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Friday, April 28, 2006

So, When Did Barbie Get So Jank?

We all know that I have a problem with Barbie dolls. No woman is built like that, they present an image of blonde perfection that is unattainable, she's anorexic with tippy toe feet made only for pumps, and she does nothing to discourage poor Midge from crushing out on her. Does that mean that I didn't play with them when I was growing up? Nah. As a matter of fact, I still have those Barbies (downstairs, hall closet, next to the Chinese checkers.) Sure, I pierced Barbie's and Casey's ears and they turned green. Sure, they are covered in schmutz from when we had a fire in my house. And sure, I will probably never throw them out.

I also won't let Mamie play with them. But that's only because they seem so wrong. I mean, all I have are formal gowns and a super short tennis outfit for her. There are no clothes to represent the way I dress or the way I hope Mamie will want to dress. Does she really clean the dream house in that shit? (Also, I cut all of my Barbie's hair off and stuck a flip wig on her and she looks a little too fright night for the baby.)

So on our quest to find Mamie toys that she can play with for more than 3 days before moving on to see what's next, Doug and I went shopping to look for stuff. All the cool primary color toys, like the mini-kitchen that I want for myself and fun fake food all seemed to be for 3 year olds and up. We did find some toy sorters, a huge rubber ball and small cellphone (also, so wrong, yet so right). Mamie's not into baby dolls that much but I thought if maybe I could find one that she could relate to (that would be one that screams at the top of her lungs at 7:30 in the morning), it might be different. And that's when I saw it: the row of My Scene Barbies.

Where do I start? How about with the fact that Barbie is now a WHORE.

And her name is Bling Bling Barbie? OK, that's just tired for one. And wait a second, how old is Barbie supposed to be here? 16? 18? 35? 48? 6? I'm confused. Just where is she wearing this outfit? To a video shoot for 50 Cent? To night court? 10th Avenue? Her job at American Apparel? Body double for Paris Hilton?

I know I sound old. That's because I AM OLD. It's like when I saw a 12 year old in our neighborhood today wearing a t-shirt that said Bitch on it. It said it in sequins, but still. Bitch? So I guess the My Scene Barbies make total sense then. They are appealing to all the 12 year old bitches out there. Who knew there was such a market?

Maybe when I got my first Barbie my mother was thinking the same thing (probably not though.) I had mini dresses and go-go boots and decadent outfits that she could wear to key parties and nude hot tub shindigs. But it just seemed so much more covert back then. It also seemed like Barbie was modeled more on Sandra Dee than Pamela Anderson. Barbie was still cute, ya know? Now she looks like she could get up in my grill real easy what with the fake nails and crunk makeup. (I would surprised if she didn't come with a tiny Red Bull to drink.) More importantly, she's not someone that I'd like to play with; she's someone I'd like to run away from. She's someone who could fuck me up with a nail pretty easily. Or a gun. Does she look like she's packin' to you or is it me? Also, did you see her rack?!

I know with all my heart that one day Mamie will come up to me and ask me for a Barbie doll and I know that I will most likely cave in. Maybe by then Barbie will decide to go retro and return to pajamas and ponytails and sweet party dresses that are lower than her crotch.

Or maybe she'll want a GI Joe doll instead. Do they still make those?

Saturday, April 22, 2006

Sweet 16

Mamie is 16 months old today. I look at her sometimes and see such a big kid already, and then other times, like when I go to her in the morning or when she wakes from a nap, she seems like such a little baby. She is growing up so fast, doing big girl things like making her own decisions on what foods she will eat, where she wants to go and using her whole body to twist my hands around to walk in the direction she prefers and then becoming spaghetti legs when she's had enough. She says a couple of words, da, dada, dadada, mama, ma, mamamama, up, dog, a dog, A DOG!!!!!, and if in the mood can repeat what Dora asks her to. She also makes sounds like a car and other unintelligible consonant combinations that definitely mean something only we haven't figured them out yet. She thinks the letter P is hysterical. She does baby yoga every morning and night - just goes into a downward dog to child's pose to headstand prep. Yes, I have it on film.

No, she's not walking on her own yet, but she has gone from taking both of my hands to only wanting one of them. She is sturdier for sure, runs with me, goes up and down stairs and climbs on the Heywood-Wakefield table in the living room onto the couch about 5,200 times a day. We got her a special child's chair with her name embroidered on it and she sits in it every night, sans diaper (air out time) and pees on it to great applause. She can pee! On a chair! Her legs are thinning out although there is still some fat there to munch on (and I do regularly.) Mamie's face has also thinned out and she looks like a little person now with thoughtful eyes and fierce expressions. It is such a trip when people tell me that she looks just like me. She definitely has parts of my personality. I'm just hoping that she doesn't ape my toddler behavior of banging my head on the floor when I'm frustrated (ah, the memories come flooding back to me now.) She knows where the Veggie Booty is and goes to it when she wants a snack, will feed me if I ask her to (sometimes food she has already mushed, but whatever) and can point to my boobies when asked. A genius!

Mamie is what we think is called a Watcher, that is, she looks closely at everything: big kids in the playground (before going over to join them, unafraid), my mouth when I am talking to see the shapes I make, and I'm glad to say less and less of television. Doug and I are such big TV heads and so it was certain that Mamie would be too. We only let her watch pre-school shows but when it got to the point where she looked at the TV and grunted at it when it wasn't on, we decided no more TV. So far so good. Unless it's a day like today, raining nonstop so programs like the Animal Channel's "Rescue Dogs" come in mighty handy. Dog, dog, dog, A DOG!!!! A. DOG. Can you hear her? Our neighbors sure can.

Her hair is getting longer every day - or rather, growing outward more each day, and her eyes have remained a beautiful gray/hazel color. She's got some molars now and smiles so big whenever she sees Daddy -- or bagels. She likes finger puppets, taking bubble baths , mangoes, tough guy/pseudo gang members in the neighborhood (seriously - she got one of them to smile back at her today) and anything plastic. She will eat the cereal box before she will eat the cereal in it. She loves paper towels. And diapers. She flirts around men and likes to look meaningfully at little girls. Somedays she loves the swings, other days it is like I am killing a dog in front of her when I put her on them. Some days she goes willingly into her stroller as if it were her royal carriage, other days she does a full body lock when I try to put her in it. Up. Down. Down. Up.

She's perfect.

I am still kissing her way too much, telling her I love her way too much and there is not a day that goes by that I don't look at her and think "she was in my stomach?" I know she wasn't the size she is now (22 lbs, 31 inches) but man. SHE LIVED IN MY STOMACH. She kicked my insides and hiccuped in me and fought her little way out of me. Sixteen months ago today. I will never ever forget it.

Tuesday, April 11, 2006

Before The Mortgage

Christina and I met through the mail. The regular mail. (Ah, the days of writing letters and buying stamps and decorating the envelope with stickers....) We were both doing zines and both fans of each other's work. I know that a lot of people were doing zines during the 90s (and loads more before) but not everyone was doing good zines like Christina and Rachel's joint called Before The Mortgage. BTM was a slim tome of personal stories that centered on life before the mortgage, before settling down, before figuring out what the hell you were gonna do with your life (not that having a mortgage makes it any easier, but you know what I mean.)

Anyway, when Doug and I went to San Francisco a few years ago, I got to meet up with Christina in person. Walking and talking with her was easily the best part of the trip. She was funny and nice and smart and man, she has a great laugh. We later kept in touch through email and so for the last year or so I got to hear all about the book that she and Rachel were putting together based on their zine. I was so happy and pleased and proud of her. It is a great accomplishment to write a book and an even bigger one to get it published. It may look easy from the outside, but believe me it's not. Writing it is the easy part, it's the getting it Out There part that is ridiculously difficult. Oprah? Hello?

(This is the not so subtle part of the post where I tell you to go out and buy it now.)

I got a copy of the book last week and read it immediately. (This is only the second book I've read cover to cover since having the baby 15 months ago. I actually stayed up late -- 10pm! -- to read it.) Congrats ladies, you did it. I am holding the book in my hands now and it's fabulous.

And oh yeah, I wrote a story for it too. Come to the reading on May 16th at Housing Works in Soho to hear me read it!