Modern Day Barbie

My mom is an avid doll collector.

This works out pretty well for me because any time I am stumped as to what to get her for her birthday, Christmas, etc., if I can’t think of anything that she really needs or something different, I can't go wrong with a doll.

As a result, I am on the mailing list of several doll companies. It’s not unusual for me to receive a catalog from Madame Alexander, Marie Osmond, or Barbie every other month or so.

Yesterday, a Barbie catalog was waiting in the mailbox when I got home. Not really interested at the time, I tossed it onto the passenger seat of my car.

I had more important things to worry about….like how much Paulding County decided that the market value of my house was. (Thanks for the laugh guys….I’ll be seeing you next month when I file my appeal. What the heck are you guys smoking, anyways?)

As I pulled into the parking lot this morning, I saw the Barbie catalog out of the corner of my eye. After I parked my car, I decided to take a quick look.

BIG MISTAKE!!!!

The folks at Mattel and the Paulding County Tax Assessors’ Office obviously must be smoking the same stuff, because Mattel has transformed Barbie into a complete and utter ho-bag.

Barbie, for the uninitiated, is quite the career gal. She has been just about everything under the sun.

There was Nurse Barbie (along with Dr. Ken). Then Mattel decided to get their act together and modernize things so they made a Dr. Barbie and Male Nurse Ken. Ain’t that something?

Barbie has been an astronaut, a veterinarian, and a gymnast.

She was also a teacher at one time, until that one ugly incident where a bunch of Teacher Barbies were sold and someone discovered that Teacher Barbie was not wearing any panties underneath her skirt.

She claimed that "she forgot". Then she tried to say that as part of the teacher dress code, Principal Ken forbid her to wear panties, but Ken adamantly denied it.

Mattel quickly recalled all of the unsold Barbies, gave her a stern talking to, and ran a 24/7 operation to paint white granny panties on all of the renegade Barbies.

Now y'all are probably thinking I'm making that all that up, but you just google "teacher barbie no panties" and see what comes up.

SEE???? Told ya!

My mom absolutely HAD to have one of those pantiless Barbies for her collection because she thought it might become a collector's item.

Do you know how creepy it feels to walk in the Barbie section of Walmart, Target, and Toys ‘R Us, picking up Teacher Barbies and looking up her skirt to see if she is wearing panties or not? And trying to look inconspicuous?

Well….that’s why my mom sent ME to look for them, instead.

One would have THOUGHT that little episode would have taught Miss Barbie a lesson. But no……

In this particular catalog, nestled in among Fashionista Barbie, Multi-Cultural Barbie, Flashback to the 60’s Barbie, etc. we now have Harley Barbie.

Now, before we get started, I have nothing against motorcyles….some of my best friends have them. I personally don’t care for them because I just feel safer inside a car.

It’s not so much that Barbie has decided to become a biker chick…Barbie has gone full fledged biker chick!

She is decked out in black leather….again, nothing wrong with that because no one wants Barbie to get a bad road rash if she takes a spill.

But Barbie’s biker jacket had a bunch of slits in it. And because of the way these slits were positioned, you could see that Barbie apparently had stopped at some tattoo parlor and had the Harley Eagle emblem tattooed across her entire back!!!

I’d like to give her the benefit of the doubt and say that Ken probably got her drunk and talked her into it. But, then I remembered that she was running around teaching kids without wearing panties one time, so who knows…..maybe Barbie got another wild hair.

Also, the way that she was positioned on the bike, her black leather pants slid down just a little, and I swear I thought I could see the start of a tramp stamp just above her tailbone.

It’s kind of sad, really.

I think Barbie started to change from sweet, innocent Barbie when she ran off to Malibu and ditched her best friend Midge.

Barbie became part of the women's movement in the seventies, fought for equal rights, and began her search for a meaningful career.

Barbie wanted to be EVERYTHING. So, she became a lawyer, a nurse, a doctor….even president. I think that's when she started to crack.

And now, we're left with a tattooed Barbie, in black leather, on a Harley. The only thing she's missing is a couple of piercings in her lip, nose, or tongue.

She's absolutely ruined her chances of being a swimsuit model because that tattoo is absolutely hideous.

Then....if that's not enough, I turned the page of the catalog and guess what is staring back at me?

Marilyn Monroe Barbie......in a white dress.

I'm sure y'all know that white dress I'm referring to. Remember that scene where Marilyn Monroe is in that little white number and is standing over that subway grate?

I sure hope Marilyn Monroe Barbie remembered to put her panties on this time......I don't think Mattel is going to buy her "I forgot" excuse again.

Adventures With Walker And Aston

I have two Jack Russell Terriers.

Walker is the alpha dog and he was the first that was brought into our family. He is headstrong as the day is long. If he doesn’t want to do something, then dang it he don’t want to do it so leave him alone!

For instance, if I say “Walker! Come!” He might come to me…...if he feels like it.

On the other hand, if he’s doing something more important, like licking himself, wallering around in what interesting smell he has found in the yard, or smelling of his sister’s rear end, then he’ll just give me a “scr*w you!” look and continue on with whatever he is doing.

If I say “Walker….COME!” louder and more forcefully, then he just stops whatever he is doing, sits down, and gives me a “make me” look.

If I say “WALKER!!!! COME!!!!” even more louder and more forcefully, he just yawns.

I now know how my mom felt whenever she caught me or my brothers up to no good.

Walker expects to be treated like royalty. It is said that protocol dictates that if you happen to meet the Queen of England, you DO NOT touch her.

Walker feels the same way regarding himself.

Therefore, should you happen to meet Walker, you do not touch…..only if he invites you to do so. He will let you know by scratching on your leg and wagging his tail. Otherwise, it would be best if you just politely nodded your head as you pass by. Bowing and curtseying is up to the individual.

A couple of years after Walker came into the family, we decided he needed a companion. So we got Aston.

I’ve yet to figure Aston out. In some respects, she is amazingly smart, but I swear sometimes she acts like the ditziest blonde in the world.

For example, whenever she becomes too rambunctious with her toys (which is every time), I take them away from her. At one time, I would put them on a table across from our sofa.

One day, I was upstairs and kept hearing this thump downstairs. So I went down to investigate. Aston was climbing on the back of the sofa, running across the back and was jumping “Superman-style” trying to get on the table to get her ball.....unsuccessfully. Her toys now go in a closet.

Yesterday I carried her outside on a leash. I was sitting on my back deck talking on the phone while she strolled around the yard. Pretty soon, she decided to go underneath the deck. When she came out, her leash had gotten wrapped around one of the support beams.

She looked at me like “How do I get out of here….help me.”

So, I told her to go around the pole. She looked at me even more helplessly. So I told her once again to go around the pole…..I even make a little circle jester with my finger. She wagged her tail and promptly walked around the pole again. The problem was that she walked in the wrong direction, wrapping the leash around the pole even tighter.

Like I said, so smart....yet so.....ditzy.

They both love to play a fun little game that my brother and I invented when we were younger. I never told Walker and Aston about it, so I’m not sure how they learned about it. It’s called “Let’s See How We Can Annoy Mom When She’s On The Phone.”

In my brother’s and my version, we would play “Army” when mom got on the phone. “Army” consisted of getting mom's cast iron skillets from underneath the stove and using them as shields while we threw little plastic green army men at each other. As the game went on, we threw the army men harder and harder at each other. Eventually, one of us would get mad at the other and begin chasing the other around the room trying to hit them with the cast iron skillet.

My poor mom could not even carry on a decent conversation without every other sentence telling both of us she was going to beat our butts when she got off the phone.

In Aston and Walker’s version, I can’t carry on a decent conversation without either one of them telling me to get off the damn phone and look at them.

Here's what transpired today.....

Me: Hello?

Caller: Hey! Are you doing anything Saturday afternoon? Do you want to go to the movies with me?

Walker and Aston: rarararararararara! (translation: who the hell is that? Tell them you’ll call back later.)

Me: What do you want to see?

Walker and Aston: rarararararararara! (translation: Excuse you! Did you not hear what we said? Get off the phone!)

Caller: That new Sandra Bullock movie looks like it would be good. What’s wrong with your dogs?

Walker and Aston: rarararrararara! rararararararara! (translation: tell that cow to mind her own d@mn business! Just hang up on her! Besides that, you know that cat of hers? She's a ho-bag....it's all over the neighborhood.)

Me: Nothing is wrong with them. They do this every time I get on the phone.

Caller: Seriously? Why?

Walker and Aston: rarararararara (growl) rararararara (snarl!) rarararararara! (translation: in case you can’t tell, we’re really getting p*ssed right about now. You got five seconds to get off that phone or one of us is going to poop on the floor. Onnneeee…..Twoooo….Aston, I saw you snitch fried chicken from the garbage, so yours is bound to be good and runny. Go get into position! Three---eee, Fou-uurr....)

Me: Because I’m talking to you and not paying attention to them, that’s why….(as I eye Aston walking to the middle of the living room and preparing to squat.) ASTON......NO-OOOOO!!!

Caller: WHAT IS IT?????

Me: I’ll have to call you back! CLICK!!!!

Walker and Aston: softly whimpering, wagging their tails, and licking my face (translation: now where were we? Oh yeah, you were scratching my ears and Aston’s belly. Carry on……)

Hot Topics

So Friday, a fellow coworker and I were chatting about the latest news of the day.

Since we've practically beat our usual topic of the day to death ("What Obama has done/said to p*ss me off today"), we changed the subject.

Friday's hot topic was about the fact that Chastity Bono is in the process of having a sex change. For the folks in Paulding, let me put in in plain English. Chastity is getting a hoo-hoo.

Now...before we go any further let me just explain something. If you're coming here looking for someone that is bashing or defending Chastity's decision, you've come to the wrong place.

I could care less if Chastity/Chaz (what he's now called) is getting a hoo-hoo. When it comes to stuff like this, the first thing I always ask myself is how this affects the most important person to me (that would be....me!). Obviously, Chaz's new hoo-hoo doesn't impact me, at all.

Our discussion on Friday pertained to the insurance aspect of this procedure. Specifically, whether our company plan would pay for it. Then we realized something.....WE HAVE KAISER!!!!!! Oh, we laughed about that for about five minutes.

But curiousity got the best of me, so I pulled out our Evidence of Coverage booklet just to be sure. Sure enough, sex change surgery is specifically excluded, so any of you guys that I work with that were considering it I'm sorry to disappoint. Take it up with human resources.

So, we began discussing the "what ifs"....what if Kaiser DID cover it?

We decided that if you're going from female to male, the hoo-hoo is of primary importance. But being all to familiar with Kaiser's restrictions, we pretty much agreed that Kaiser would only cover a hoo-hoo of about 3-4 inches max. They would consider that to be reasonable and customary. If you wanted a bigger hoo-hoo, it would have to be an out of pocket expense.

Then, there's another issue. As a woman, you are entitled to certain procedures every year as part of the wellness exam. Now, after your surgery, you have no boobs and no hoo-hah. Would you get a break on your insurance? Then we remembered.....WE'RE TALKING ABOUT KAISER!!!! So the answer is obvious.

How about this scenario.....you're a man and you're changing into a woman. Do you go to the hoo-hah doctor, when the surgery is complete? From what we were able to understand, the surgeon makes the hoo-hoo into a hoo-hah so that it WORKS similar to a hoo-hah, but it isn't a REAL hoo-hah so technically, I guess you wouldn't go get an annual hoo-hah inspection.

Here's another. Kaiser doesn't pay for cosmetic surgery, so what would they do about the boob job that a man turning into a woman would need? My guess is that they would pay for 7 pairs of Great Value Men's tube socks (1 pair for each day) and tell you to pretend like you're a ninth grade cheerleader and "stuff 'em."

Then there's the BIG question.....how do you classify this type of surgery as a success?

For instance, is Chaz now going to hog the remote control, refuse to ask for or read directions, and leave the toilet seat up?

Which brings us back full circle to "What Obama has said/done to p*ss me off today." He is trying to ramrod a healthcare bill through Congress and no one can answer any question to my satisfaction of how, exactly, will this plan be paid for.

So, here's another question: Is there going to be a provision in the government plan to pay for this type of surgery? Again, I don't care if anyone gets it.....I just don't want to have to pay for it. So, tomorrow, I'm going to write Obama a letter and recommend Kaiser as the goverment plan.

I suggest you all do the same.

Is It Just Me?

There's a couple of things that have been bugging me for quite a while. I've never said anything to anybody because I thought maybe it was just me....then again, maybe not.

See what you think.

Think about the most mundane things that you do each and everyday. You don't even think about doing them, you just do it.

Have you got your list? Good! Now....try paring it down a little bit. Concentrate on those things that you can do in a minute or less. (Bear with me....this does have a point.)

Got that list pared down? GREAT!!!

Now....let's just go through that list, shall we? It probably contains stuff like this.......

Drink a glass of water
Pour a cup of coffee
Stop at the mailbox in the evening to pick up the mail
Check the answering machine
Change the TV channel
Tie your shoe

OK...Now let's get a little bit more personal.

That list probably looks like this........

Wash your hands
Change underwear
Gargle
Bathroom stuff.....I'm just going to stop right there....but you can just use your imagination to complete that list.

Now....what exactly does this have to do with anything you're probably asking yourself?

Well....think about this for a minute.

Is there ANYTHING on either of these two lists that would make you say "DANG! I'm just too busy to take care of that today! I know it's got to be done, but I'm just so BUSY!!! Plus, if I didn't have to (fill in any one of those items above), it would leave me more time to do more things like spend time with my grandkids."

Which brings me to my point....what the h*ll does Sally Field have going on in her life that she can't take one minute out of her day to take a pill?

She just rags on and on about how busy she is, but this "once a month Boniva" is da flippin' bomb because she only has to take it ONCE A FLIPPIN' MONTH and now she has all this spare time now to waller around on a dang Twister mat (which I didn't even know they still made) with her granddaughter.

Now take a look at that second list I made.

If poor, pitiful Sally hasn't got time to take a pill every day, does that mean that she doesn't have time to do any of the items on THAT list?

Does this mean that if Sally had her druthers, she'd only wash her hands, change her underwear, etc. once a month?

If so, then dang sure I wouldn't want her playing with my kids (if I had any!) or waller around on my Twister mat!

I mean, come on Sally! I hate to be the one to tell you this, but people talk....especially that Hollywood crowd.

I'm sure that the dress designers draw straws to see who gets "stuck" dressing you for those red carpet affairs. I can hear that conversation now....

Famous Designer Number 1: "She wanted to borrow one of my dresses for the Globes. I told her flat out that the ONLY way she was wearing one of MY creations was if I could hose her down first and slap some of my designer underwear on her...at least then I'd know for sure that she was clean."

"But Miss Fancy Pants said NO!!!! She didn't have time! So I told her fine....take her smelly self over to Stella McCartney or Donatella Versace's, then. I think she FINALLY wound up having to buy something off the rack at Nordstrom's. Then she tried to return it the next day. Anne Klein told me that she heard that after she left, the store had to call in a hazmat team to dispose of the outfit."

"I heard that this new designer made the mistake of loaning her a white number for the Emmys. When she brought it back it had a big brown spot on the backside. She CLAIMED she sat on some melted chocolate chips. But the designer said it didn't smell like chocolate to him if you get my drift. Then he heard all these stories and put two and two together.....and got "number two." Obviously she was too busy to make a trip to the bathroom and too busy to invest in a box of Depends."

Famous Designer Number 2: "You think THAT'S bad? Wolfgang Puck was mighty PO'd after the last Oscar bash. Little Miss THANG hussied herself right up to the front of the food line and started serving herself and had her hands all in the food. Everyone KNOWS she doesn't wash her hands, so of course, NO ONE wanted to eat the food after she passed through. Puck said he had to throw away enough Kobe steaks to make 300 head of cattle and enough salad to build a Brazillian rain forest. She doesn't know it, but Gordon Ramsey is in charge of the next bash.....you just KNOW he's going to rip her a new one if she crosses him."

"I felt so sorry for poor Tori Spelling and Lindsey Lohan, though. Both of them had fasted all day so they could pig out and puke later on...you know that crazy diet they're both on. Anyway, after seeing Sally handle all the food, they both wound up having dry heaves all evening. I spoke to Tori about it the next day and she said it actually worked out ok. She dry heaved so much her abs are like a washboard now!"

Now...that little rant is over with. So....let's move on to the other item that is bothering me.

That item would be Jamie Lee Curtis.

Jamie, hon, I know everyone gets irregular, but no one runs around advertising it.

And the ones that do, I try to steer clear of.

I mean, seriously....there's some things that are just better left private. Your husband might be interested (if he's into that sort of thing) but believe me, the rest of America doesn't give a crap! (HAHA....sorry, I couldn't resist!)

Plus, I don't see that if that product takes a whole two weeks to actually work that it's all that special. Come on....what's so great about that? Ex-Lax only takes 24 hours.....so nanner, nanner, na, na.

Here's an idea that is so much simpler.

Hire that Michael Myers dude to hide in your house! Give him a knife and a mask, and have him jump out of your closets, out from under your bed, whip open the shower curtain when you're bathing, etc.

My guess is that will scare the crap out of you toot-sweet.

That sure beats two weeks....beats 24 hours, too.

It's just a thought.

Preacher Wilson

Way back in the day when I was a kid, my family attended church on a regular basis.

Church back then was not like church today. For one thing, there were no mega churches. If you had over a hundred parishioners that showed up on a regular basis, you had a right nice sized congregation to brag about.

Secondly, you actually had to dress up to go to church. That meant that women and little girls actually wore dresses with stockings, and men and little boys wore a suit and tie. If you showed up in regular pants and shirt, then obviously you either weren't right or you were the devil himself.

I hated going to church....but not for the reasons you might think. (Keep in mind that I was a kid of anywhere from three to about eight during this time frame.)

Anyone who knows me well knows that I absolutely HATE getting dressed up for anything. Always have.

But the real reason I hated going to church was because of Preacher Wilson.

Let me give you a little background.

This was a Baptist church that I attended. I don't know if things have changed since then, but Preacher Wilson would scare the devil himself.

His sermons would start out simple enough. He would just start talking like he was carrying on a conversation with us.

Then he would start talking a little louder.

Then......it would happen.

His face would turn colors. His face was white...and as he preached (and spoke louder), his face turned pink.

Then he would work himself up into a frenzy yelling and pounding his fist into the pulpit and by this time his face would be crimson red. Even the top of his bald head would be red as a fire engine.

To this day I have no idea what any of those sermons were about. All I knew was that Preacher Wilson was mad as the dickens about something and whatever it was I didn't do it. All I wanted was to get the heck out of the church and away from Preacher Wilson.

Then eventually he'd cool down, lead us in a couple of hymns, say a prayer and say he hoped to see us next Sunday.

Then we'd go home to eat the roast and mashed potatoes that my mom had warming in the oven for us. Back then, there was this thing called Sunday dinner that everyone went home to eat after church.

Now here was the weird thing about Preacher Wilson.

Get him outside a church and he was a completely different person. (No, he didn't drink, smoke, or chase after women!) He didn't yell!

He made it a point to visit his flock in their homes once a month just to say hi and talk about stuff.

I have no idea what was actually talked about.

My brother and I had strict orders to either stay in the den and watch tv when the preacher came....and if we were already in bed there better not be no snickering, giggling, scratching on walls trying to scare my little brother while the preacher was there.

But we could hear everyone laughing and talking in the living room so it was probably just a regular old visitation.

Then, when he got ready to leave, he'd say a little prayer with my mom and dad, say he'd hope to see us in church that Sunday and leave.

I have no idea whatever became of Preacher Wilson. I know that after he left the church, a lot of people stopped going to that church. My guess is it was one of those little church squabbles that split up congregations.

I know my parents hated to see him leave. Not me, though. We got yelled at enough getting into trouble without having the preacher yell at us every Sunday just for good measure.

Trash TV

I have a guilty pleasure....it's called Trash TV.

My definition of Trash TV is any sort of show that has absolutely no redeeming qualities and real people that you care absolutely nothing about.

Trash TV is like a train wreck...if you're flipping the remote around and you land on a Trash TV show, you feel like you have to watch it....then when it's over with you realize that is one hour in your life you will never get back.

So........

I decided to do a little reviewing of some of the Trash TV shows I have seen.

"Keeping Up With The Kardashians"

Now....why E! thinks I need to keep up with the Kardashians, I don't really know.

The Kardashian family consists of Bruce Jenner (dude....the years have not been kind. And that plastic surgery you had a few weeks ago? I'd get my money back!). Bruce is sort of the hapless dad that the entire family just walks all over. My guess is that during part of that plastic surgery, the surgeon removed his cajones because he is major wuss.

Bruce is married to this gold digger named Kris, who just so happens to be the ex-wife of the late attorney, Robert Kardashian. If that name rings a bell, he was one of OJ's lawyers....yeah, THAT OJ. Kris "manages" her daughters' careers. (more on that later.)

Bruce and Kris have two daughters, Kylie and Kendall who are preteens.

Then there are Kris' children that she had with Robert: Kim, Khloe, and Kourtney, and Rob.

Kim's claim to fame is that she has a big butt. Oh....and she made a sex tape. Oh....and her mom pimped her out to Hef for a Playboy cover. Oh...and she made an intimate calendar for her boyfriend for his birthday, her mom found it and sent it out to a publisher for sale to the general public. (That Kris! What a wisenheimer!)

Khloe's claim to fame is that she actually has a job! She runs the family store. Oh....and she posed nude for a PETA poster. (Hmmm.....Do you think Kris had anything to do with.....naaaahhh!)

Kourtney's claim to fame is, well, I haven't quite figured it out yet....but I'm sure Kris has something in the hopper for her.

Same thing with Rob.

This was the plot of a recent episode. The girls decided that Kris wanted to have another baby so they got her a baby monkey. Well, now THAT certainly makes sense!

Now....I have no idea if Kris wanted a baby or not, but I'm just going to say this. Kris has had a total of six kids. Bruce has ALSO had a total of six kids.

You two need to get another hobby, if you get my drift.

"Tori and Dean"

The Tori in question is Tori Spelling, the daughter of the late television producer Aaron Spelling. The Dean in question is her husband, Dean something or other.

Tori wants everyone to know they are nothing special....they're just a normal couple.

Here's a little background. Both Tori and Dean were married to other people at one time. They worked on a movie together, cheated on their spouses and dumped them so they could get married. (That's just so Hollywood!) And they've popped out a couple of kids.

Tori and her mom do not appear to be on speaking terms. According to her mom Candy, she's never seen her granddaughter, even though she is almost a year old.

According to Tori, her mom is welcome to see her anytime.

According to Candy, she has no idea where Tori lives.

According to Tori, that's a lie.

According to Candy, is not!

The conclusion to this exciting episode is next week. My TIVO is ready....is yours?

"Rock of Love" (or as I like to call it, Skank Parade)

This show is like the grandaddy of Trash TV....mainly because it's star may as well be a grandaddy.

The star is Bret Michaels, who is/was (who knows?) the lead singer of one of the hairiest hair bands of all time, Poison.

Bret, it seems, is looking for love.

Here are his requirements: Dumb, blonde, tattoos, and big ole boobs....and I do mean big. These girls are absolute dishes.....petri dishes, that is. I mean they put the "sk" in skank!

Every episode has a good cat fight in it....completely with hair pulling, smack downs, and in the end...tears.

Well, Bret didn't find his true love on season 1; he didn't find it in Season 2; he picked someone several weeks ago in Season 3. My guess is that we're going to be hearing about a wedding anyday now. (Wonder if she'll be wearing white?)

"Countdown With Keith Olbermann"

hahaha! (sorry, I couldn't resist!)