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Saturday, July 27, 2013

I Think My Inner Barbie Grew Up

I started to write a relatively long Facebook post about my play date with Sassy Girl. Then I remembered that once upon a time I wrote a blog, and decided to blow some dust off of my Blogger page.

Totally not winning any awards for consistency any time soon.

Anyway, as I was saying, I had a date with my favorite girl to play Barbies today. We pulled out the classic Rubbermaid tub filled to the brim with half naked dolls, whatever tiny worthless accessories were spared from death by trash or heating vent, and tangled masses of whatever the heck their hair is made out of. 

Designer Kitchen Decor? 

Fast forward to play mode:

Sassy Girl - (In a ridiculously high pitched Valley Girl voice): Hi Sabrina! Let's go shopping. I need a new dress so I can get a boyfriend. 

Me- (In equally ridiculous high pitched voice) Oh you don't need a new dress. Whoever the lucky guy is should like you for YOU. Not because of some piece of fabric you put on your body. Besides, who needs a boyfriend? Look at me. I am smart, successful, and I certainly don't need a man to define who I am as a person. 

Sassy Girl - ...

Me- (Continuing high pitched feminist Barbie rant) I mean...look at everything I've accomplished. I went to college and now I enjoy success in my extremely profitable veterinarian clinic doing what I love. Do you think I needed a man to do this? Nope. It was all me. All in here. (Awkwardly moves stiff Barbie hand to sort of point at her heart.)

Sassy Girl - (Gets out of character by whispering) Mom...you're not doing it right. I want to find my Ken so we can play wedding.

Me - (Turns the volume down on Lilith Fair Barbie. Decides not to pull out Equal Rights Barbie.) Ok. Fine. Let's go to the mall. 

Doo dee doo dee doo dee do. Oh look, we're here. Man, that pink convertible can cruise. 

We "shop" for new outfits. I think the fact that I'm Mom really shines through in this comparison. Can you guess which one is MY successful, smart, classy Barbie? Dang you, Hannah Montana. 

Golly Gee! Where's my cardigan at now?

Cat Whistles

After the fun of outfitting the Barbies, I pull out a Barbie from the bottom of the tub. 

Me - Hey! This used to be my Barbie when I was little!

Sassy Girl - Oh she's really old. Hey, I know what we can do! She can go to the Sock Hop!!

Me - (Glares at innocent child.) Yeah. Great. The Sock Hop...

Tuesday, April 2, 2013

Furbys are Evil

If you know me in what we call the "real world" then you've probably already heard this story. Bear with me, or quit reading, but I have to tell everyone. This is like a PSA or something for anyone thinking of getting a Furby.

Sassy Girl turned the awesome/crazy/shock-inducing age of 8 last week.

She's been asking for this Furby nonsense since Christmas. I just ignored the initial request in November, thinking it was just a short lived phase, and I'll be damned if we are buying a 50.00 doll that speaks "Furbish".

Fast forward. Yep. She still wants the thing. The only product she has requested for 5 months.

Bit the bullet and purchased possibly the most annoying thing to ever enter this house.

She opens the gift before school and is stoked. She wrote us a thank you note at school, so I know she was thinking of the hours of fun she would have with this stupid Furby when she arrived home.

Her excitement is deflated when she comes home. We had a little gathering with Grandma and Grandpa for her birthday and Grandpa worked on getting our Furby friend out of the package. Why they screw toys to the package is a mystery to me, but it sure makes the process a hell of a lot harder.

Once Furby was released from captivity he worked for approximately 3 minutes. Then....nothing. I troubleshooted the best I could. New batteries. Hit refresh button, whatever that means. Nothing. Poor Sassy Girl was in tears. What a piece of crap.

I called the customer service number and he told me to do everything I just did. Which I told him.

"Yeah. I did that. I did that too. Nope. Did that too." Must be nice to have a job where you tell people the obvious all day.

He sent me a shipping label to return the defective creature.

Screw that. We are going to Walmart for an exchange.

Happy Birthday Sweetie. Let's go to the customer service desk at Walmart for an hour. Yay.

Her original Furby was a gray color. Walmart didn't have the same color Furby in stock.

"Honey, this purple one is nice. We can get him instead."

"No. I want Bob." Yeah. She named him Bob.

"But they don't have the same one. We can either get this one, or wait until they have a gray one."

"Well....can you ask them if they have any more Bobs?"

So we grab the purple Furby as a back up and go back to the customer service desk to inquire about any Bobs hangin' out in the back.

45 additional minutes go by, and then we get the call. Nope. No Bobs.

I look at Sassy Girl...glance at the purple Not Bob Furbs and ask her if this creature is okay.

She shrugs and decides Not Bob Furbs is better than nothing.

So off we go to stick batteries in him and unleash his Furbiness.

At least this one works. And keeps working. Forever.

It isn't long before we discover that this creature does not have an off switch. It also has multiple personality disorder, but I'll get into that later.

I spend the night diving into the Furbish dictionary like any good mom, and I soon know if her friend is asking for food, tickles, or just really loves her.

I'm putting Furbish as an additional language on my resume, by the way.

When I tip toe in to kiss the kids good night before I go to bed, the creature starts to stir in response to my movement.

I immediately freeze in a ridiculous position, to stop the thing from waking up.

A loud Furbish "I'm hungry" breaks the silence, and ruins the sweet moment of a mother kissing her children in their sleep.

Much like trying to escape a room of an infant that was just placed in it's crib, I silently try to slink out of the area. I get into my bed and I hear, *Groan* Me HUNGRY!"

I get out of bed...just to "feed" this stupid toy so it shuts up. I threw a blanket over it and told it to go to bed, because at this point that didn't seem crazy at all. It finally shut up. I think it knew that it's batteries were next to go.

Sassy Girl woke up still excited to play with her Furby. She was at the breakfast table "feeding" her Furby when all of a sudden Furby Hell broke loose.

He started shaking, his eyes rolled back in his head, his eye lids fluttered, and he said, "Furby...Change....Change...CHANGE!!!!"

Before us, this cuddly creature was PISSED OFF. His LED eyes turned all slanty. He freaked out whenever we tried to touch him, GROWLED, and pictures of FLAMES appeared in his eyes. What the heck??? Who makes a toy like this?

Seriously, you guys. I was freaked out. That weird feeling in the pit of your stomach when something doesn't feel right...it was there. Satan Furby totally ruined our morning waffles, that's for sure. At that point I was ready to either spray the thing with Holy Water, burn it, feed it to the dog, or all of the above. I spent the next twenty minutes trying to cheer this demonic creature up, because frankly, it scared the crap out of me. And remember? No off switch. Creep O Rama.

I turned on some happy music on the computer, sat the thing in front of it, and started to sing to it.

Totally normal behavior. 

It worked. Maybe a little too good. It freaked out again and did the whole "Furby...Change....Change....CHANGE!!!!" deal.

Now...we are left with some sort of Valley Girl Furby.

It says things like: "Seriously...Blah blah blah...OMG!"

Oh well. Annoying, but not Chuckie, so I'll take it.

Still, this doll has me sleeping with one eye open, and honestly I've had a few nightmares. Sassy Girl seems unphased. She obviously hasn't seen the horror movies I have.

If my family disappears and only an evil eyed Furby remains on the premises...well you know what happened.

RIP "Bob"