegiate years).

I can't wait till 60 when I have this epiphany that no one has been thinking about me. In the meantime, Ill just muddle through my 20's- er 30's trying to check the right box and making sure my cave children don't wander off a cliff.