FrankenBarbie

For some unknown reason, people are talking an awful lot about Barbies.  When I think about Barbies, I instantly think of my dad.

Dear Ol' Dad
Dear Ol' Dad

What?  No, it’s not weird at all.  C’mon, you totally think of my dad when you read about Barbies, too.

I had many, many Barbies – some were hand-me-downs and some were fresh from the cellophane.  Some were white, some were black.  Some came with props some did not.  Regardless, they all spent the majority of their existence naked.

I’d love to tell you it was some sort of political statement and my Barbies lived in a nudist commune.  I could probably sell you on the idea that I’ve never been terribly patient and I couldn’t bear sliding those hard plastic hands through the tiny polyester sleeves, inevitably catching those tiny thumbs on loose threads.  That is entirely true, but not the entire reason behind my naked Barbies.  In reality, my Barbies were total sluts.

When The Castle's a' Rockin'
When The Castle's a' Rockin'

My slutty naked Barbies lived side by side with a herd of My Little Ponies in their Dream Castle.  Sure, they had their typical roommate disputes (like the time Loving You Barbie brought Optimus Prime back for a little intergalactic nookie) but for the most part, they lived happily ever after in long-haired harmony.

You’re right.  So far this post has nothing to do with Dad.  Plus I’m four paragraphs in and I haven’t used the word vagina yet.  Clearly the world is coming to an end.  I blame my unicorn-to-be, Apocalypse.

So even though I really couldn’t be bothered with dressing my Barbies, I still liked to accessorize.  The problem was, I could never keep track of all the Mattel made adornments.  I suspect my little brother absconded with them to make the Decepticons feel pretty.  Regardless, I was left with no Toys R Us sanctioned embellishments and I was forced to be resourceful.

I had no less than nine hundred and seventy two of those ridiculous plastic jeweled rings that could only be found in grocery store vending machines and elementary school fundraising festivals.  I also had a few of the cheap plastic spider rings the candy scrooges distributed at Halloween.  I thought that both types of rings would make for some pretty bad ass choker necklaces.

The spiders were flawless in that Barbie of the Undead kind of way (props to Elizabeth for turning me onto that site).    They were no muss, no fuss and I had an endless supply.  Sadly, plastic spider choker necklaces don’t match every outfit…er…ensemble of nakeditude.  I really wanted to get one of those plastic jewels around Barbie’s neck.

So I popped off her head.

Then I was able to slide the ring onto her neck and wedge her head back on top of her body.  When I wanted to switch out the necklace, sweet little Bowtie would scream, “Off with her head!” and the rest of the pretty ponies would nay in amusement.  Lather, rinse, repeat.

Until I ripped Barbie’s head and snapped her neck.

Apparently Barbie’s neck hole is the most fragile orifice on her hard plastic body.  Technically, I think its the only orifice.  I think I need to back away from this train of thought.  I don’t see it going well in the comments.

Enter Doctor D.O.D., otherwise known as Dear Old Dad.  (See, I told you we’d get there eventually.)  With some rust colored epoxy, a minuscule drill bit, and a length of old wire, D.O.D. was able to resurrect FrankenBarbie.  Sort of.

Her head always lolled to one side after that.  The ponies didn’t like the way the epoxy smell still lingered around her.  Plus the bubbly drips down between her cleavage were somewhat distracting.  None of the Ken dolls wanted to get with her because they were constantly getting stabbed by the twisted wires sticking out the left side of her face.  Even Optimus abandoned her after he developed a crush on Spike the Dragon.

Over time, dust and thread adhered to the epoxy Dad used to resuscitate Barbie.  Her hair became so knotted we chopped it off into a buzz cut.  She was the UGLIEST Barbie the world had ever seen.  Yet I still smile every time I think of her in all her hideousness, because she embodied all the traits I love about my dad:

  • His loyalty – you don’t stop loving something just because it’s broken.
  • His tenacity – if neither the epoxy nor wire had worked, I’m sure he would have found another means to repair her.
  • His frugality – why buy another Barbie when that one was totally fixable?
  • His generosity – I’m sure he spent hours with that poor doll in a c-clamp, mixing different adhesives.
  • His gullibility – “Yes Dad, she’s as good as new.”
  • His ingenuity – he seriously drilled through a doll’s neck and permanently wired her head in place – that’s a little fucked up.
  • His weirdity (shh, it’s a word) – to this day, he sees nothing odd about FrankenBarbie.

I love you, Dad.  I can’t wait to see you in two short days to celebrate your retirement.  Please don’t permanently wire anything in place on Rocco while we’re there.


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27 thoughts on “FrankenBarbie

  1. Frankenbarbie – queen of the slutty plasti-hoes.

    That’s an awesome story. I envisioned you reading it from a hardbound book in front of a fireplace as I sat Indian-style and hung on your every word. The fire glistened off your glasses (PS, you’re wearing glasses in my version) and all is right with the world.
    .-= KeepingYouAwake´s last blog ..The Hot Dog Mustache Party Pics! =-.

  2. I hate Barbie. I once flushed her head down the toilet at my sleepover party and clogged it. Plus, if she were real, she couldn’t even stand up. Barbie is an anti-feminist bitch.

    (The pony is NOT named Starlite? Tears.)

    Your Dad sounds cool, though. I’m glad he’s alive and stuff. And if he does wire anything in place on Rocco while you are there… Well, it’d be funny. It be even funnier if he wired something on Barbie.

    1. The pony name is still undecided, sadly. I’m bad at decisions. I probably won’t be able to really decide until the pony arrives – I just like to have considered as many options as possible.

      You make me extra grateful for my dad – so thanks for that. Hugs.

  3. I honestly don’t remember ever having a Barbie….nor do I feel I missed out on anything.

    It is some serious dad love you got going on there for him to play doctor like that. Damn. I see my dad saying, “Yep, you broke it. Trash move since the last time you threw something away or were you showing me for some other reason?” (we are a family of smartasses, who knew it was genetic???)

    Wait a minute, did you break Barbie, or did Optimus Prime? I mean, if her neck was her only orifice and they were doing the deed, you probably weren’t the only one beheading her….. (omg, so many great bj jokes running through my mind right now, I must leave)
    .-= Wicked Shawn´s last blog ..Wicked Girls…….Wish They Had A More Interesting Day =-.

    1. He does on occasion. I’m hoping he glosses over the Barbie bonking and focuses on the warm and fuzzy part. Oh wait, that didn’t sound right at all. I…um…plead the fifth.

  4. My Barbies were shacked up with the Han Solo and Luke Skywalker dolls I got in 1979. Mysteriously, they gravitated towards Han while hinting the blond one had a weird relationship with his sister. I confess to still loving Barbies. When my daughter was into them, I bought them by the truckload along with vehicles, homes and full wardrobes.
    .-= Kelly´s last blog ..The Cult of Mediocrity =-.

  5. oh my God, that is hilarious! I was so hoping for a photo of frankenbarbie.

    But I am a little like him… I’ve brought back to London my old doll, who has a plastic head, arms and legs and fabric body. Her legs and arms have been refixed to her body with copper wire and tape, and her body has been patched and resewn many times.

    Her head WAS attached to her body with the same, but currently just hangs about beside it.

    My goal is to sew a totally new from scratch body, reattach arms, legs and head, and let my children play with it.

    They’ve been eying off the hair, which has been pressed forever into a very weird shape with much trepidation.
    .-= pixielation´s last blog ..Going cold turkey. Or cold firefox. =-.

  6. Some of my fondest childhood memories involve your Barbies. I remember all the nudity, and I also remember doing all I could to clothe as many as possible, being a good little 9 year old Baptist zombie. I loved your dad — wish him happy retirement!

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