The Best Little Whorehouse In Oz

Hey all!  This post has been floating around in my head for a couple of weeks now.  I'm not quite sure where I'm going with it, but won't you walk with me while I figure it all out?

So.  A couple of weeks ago Matt and I took Roo to Target to spend some of her birthday cash.  She's been on a Wizard of Oz kick for a few months now (or as she calls it, The Lizard a Boz), so when she saw this Special Edition Dorothy Barbie doll on the shelf, she immediately wanted it.  We put it in the cart, paid for it, took it home, pulled it out of the box, let her play with it, and when she was done we propped Dorothy up on it's stand and displayed it on her dresser.  

That's when I noticed that something was very, very wrong.  

Since when does Dorothy's mid-western Kansas garb include thigh-highs?  And when did the hem of her dress rise up 6 inches?  WHEN did she walk down the yellow brick road in 6 inch heels befitting a porn star?  And OH MY WORD SHE IS OUTFITTED IN A LACE UP CORSET THAT EMPHASIZES HER BREASTS!  Really?  Really, Mattel?

Now, let me leave this topic for a short minute to say that those of you who know me know that I'm a keep-it-simple-kind of girl.  I don't put a lot of stock in analyzing things or over thinking them.  I know too many people who do this and end up making themselves sound like assholes.  (Case in point: Me in college driving in the car with my father.  American Pie comes on the radio, and I launch into a 7 minute speech about how I believe that song to be about the loss of American innocence during the Cold War era and the implications of the hippie movement.  My father listens, waits a moment, and then says "I'm pretty sure that it's just a song about Buddy Holly's death."  See? Classic case of one being a superfluous douche bag.)

 However, sometimes you just gotta go there. This is one of those times.  This kind of thing has been on my mind anyway for a month or so- ever since last month when I watched an entire female team of 5 year old soccer players take their team picture with identically curled hair and tiaras.  I questioned it on Facebook and one of my friends wrote that it was "Just another messed up message we send to our girls."  That one resonated with me, though there were a wide variety of opinions on it.  Some people said that it showed that girls could still enjoy being girly while kicking butt, and I feel that may be valid as well.  If that's true, though, what's the empowering message with the scantily clad Dorothy?  That a girl should look her best and show a lot of skin, both over the rainbow and in the real world?

I'm so confused.

I do know that every time I see Roo pick up the doll, I cringe.  I feel like every time she plays with it, Slutty Dorothy gets busy with imprinting her secret little message on my daughter's psyche. It's like she's saying "Oh, hi Roo. See my short little dress?  See my pretty little stockings with bows at the top of my thighs?  Aren't they pretty?  Don't you want to be pretty?  Be sure to dress just like this when you grow up and everyone (especially boys) will think you're pretty too!"

Yep.  I'm pretty sure that's what it is saying, even though Roo probably isn't conscious of it.  I'm not even sure she could really verbalize the difference between the looks of the doll and the more modest movie version of Dorothy...  I could ask her, but the truth is, I'm a little afraid to.   Best case scenario would be that she didn't see the difference at all, and the worst case scenario would be that I would have just pointed it out to her.

The most disturbing question for me in all this though, is why in the world didn't I see all this when I was in the store?  I mean, we were at Target to get my new phone too so it's a slight possibility that I was really preoccupied with my new toy and didn't focus properly on hers.  But I don't think so.  I'm usually too much of a feminist to let this stuff get past me.  Maybe this whore-of-a-Dorothy just didn't stand out as much when she was on a shelf amid other sluttinas Barbies?  Is that how I didn't see it?  Or has society just conditioned me to believe that girls should look this way so that even when I had her in my hand, I didn't even blink at her implied sexiness?

I don't have any answers, or even a good way to conclude this post, except with more questions: Am I over thinking this?  Ten years from now will I be sending her back to her room to change into decent attire with her screaming "For christsakes mom!  Even my freakin' Barbies are allowed to dress sluttier than me!" Should I burn the doll?  What do you all think?  

You Too May Be Suffering From This Disease

Hi.

I went to Costco on the day before Thanksgiving.

Stupid, I know.  I won't ask for your pity because I brought it on myself.  However, whilst there (love that word, 'whilst'), I learned a few things.

First, I need to make a shirt to wear specifically for when I go to Costco that says "If you stop short in front of me, I will ram my cart into your ass."  I'm also tempted to write on the back back something like "And if you block my way to slowly peruse the free food samples, it's fair to expect me to run my cart through you."

Second, I learned that the shopping carts at Costco are torture devices.  Anyone else experience painful electrical shocks to their fingertips and palms while manuevering their cart around that demon hole of a store?  I was trying to figure out if it was just me or if there were others having the same problem, but it didn't seem that anyone else was having issues.  However, it's possible that where I live is a factor in this since nearly everyone else in there was over 60 and grounded by their orthopedic rubber soled shoes.

Third, the problem does not lie with only Costco.  I had to also run to Stater Brothers for two slices of bacon and a red onion.  There I encountered a family of six who walked slowly down every aisle and blocked other customers from passing them.  They were carrying a small while ferret with a sweater on.

In a food establishment.

They were carrying a rodent.

In a food establishment.

And it was wearing a sweater.

At that point, I just got out of there fast because I was starting to feel unpredictable behavior coming on. Unpredictable behavior that I would not be able to be held accountable for on account of the fact that I suffer from a very serious, very real disease known as ESCR.  Extreme Shopping Cart Rage.  It's like road rage, except with shopping carts.  If you've had to repress urges to beat the shopper in front of you over the head with the double sized bag of brussell sprouts that you've grabbed from your cart, then you too, suffer from this terrible disease.  So there you go.  Now your pain has a name.  You're welcome.

Tis the season, all.  Happy Thanksgiving!

Love,

Tacy- sufferer of ESCR and various other made up mental illnesses (as well as a few legit ones)

October In A Bundle

Hi!

So I haven't written in a while.  I'll spare you the why because to be honest, I don't really know the reason.  Maybe it's because I haven't been feeling motivated/creative/funny/attractive/intelligent/articulate/awake/healthy/ human lately.  So there you go.  Pick a reason, any reason.  The important thing is that I'm writing now.  (Actually, what I'm going to do is just patch together paragraphs from the 5 unfinished posts that I did start writing but never finished for the aforementioned reasons.)

Also, New Girl is on in 35 minutes.  It's imperative that I finish this in time to watch that show since I believe that one of their writers did a subversive character study on me.  I mean yes, Zoey Deschanel's character is funnier and more charming than me, but the dorkiness?   I relate to it all too well.   We are soul sisters, but that's neither here nor there.  Let's get down to business, shall we?

In this month of October, we have:

prepared our house for Halloween.  Two years ago I wrote about how Mr. C and I have an annual argument over how scary we should make our courtyard for the trick or treaters.  This year I'm happy to announce that I have tamed the beast.  Our home was  relatively normal looking (and by normal I mean that there were no baby  doll heads on sticks decorating our front lawn.)

However, Mr. C had to have some kind of outlet for his dark side. One morning I walked out of the house to find this:

And when I got in my car the next morning, I found that he had moved her:

So it went for the decapitated Barbie throughout the month of October.  She has been placed in many compromising positions and is currently residing on a hook next to where we keep our mailbox key.

I don't want to admit this, but I do believe that there is a good chance that we are the weirdest family on our block. 

Anyway, our house was a hit again on Halloween.  We ditched the strobe light/scary mannequin guy this year and went with a Nightmare Before Christmas Theme.  We turned the courtyard into Oogie Boogie's lair by painting a bunch of props with glow in the dark paint and investing in some black lights.  Here's a little glimpse of how it turned out:

There's someone inside that Oogie Boogie suit.  Someone who sat very, very still while we passed out candy and then jumped out at people and scared the beejezus out of them as they were leaving.  It was so fun, but I'm getting ahead of myself.  I'll tell you more about Halloween later.  

Also this month we attended the annual Palm Desert Golf Cart Parade.  Yes, you read that right.  Golf carts, in a parade.  Golf carts are big out here.  We have lanes for them, much as other cities have bike lanes. We also have designated parking spots for golf carts at certain grocery stores and businesses. So, yes.  Pasadena has the Rose Parade, NYC has the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, and we, of the Coachella Valley in this great state of California, decorate golf carts and make a parade of it.

I make fun, but it's actually a good time.  The whole valley participates.  Who doesn't love a marching band? 

Plus, there were bonus points this year because 9 walked in it.  We had extra fun embarrassing him as he went by.

This also leads me to a confession.  The day before the parade, against my better judgement, I let J watch some of Poltergeist with me and PG.  It was the televised version, so it was fairly safe.  They omitted the freaky stuff like the guys' face falling off in the mirror, which led me to believe that it would all be okay.  However, he ended up coming away from the movie with a healthy fear of clowns.  (Do you remember the Poltergeist clown in the closet? Freaky.)  And what do I, his mother,  do to him the next day?  Drag him to the Golf Cart Parade where the theme is "Circus Fun"and 9 feet tall clowns wave and leer at you as they meander past.  

He is now afraid to walk down the hallway at home in broad daylight, and I believe that besides being the weirdest family on the block, I am also the meanest mother of the weirdest family on the block-  with the poorest judgement.

Anyway.

Speaking of J, I know I've been writing about him often, but it's just that he's at this age right now where half the time he is cracking me and Mr. C up.  The other half of the time he's being an obstinate a-hole.  But the times that he's funny kinda make the other half of the time worth it.  One of those times was last week when at the bank, the teller gave him and Roo a lollipop.  On the way out he's sucking on his lollipop and this older gentleman holds the door for us.  J takes out his sucker, waves it in the direction of the guys face, and  tauntingly cheers "Bet you wish you were a kid!".

I can't wait to see what kind of adult this guy turns into.

The other thing we did in October was take the kids to the LA Museum of Modern Art to see the Tim Burton Exhibit.

It was lots'o fun and very inspiring.  Also, I learned that Tim Burton and I share a hometown of Burbank, CA.  Apparently, according to the exhibit's information,  Mr. Burton was so bored by Burbank's non-culture that he had no choice but to unleash his creative genius onto his sketch pad and wait out the time until he could leave.  I too, found myself waiting out the time until I could leave Burbank, but that had more to do with wanting to find cute boys who I didn't go to Kindergarten with and who didn't already know what a huge dork I was.  I guess you could say that though we had different motives, I believe both our paths to be equally difficult and our achievements high.  

Har har.  

The museum exhibit inspired our Halloween theme.  This year our whole family dressed up as the cast of characters from The Nightmare Before Christmas.  Matt was Jack Skellington, I was Sally, the kids were Lock, Shock, and Barrel, and 9 was Oogie Boogie.  This may be my most favorite Halloween yet.  

Not just because I made most of the costumes myself.  

And not because our house was the most fun one on the block. 

And not because my nieces, nephews, and sister provided us with hours of entertainment playing Just Dance 2. 

But because while all this was going on, my other sister was in the hospital having her baby.  You know, the one I wrote about here.  

Can I tell you, first of all, the "coincidences" that surround this situation?  When I found out I was pregnant with Roo, my sister had just, days before, been in Florida going through her first failed adoption.  I felt so guilty and ended up waiting for 12 weeks before I told her and the rest of my family about my pregnancy.  My sister, instead of being upset- which would have been a completely understandable and NORMAL reaction- was extremely excited and happy for me.  So we had her be a part of the pregnancy as much as we could.  She came with us to the ultrasounds and was in the room with me when I was giving birth.  She and Roo have a special bond.  3 years later, she called me within weeks of the anniversary of the failed adoption to inform me that I'm going to be an aunt.  She went into labor on my birthday, and although she missed it by 23 minutes, Elianna Tacy Alvarez was born on Nov.1, 2011.... right between my birthday and Baby Roo's- who was born on Nov. 5.   

If you don't want to call that Divine, than call it magic, because there's no way you can tell me all that is a coincidence.   

Besides, I've never had anyone named after me before.  And you know what? 

It feels really good.  

You all have a good night!