Hey there, friends! It’s Sunday once again; I hope you had a great week! Mine was jam-packed with teacher training and teaching the new incoming students all about nouns, verbs, adjectives, adverbs, and pronouns. TGIS, am I right? Phew!
The other day, I was hanging out downtown with a good friend of mine having an early dinner at Street Side Saigon (a place that’s been around for a few years but had never been to — quite good! I’ll review it sometime!) and asked her if she’d be willing to trek to the other side of the tracks and check out Suite 104. I had been dreaming about those doll head lights I mentioned a few blogs back and absolutely had to add one to my macabre décor collection. She happily agreed, so we walked over there and shot the shit with the awesome owner/artist and discussed hair possibilities for these doll lights; cutting, coloring, that kind of thing. She mentioned she had a blonde one in the back whose hair would be easier to color than the brunette on display. She busted it out, and I fell in love immediately and made her mine. Meet Lacey:
The owner was also kind enough to give me this pair of plastic, bright green paper clip earrings on the house. They match perfectly with my green pair of specs! I thanked her profusely, ogled everything else in the store (which takes a grip), and then my friend and I returned to our respective vehicles and went our separate ways. On the way back to our cars, though, I delved into some stories from my childhood Barbie days, and my friend insisted I write a blog about it, because she would “read the shit outta that.” So here we are! My batshit Barbie world blog.
When most little girls play with Barbies, they play things like prom, wedding, or school. I’ve always thought that was boring as hell. “Let’s play dolls!” my cousins would cry, and it would proceed to be the same old story that had been done a thousand times before. I hated it (sorry, cousins). My Barbie world was a little more twisted than that.
Disclaimer: I was just a rock-n’-roll kid. As f***ed up as some of my Barbies were, I loved them all dearly and meant it in the least malicious/offensive way possible. Anything that may be viewed as offensive was done out of the pure, innocent ignorance of a child and does not reflect how I actually perceive(d)/interact(ed) with the outside world.
I had 72 Barbies, each with their own unique backstory. There were several Barbies that were my main characters, though. I’ll start with the Kens:
- Aladdin: Disney’s doll and resident ladies’ man (he would constantly be thrown into “The Closet” naked with a couple naked ladies and stay there a while)
- Ryan: The sweet, innocent Beach Ken doll with an IQ of 52 who would constantly get electrocuted by a toaster and write poetry (“What does the river say? It say whoosh whoosh.”)
- Ray: My Beach Steven doll, circa 1997ish; a classy, normal guy with a Porsche Boxter and a Christie doll for a girlfriend. Would help Ryan not kill himself on a daily basis.
- Spike. Oh, Spike. He will forever be one of my favorite dolls.
Spike was originally The Beast from Beauty and the Beast, as shown here:
Then, one fateful day during play, he was decapitated (a common Barbie tragedy). As a Barbie extraordinaire, I was quite adept at fixing my broken dolls and restoring them to almost their former glory. A rubber band around the neck usually did the trick. But this particular Barbie had no way to refasten his head onto his body unless I were to glue it on, and I was having none of that. I longed to have my Beast doll, though, so I scoured my Barbie graveyard for any bodies that I might be able to attach his head to. Suddenly, my eyes fell upon a Skipper body. You remember Skipper, right? Barbie’s teenage little sister?
I rubber-banded the shit out of Skipper’s neck, since it was hella skinny and The Beast’s neck was thick. After about five or six rubber bands, I fastened The Beast’s head on. Tah-daaaaah! My new Beast! Needless to say it was a stark transformation, so I felt he needed further alterations. I cut off all his hair down to a buzz cut of sorts, then colored it turquoise with a Crayola marker. I then found some push pins with the colored ends and stuck them in his ears to make earrings. I threw on a pair of cargo pants, some kind of ’90s tank top, and added an incredibly high-pitched voice, and Spike was born.
With these drastic changes came his new backstory: After his terrible accident, Beast had to have a body transplant and awoke in the hospital two weeks later on a teenage girl’s body, new voice and all. This sent him into a serious downward spiral. He changed his hair and clothes and started doing drugs (Pez), getting into serious debt with Winnie the Pooh (that’s right — Winnie the Pooh was my drug dealer).
Belle broke up with him and started dating Aladdin, making many visits to The Closet. Ever since then, Spike would try to find devious ways to make money so he could pay back Pooh and get his Pez fix. His plans would always fail, however, thanks to Aladdin (when he wasn’t boning some chick in The Closet), Ryan, Ray, and Christie. Good would always win the day!
To be completely honest, I don’t remember much of my Barbie Barbies. I’ll have to ask my brother and see if he remembers, because one day he popped into my room while I was playing and asked what I was doing. I gave him the low-down, and he was so intrigued that he asked if he could join me. He became Ray and Ryan’s permanent player, and I played the rest.
As far as my female Barbies go, a lot of them were Pooh’s hos (he was also the pimp) and would try to help Spike with his dastardly schemes. They would all get caught, however, and then, depending on the severity of their crime, were punished in various ways. My favorite punishment was The Deep Freeze. I would douse the Barbies in water and hang them upside-down in the freezer. My dad would often have to sift through the day’s felons to get to his ice cream. Sure was a shocker the first time, though! There was also your run-of-the-mill jail atop my bunk bed, or they’d have to jump off the ledge of our loft, suffering massive injuries. When it was winter, I liked to stick them in the snow overnight. Oh, the good old days!
And there you have it! My batshit Barbie world. Well, my at-home batshit Barbie world, at least. I had a whole other deranged doll world with my best friend Meg, but I’ll save Dennis, Jessie, and “The Director” for another blog (when I finish altering Lacey’s hair, perhaps!)
So parents: If your kids are doing some weird-ass things with their dolls, don’t hit the Panic button right away. It doesn’t mean they’re psychopaths (I promise I’m not; I turned out pretty fabulously if I do say so myself!). Kids are weird by default. Start to worry if they’re harming living things.
How about you? Did you have any demented doll antics or other childhood games? Tell me all about them by Leaving a Reply! I’d love to hear from you.
‘Till next time, my B-Loungers! Stay hydrated.