Childish Memories: My Dolls Deserved to Die!

Little girls and their dolls, inseparable, best friends, until you wake up one morning and realize they’re a bit freaky. For a brief time in my childhood, I decided dolls were evil and needed to be destroyed. Well, I’m not certain I thought they were evil, but they were (and are) disturbing. Maybe I just outgrew toys in general and needed an excuse to get rid of the dolls.

The doll-killing spree consisted of Barbie and Ken – who were not boyfriend and girlfriend in the traditional sense – and G.I. Joe. In my world, Ken preferred the company of G.I. Joe. Back in those days, Ken and Joe felt as though they couldn’t reveal their true relationship. It’s very sad that the world is so intolerant, but that’s an entirely different topic and too serious to discuss here.

Barbie was the first to go because she was the most annoying of the dolls. Her haughty accessories and outfits irked me, and don’t get me started on those breasts, the RV camper and Chevy Corvette, which has likely been recalled by GM. Unattainable perfection and flagrant materialism wrapped in plastic; sounds like many popular celebrities today. She was a terrible role model.

Her fate was put into the hands of the high-speed, bustling highway in front of my childhood home. At sunset, I placed her in the middle of the road and waited for the next unsuspecting motorist to happen along.

Now don’t worry, back in those days, it was quite safe for an eight-year-old child to play in the street, just as it was safe to ride standing up in the bed of a truck or bounce around unrestrained in the backseat of a car. Car seats were for sissies!

From my discreet location behind a shrub on the hillside, I watched and waited. The anticipation was almost too much to bear, and then came the roar of an engine. Closer. Closer. Closer. Wham, crunch, smash! Barbie traveled a great distance.

I’ll spare the gruesome details of her demise, but let’s just say she endured several more hit and run accidents before she was completely demolished and strewn in a hundred pieces in and along the road. Ken and G.I. Joe suffered a similar fate.

I would like to add that I wasn’t alone in my doll destroying endeavors, as my two brothers had a giant hand in their destruction. I think they might have been the ones who suggested it in the first place because I was a good girl.

Looking back, it hardly seems normal to do such a thing, but let’s face it, we were bored. We latchkey kids had to fill the parental void with something entertaining. Destroying our toys seemed to be a sensible pastime. Today children destroy, kill and maim characters in video games. The two are not so different. Barbie and friends were my Grand Theft Auto of the time. I no longer commit such heinous crimes against dolls, but I do occasionally enjoy a good fighting video game. It’s good for stress relief.

Admittedly, over the years, I have developed a slight fear of dolls that I can’t explain. Dolls are creepy! I’ve always thought so. It’s their vacant eyes boring a hole through your soul. They never stop watching. Perhaps the dolls of the world seek vengeance for the doll-killing spree so long ago. Their mission is to drive me crazy, but the joke is on them. I arrived at that destination long ago.


If you would like to read the other installments of Childish Memories and pass judgment on my strange but wonderful childhood, take your pick…

I Curse More Than You Do!
Blanket Fortresses are Impenetrable!

 

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Childish Memories: I Curse More Than You Do!

CursingBubbleRemember when you heard sophisticated grown-ups use curse words as casually as breathing, and you thought, “I want to be just like them when I grow up. I’m going to curse and curse and no one will be able to stop me.” When you’re a child, there’s something fascinating about using dirty words, and I don’t think the fascination fades, at least for some. Even those of you who feign shock at the sound of a dirty word secretly wish you could speak them with abandon. Go ahead; I give you permission.

When I was about 10 years old, my two brothers and I decided it was time to start cursing. At school, at home, while playing with friends. Anywhere and everywhere we felt like it, except when adults were present. We were smart enough to hide it from the unsuspecting adults.

Here’s the slightly exaggerated re-enactment of the conversation that served as a gateway to cursing:

Stacy (12 years old): “I started cursing. I do it all the time.”

Me: “You’re gonna get in trouble?”

Stacy: “Not if I don’t get caught.”

Me: “Okay. I’m going to curse too.”

Josh (eight years old): “I curse too! I’ve been doing it longer than you guys.”

Me: “No you haven’t. You lie.”

Stacy: “I say every bad word in the world.”

Me: “Well, so do I.”

Josh: “I say a gazillion billion bad words a day.”

Well, you get the idea. It became a competition to see who cursed the most and who knew the most bad words, but oddly enough, not one of us cursed throughout the conversation. I think we were each too scared to be the first. That would eventually change, but for a brief time we remained unsophisticated children.

Even now, I’m not a good curser. I have a few go-to words, but I sort of feel like I’m still that child testing the waters to see if cursing fits me or not. It’s a steady source of entertainment to my friends to see if they can get me to say the F-word, which I’ve seldom uttered in my life. Someday they might hear it, but it’s likely to be in the throes of anger, which they won’t find so amusing. Until then, I live vicariously through other’s use of the F-word. I’ll keep honing my skills. And, for those of you who love to curse, remember to do it in all the places deemed inappropriate by society: work, church, school, the dinner table, the checkout line at the store, a funeral, etc.

Disclaimer: No curses were used in the making of this blog post. I do not condone the use of profanity. I will not be held responsible for embarrassing situations that might arise from their use. Curse responsibly and at your own risk.

If you are so inclined, check out the first installment of Childish Memories: Blanket Fortresses are Impenetrable!.

Stay tuned for the third in the series: Childish Memories: My Dolls Deserved to Die!

Childish Memories: Blanket Fortresses are Impenetrable!

As with many childhoods, mine was fraught with the fear and uncertainty that comes from being forced to sleep in a dark bedroom. How dare my parents! Monsters undoubtedly lived under my bed and in the closet. They lurked outside my door and leered in the opened window, waiting for their chance to get me. It’s a wonder I survived. I’m sure I almost died of fright, more than once.

Crude, childish drawing by me.

Crude, childish drawing by me.

One monster has forever haunted my mind: The Smoking Shadow Man. He appeared to the seven-year-old me on a weekend I spent at my father’s house, late at night after the house was quiet. My bedroom door was left open and the nightlight in the hallway cast long shadows. I awoke disoriented and sat up in the bed trying to remember where I was. Out in the hallway I saw movement. A man-shaped shadow the size of Frankenstein’s monster appeared on the wall outside my door. I think he groaned. Then I saw smoke! Yes, smoke, floated through the doorway. Was the house on fire?

I wanted to scream and call out to my father to rescue me, but instead I covered my head and closed my eyes, confident my blanket fortress would protect me from the evil. If Smoking Shadow Man couldn’t see me, then he couldn’t get me. I still use this logic today. Never let your arms or legs hang over the edge of the bed or outside the covers. The covers are a cocoon of protection that cannot be breached.

Smoking Shadow Man slinked away while I fearlessly cowered under the covers. I had heroically fought off another beast of darkness, unscathed. When I awoke the next morning, to my childish delight, the house had not burned down.

To this day, Smoking Shadow Man remains a mystery. Much like Sasquatch and Yeti, no actual proof of his existence has been found, and he continues to elude capture. Perhaps he was a figment of my imagination, a manifestation of my naïve hope that all the smokers in my family would stop, lest they face certain death.

These days I hide from, I mean fight off, different monsters like middle age, death, a mortgage payment, yard work, frizzy hair, and that never-ending desire for fatty meats and fried food. The monsters have changed, but the desire to seek solace in the safety of my blankets and sleep with the light on still seems like a practical and perfectly adult way to evade the monsters. The next time your monsters get too close, grab your blankie.


Stay tuned for another pointless installment of Childish Memories: I Curse More Than You Do!

Big Hair and Rad Gear: Eight Amusing 80s Ads

And now for a little 80s nonsense to start out 2014. Admit it, the 80s rocked. It was the age of excess. We loved our flamboyant stuff and ourselves in the 80s. It was all about looking and feeling good. Well, at least we can laugh about it now. Enjoy these brilliant 80s ads.

Dickies Boys Ad

Dickies for boys. “Because Dickies makes the work sets most working men wear.”

What is young Johnny Travolta, Jr. doing with that jackhammer? Is that appropriate jackhammering wear or would that be better suited for a night at the disco? Where did the “working man (boy)” wear an outfit like that?

Round the Clock Ad

Round the Clock Pantyhose.

When you want to create a distraction from your giant head and lack of torso, wear colorful pantyhose and lingerie. It almost worked. I hardly noticed, except for the totally awesome geometric earrings and brittle, frizzy, frosted hair. This ad would have worked well for selling toothpaste.

LA Gear Ad

L.A. Gear Streetdancers for Men.

Is this guy tubular or grody to the max? I can’t decide. He looks like he might have gotten his ass kicked by the real street dancers if he wore that preppy, pretentious rich-guy-trying-to-be-street outfit. Those shoes doubled as orthopedic after he fractured his tailbone in a break dancing accident.

Oshkosh Ad

OshKosh B’Gosh.

Awww…look how cute! Little Aspen and his girlfriends, Moon and Acid Rain have cooked Baby Kale in a giant soup cup. Moon is anxious to salt and serve him. Baby Kale seems oddly excited. Oh my gosh, OshKosh, you sure know how to cook up some disturbing advertising.

Members Only Ad

Members Only. “When you put it on…something happens to you.”

It sure does! You like become a member of like the world’s most rad, righteous 80s club, like for sure; that, or everyone laughs at you.

Improved Right Places Ad

Improved Right Places.

What? Breast Enhancement? Why am I just hearing about this? You mean I could look like that bodacious babe? According to the ad, I, “really can’t afford not to try it.” I can’t wait to purchase a dirty brown disco halter dress with suspenders instead of cups. It will be quite exciting to the other nightclub goers when I break out my Solid Gold dance moves in that sexy number.

Au Coton Ad

Au Coton.

Because every woman wants the coveted baggy pajama look that says, “I’ve given up on looking good, and I’m happy about it.” The belts and perms really pull it all together. None of the women look like they have short, stubby legs. And, is that a man in the tan outfit? I think he’s a guitarist in a big hair band.

Jazzercise Ad

Jazzercise!

The name speaks for itself. It’s the epitome of the 80s. Fluorescent spandex leotards with matching tights for the ladies, and Richard Simmons inspired shorty-shorts and tank for the guys. Throw in some leg warmers and you’re ready to dance (insert jazz hands here.)

80s Lisa

This is an ad for big hair and pink lipstick…no, wait, that’s the 80s me. I was a huge fan of Aqua Net hairspray, a hair pick, and the blow dryer, strategically used to create the piled frizzy look. I also once sported a tail and a modified mullet with four different colors in my hair, but my mullet was “classy” with a “k”.

Curious Creations: Six Peculiar Patents, Part 2

People invent the strangest things. I found six peculiar, modern-day U.S. patents, accompanied by their highly artistic drawings. These are inventions that we just can’t live without, as you will almost certainly agree once you’ve had a look. Which one is your favorite?

If you want to see a few unusual patents and drawings from the 19th century, check out Part 1: Curious Creations: Six Peculiar Patent Drawings. Continue reading

Curious Creations: Six Peculiar Patent Drawings

The late 19th century was a wondrous and inventive era. Patent applications were at an all time high. Some ideas were better than others. Perhaps they all sounded good at the time. We’ll never know, but we can still appreciate the creativity of the minds who constructed these treasures.

The Animal Trap for Gun Lovers

Continue reading

There’s a Phobia for That?

It seems like the perfect time to address phobias and fears, since fright night is coming. We all have them. We all try to overcome them. But they are persistent, like a mind plague eating away at our confidence. There’s a phobia for almost anything. It’s startling.

I conjured up a list of 10 surprising and scary phobias, some well-known, some not. Are they irrational? You can decide for yourself. Continue reading

The Daily Post Prompt: An Open Letter to a Mosquito

I wrote this based on a daily prompt from The Daily Post: The Art of the Open Letter. Some of you will understand why I wrote it.

 

August 13, 2013

Dear Mosquito,

Your fixation on my blood has become quite disturbing. You lie in wait, watching, hovering until my scent elicits action. The covert attacks happen anywhere and everywhere. In my house. On the screened in patio. In the yard. While writing, shopping, eating, sleeping, swimming. Continue reading

It’s All About the Numbers

Ever wonder how many tweets are sent worldwide each day? Or maybe how many gallons of milk Americans drink? And, who doesn’t want to know how many days are left until the end of the U.S. oil reserves?

Many things plague our minds. Let me be the one to overload your already cluttered, frazzled brains with a cornucopia of arbitrary statistics. It’s all the stuff you don’t care to know and never thought about until this moment. You’re welcome!

A little disclaimer to nip the drama before the first act even begins: All statistics are approximate and were obtained just before the time of this posting. Clearly, they will have slightly changed by the time you read this, especially the daily ones. Please visit USA Right Now and Worldometers for up-to-the-second data.

I would like to take a moment to say that I am thankful for what I have in life. While some of the numbers are meant to be entertaining, others are serious issues that trouble far too many people in our world and shouldn’t be taken lightly. Continue reading

In the Beginning

Star FlowerThis is my first post on Chronic Nonsense. You’re probably wondering about that name. Or not. I’m going to tell you about it either way. It’s a long, complicated story, so stay with me for a minute. It all started when I made it up on a whim. I put 30 seconds of thought into it and a soon to be star blog was born. Well maybe that’s a bit premature and arrogant. It might be more like a falling star that will burn up in the Earth’s atmosphere before it even has a chance to make an impact. It’s all up to you, my followers. I have lofty expectations, just as you should. Hopefully, I won’t disappoint.

Please follow me, make comments, tell your friends. Whatever happens, happens. I really don’t have all that much control over it, except for my words. In life, we are all at each other’s mercy. As my About page says, “Life is a random series of joy and sadness, magic and science, misfortune and luck, love and hate, much like this blog.”

If you’re wondering about me, I’m a writer, at least that’s what my degree says. I’m mostly published in the journal of my own mind, but I do have a few credits to my name. We can talk about that later.

Enjoy my blog. Come back and visit as much as humanly possible. And don’t give me that well-used excuse that you’re too busy, ’cause we all know that’s just something you tell people to make yourself feel better. I know the truth. You have time for Facebook, Pinterest and Candy Crush, you’re not all that busy.