Who's Bringing the Hot Dogs?

Yesterday in group, someone used this analogy: You can either show up at a picnic and be mad that there aren't any hot dogs, or you can come to the picnic and bring the hot dogs. He used this analogy in terms of a relationship; he had been angry that his relationship with his wife hadn't been living up to his expectations. Then he decided to bring the hot dogs (telling her he loves her, being real around her all the time, etc.) and the result was magical.

Last night when I was on the phone with my sweetheart, he was whining once again about me not living up to his expectations (career-wise, mainly), and I decided he needed to start bringing the hot dogs. So I told him about the analogy. At first he said, "I always bring my hot dog." I told him that wasn't enough; there needs to be a whole plate of hot dogs. Then the discussion veered off into a very mature, "No, you bring the hot dogs," "No, YOU bring the hot dogs" kind of thing. I tried to tell him that he had always looked to me to bring the hot dogs (and to cook them and serve them on china plates, too) to the picnic, and it was time he brought a few. Then we decided to be egalitarian: We would BOTH bring hot dogs. I told him mine may be soy dogs, because I may not have the kind of career he wants me to have (the boy wants me to have a respectable but boring teaching job), so if he wants beef dogs, he'll have to bring those himself.

At the end of the conversation, I told him I loved him and I wanted things to work out between us. He said, "Me too, but you're not doing anything toward that." I realized I may as well have been talking to the cat, telling it to bring the hot dogs. After I hung up the phone, I even started to wonder if I wanted to go to the picnic at all.

Remind Me What Obsessive Means...

Boy. Oh. Boy.

When I bought Kennedy Pearl, I assured myself that I would only need one Blythe doll, that there really was no point in having more than one, right? You can buy wigs for her if you want a different hairdo, you can replace her eye chips for a different eye color, etc. Well, last night, I really went over the edge. I just happened to be on eBay, just happened to search for Blythes, and then, oh so casually, just happened to BUY TWO MORE BLYTHES. Yes, that's right. Two more Blythe dolls are on their way from Hong Kong to my little abode. Roxy Baby and Gentle River, to be exact. Both nudes. Both eagerly anticipated with a mania bordering on psychosis. I already have their names picked out (Aurora Pilar and Elliott Morgan, respectively), their personalities pigeonholed (Pilar is a laidback airhead with a Spanish accent, Elliott is an egghead who keeps a diary and makes plans to take over the world). No doubt each will have her own wardrobe, pad with furniture, accessories, pets. I'm only hoping to have enough willpower to limit their blogs to one (that is, to Kennedy Pearl's blog, and not to one blog each as I might otherwise indulge). I'm also hoping that the Blythe family will not grow further, will not expand beyond these three. But I'm not fooling myself anymore. The only self-control I've shown thus far is a weeding-out of the other stuff I've collected over the years. As soon as I get my postal scale fixed or replaced, I'm going to list the following on eBay: 2 Japanese Barbies, Kermit's outfits, Swingy, Living Skipper, Twist 'n Turn Babs, Lambchop, Holly Hobbie and her high chair, 2 Raggedy Annes, 2 large Furskins, 4 small Furskins, a huge assortment of clothes for Ken and another huger assortment of clothes and things for Babs and 1 Snow Village house. There's more but this gives you an idea of the raging madness that qualifies as obsession.

The March Against Math

I was all ready to march against math in my current town of Hiram, Georgia. I saw the banner as I drove past, and thought, "What a great idea! Why hasn't someone thought of this before?" Numbers have always bothered me. So a march against math sounded like my kind of thing.

My bubble burst when I drove by the banner a second time. Damned if it didn't say "March Against Meth." Meth! Not that I'm pro-meth, but I'm far too lazy to get up early on a Saturday morning to march against it. But math! Now that I would have crawled out for.

Guess I should have been suspicious about a march against math, even in a redneck county like Paulding. I don't think there are any math geniuses here, but they're probably not willing to publicly admit it. Although they don't claim to be a literate county like neighboring Douglas County (yes, they have signs up to let you know you're entering a literate county). A county full of barbecue joints, and not a single bookstore. Somebody ought to march against that.

A Walking Contradiction

I'm full of contradictions and I know it. On the one hand, I can go on and on about the benefits of buying used over new, and avoiding mass-produced goods, but the next day I can be at a purse boutique buying more Vera Bradleys. I blab about the environment and hybrid cars, but I drive a BMW (and wouldn't give it up for anything). I tell people I'm a vegetarian, but whenever I'm within sight of an Indian restaurant, I have to stop for chicken makhni. I'm constantly trying to pin myself down, to categorize my lifestyle as easily as we delineate our qualities on our Facebook profiles. I realize people are more complicated in person than on paper, and even more complicated in private than in public. I still have this desire to pigeonhole myself, to say, "This is who I am." If only "Who I Am" didn't change every 15 minutes.

Maybe the biggest problem in all of this is that, in the moment, the contradictions don't seem to bother me. When I'm in the purse store, I'm one person. When at Whole Foods, I'm another. It's only in reflection that I see the contradictions in my actions and desire to do better. I tell myself it's human nature, but that doesn't make me feel a whole lot better. Everyone I know is full of contradictions. Surely John Edwards didn't plan to become a womanizing jerkwad, yet there he is, spouting family values one moment, and the next he's sneaking out of his "baby mama's" apartment at 3:00 am (Of course, with politicians, who knows? Maybe he's always been a womanizing jerkwad, but realizes it's not much of a platform to run on).

Anyway, I think this is something I'll bring up at one of my group sessions, just to see if anyone has a different view of it. And by the way, today I'm "shops-at-thrift-stores" and "plays-with-dolls" girl.

Kennedy Pearl Arrives!!

Well, the excruciating wait is finally over.  Kennedy Pearl arrived today, straight from Hong Kong.  My brother said she's freaky looking, but I think she's beautiful.  I haven't even showered yet, I've been so involved in opening her, brushing her hair, dressing her, photographing her, and just looking at her.  It's fascinating how much personality a doll can have.  I see how easily it will be to become obsessed with her (that's assuming that I'm not already).  And yes, I decided on the name Kennedy Pearl, and I've already created a blog for her.  Okay, I'm obsessed.  

Still Waiting

Waiting for Blythe to show up is excruciating.  I've considered going to bed until she gets here, but I like to eat too well for that.  Soooo... I've been amusing myself in other ways.

1.  I've been trying to think of the perfect name for her.  I had planned on calling her Saffy, since she's the "Saffy" edition.  But after visiting thisisblythe.com and reading the forum on naming, I've decided that's far too boring for such an interesting doll.  So, I've been mulling over a few names.  I think I won't make any firm decisions until she's here, but here are some contenders at present:

Kennedy

Pearl

Opal

Cassidy

Aurora

Wren

I've also been wondering if it's kosher to have a combined name such as Kennedy Pearl or Aurora Wren.  Frankly, I'm favoring the former.  

2.  I've been buying clothes and accessories for her (see previous post).  There's a lot of great stuff on etsy, and some cute things on eBay too.  I even bought her a wig for a change of pace.  

3. I've been reading and watching videos about customization.  Evidently, people do some strange (but cool) things to their Blythe dollies.  For example, you can pop out her eye chips and replace them with different colors or chips that create certain effects.  You can pull out her hair and re-root it.  You can spray her shiny face to make it matte, erase her makeup and do your own, paint her eyelids, etc.  It's all very neat to look at, but at the moment I'm feeling too chicken to try any of it (except possibly the eye chips; there's a great 2-part video on YouTube that makes it look so easy).  I can imagine this sort of thing is addictive, which is another reason I'd better not start.  

4.  I've printed off a bunch of patterns from the internet for Blythe clothes.  I don't know how to sew, but I do have my mom's sewing machine that I've been curious to learn how to use.  Maybe I'll give it a shot, although I fear this could be addictive too.  

These are my Blythe-y diversions until she gets here.  I'm hoping that after all this waiting and planning I'll not be disappointed.  

Buy Them, and They Will Come

The Blythe clothes I got on etsy started arriving today.  A dress with happy frogs on it, and a denim vest and jeans outfit that has tiny pink flowers embroidered on it.  So far, Blythe hasn't arrived, but she's coming from Macao, so it may take her a few more days to get here.  As soon as she does, pics will be the order of the day.  

I realize it may be unseemly for a grown woman to play with dolls in this manner, but who cares?  I won't be offended if you pretend not to know me if I have Saffy (the Blythe I ordered) in tow when you see me in public, but I'm not worried about what people think.  I'm pretty sure some women have babies in order to "play with dolls" in a socially acceptable way, but Blythe is a lot cheaper (and better behaved).  

The Year I Fell in Love With the Color Pink

I'm obsessed with pink.  The color, not the singer.  I never liked pink much before, but suddenly this year, practically everything I've bought has been pink.  Soft pink, hot pink, pastel, fuschia, magenta.... All the pinks you can imagine and they all co-exist peacefully in my bedroom, my closet, my bathroom, my car;  I'm surrounded by the color pink.  

I'm definitely having a second (or third?) childhood.  I've just ordered a Blythe doll from eBay, lined up Barbies in a mod display on the chest of drawers, dressed my 5 (yes, 5) Build-a-Bear (2 lambs, 1 monkey, a cow, and a spotted dog) in shades of pink and dangled them from the bed posts.  What's wrong with me?  I'm certainly too old to be playing with dolls.  Right?  

My sweetheart's 15-year-old sister is visiting for the summer from Jerusalem.  When I showed her my bedroom, she was surprised (but I don't think in a good way).  I asked her if she liked dolls and she said "not much, not anymore."  Well, when I was fifteen, I probably didn't like dolls much either.  Something about acting grownup and looking cool.... But at 38, I feel like I've earned the right to do pretty much as I damn well please.  

I guess I have to mention here that both of my parents passed away this year, my father in February and my mother in April.  I always felt like a child around them, as though they were loath to let me grow up and be an adult.  I guess I no longer have anything to prove to them, so the sky's the limit for now (and don't you think the sky's at its most beautiful in the evening or early morning when the pink hues swirl around like fresh cotton candy?).  

But anyway, I do think there's a definite difference between child-ish and child-like.  Being childish is no good, always whining and pouting and otherwise driving everyone around you nuts, but childlike implies a certain open-mindedness and existing in an awed state for the things of the world.  I don't mind being considered the latter.  I've tried hard to keep this outlook over the years and I don't intend to change it no matter how old I get.  

I have no idea how long this pink phase will last (and yes, I'm sure it's a phase like everything else, even though it feels like a lifelong pact between me and my psyche at the moment).  The pendulum will eventually swing in the opposite direction and I'll probably be buying all the beige and off-white objects I can find in another year or so, but for the moment, I'm going to enjoy all the bright color, the cheerfulness of my bedroom, the gaiety of my pink blouses and bows, the garishness of my study with its pink folders, pens, and even pink typing paper.  My inner child has come out and taken over the chore of decorating and I really don't mind.  

Blythe is pretty in pink.