She was a birthday gift from women I used to work with. He was a Christmas gift from Tom.
Look for it only in books, for it is no more than a dream remembered.
Tag: dolls
Because Mark needs a Saturday smile
I was so annoyed with myself for not getting the one where she’s wearing the black gown. I got this one, though. I can’t remember if I bought her myself or if someone bought her for me. She’s from Mattel, 1997.
There was simply no one like the original and never will be.
AAAAIIIIIIIIIIIGHHHHHHHH
Life needs to SIMMER DOWN around here. Today I had so many errands to run and I just turned off the phones and the computer and did them. On the way, I treated myself to the one indulgence that always, always lifts my spirits.
Guinness ignores my newly pedicured toes.
When I finally got back home to stay, I saw a box on the porch and…well, I BLAME ALL OF YOU. I haven’t bought one of these things in years. YEARS! Probably twelve years! But when doing posts about them to get accurate information, I happened to see this on eBay and I bid on it. Okay, I didn’t. I paid the BUY IT NOW price because it was cheaper than its original retail price. And today, it came.
Challenge to Mr. Ricker
Tom just took another trip to the attic, and you know what that means. Well, yeah, it means Sugar cringed at the pulldown ladder and said, “What the HELL IS THAT?” But also, it means this:
I think it was my friends Christine and John who reminded me the truth is out there
Heroes and Villains
My second grade teacher was my first villain.
Because I was often sick as a child, I grew comfortable in the quieter company of adults–my parents, older relatives, my doctors and nurses–and preferred their world to the noise and messiness of children. I was shy and timid, and my parents worried about how I’d be when I started school. They were able to entice me out of my shell by bringing a dog, our mixed breed Dopey Dan, into my life. Dopey was born to a dachshund whose owner tried to drown the puppies when he found out they weren’t purebred. My parents told me that as a result, Dopey was shy and afraid. I had to be brave so that I could teach him that it was okay to be around kids.
I had smart parents, and I was also fortunate to have other good adults in my life. Like the sweetest kindergarten teacher, Miss Harris, who acted like she didn’t know I once replaced my broken Crayons with Linda Bishop’s perfect ones. (Sorry, Linda.) Then I had a lovely first grade teacher, Mrs. Griffin, one of those ancient Southern ladies who smelled faintly of talcum powder and who had ample breasts that translated into smothering hugs in the most comforting way.
Playing Barbies
I promise I won’t do this to you every day. There are too many Barbies. I can make this ordeal last a long, long time. But since I’m unpacking, cleaning, and repacking them, I may as well share photos of them, starting with the King.
For Marika
Dear Marika,
You must not berate me for not having them on display. They are safely packed away in the attic because it’s a zillion times more important to me that Tim be comfortable in his apartment than that these be displayed (and trust me, with a couple of hundred of them, there’s NO room inside my bungalow, but their existence is why the TimLair was formerly called “The Doll House”).
A little something for David
David pointed out that Hallmark doesn’t exactly make a card to suit his current needs. So I figured I’d make one for him.
A tale for Rio
Dear Rio,
One time, I gave my friend Jeff a bunch of silly presents that included a marked-down Donna doll. (I wish I’d left the big orange sticker on her, dammit.)
In a very 90210 moment, he got mad and gave her back to me. Then he died. I don’t think the two events were connected, but I will say it’s never a good idea to mess with Tori, even Discount Tori.
Bingo!
Have you ever gone to one of those bingo halls located in some unfamiliar suburban location? A big utilitarian building with fluorescent lighting that makes everyone look ten years older? Where the non-smokers are put into a separate, smaller room because the majority of the bingo players are smokers?
My sister loves bingo and she wins. A lot. She’s been able to take vacations with her bingo winnings. She buys those little pull tabs at the bingo hall and wins with them, too. When she comes to Houston, I generally find one of those bingo halls and go with her. I do not win. But that’s okay. I’m not there for the bingo. I like to watch the people.
For one thing, this is the ONLY place in Houston where people gather quietly. We truly have the noisiest restaurants and stores of any city I’ve ever been in. But the bingo hall is hushed. Players are concentrating on their bingo sheets and the caller’s voice.
I enjoy checking out the good luck totems people bring and set up around their bingo sheets. It reminds me of when I travel. I like to carry favorite stones and crystals with me and set them up in my hotel room or condo. I usually have nag champa incense with me, too, and if I get a chance to buy cut flowers, I’ll add those. I don’t know why I started doing this, but it always makes me feel safer and happier in an unfamiliar place. When I did it on my first visit to New York, it made the hotel housekeepers smile at me and ask me questions. In countries like Bali, my friend Tandy tells me, hoteliers and innkeepers actually do this for their guests–leave little iconic gifts with fresh flowers in their rooms.
So I totally get why bingo players like to arrange their little space with their lucky charms, their dabbers, their ashtray–everything just so. I was sitting at my computer today when I suddenly realized that in my busy-ness, I’ve kind of let things collect on my desk. Though these things have no particular significance to me, I told Tom I feel like a bingo player.
I hope I win.
Stress ball from Tom, Happy Meal doll, champagne cork from New Year’s Eve, bookmark from our niece.