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October 11th, 2008: The Rival 

Today's Journal Birthmonth Flashback: let's go with a story I absolutely did not make up.

By the way, y'all, I just checked the page where Edward Dollen is actually for pre-order (I'm guessing this is the NECA one? It's not the Tonner), and... it's only 7". The girls are--well, shit, I don't know. They're way shorter than Sleeping Beauty and Galadriel Barbie, and I thought Barbies were supposed to be 11-1/2"? Maybe there's some hope here?

So I go dig a purple plastic ruler that I have never had cause to use before in my life out of the file cabinet, and go over to The Shelf.

Toy Biz Galadriel steps forward,

and the girls all gather around. I hold up the ruler.

"Oh, wow. You're exactly eleven inches tall."

And then we all look down... down... down... to the seven-inch mark.

"That is... disappointing."

Fugagorn, who has dark circles under his eyes and a raging case of sex hair bedhead, looks rather chagrined himself.

"That... poor boy."

"He doesn't even come up to your waist? DON'T SAY IT, ANNA, DON'T YOU EVEN."

"Please, like he would even know how. You want some of this action, you're gonna need to do more than scrapbook first."

"Look, this was a lost cause from the beginning," says Purple Arwen, who has always been the most practical. "Look at his shoulders! His jacket is part of his body. You're not getting his clothes off, not ever. We're just going to have to wait for Tonner Edward Dollen. Which is what Cleo wanted to do anyway."

"But..." Galadriel looks over at my Ellowyne, who is a lot taller than the girls. "Wouldn't he be about her height?"

So Galadriel holds her hand up to the level of Galadriel Barbie's head--her fingertips just reach the twelve-inch mark --and I struggle around with the ruler (The Shelf is an enclosed space, after all) until I can get it turned upside down and rightways forward and we can measure the difference.

"I am sixteen and one-quarter inches, thank you very much," says Ellowyne primly. "Next time, just ask."

Well. That was unexpected.

"So... he'll be sixteen, probably seventeen inches with The Hair. That's... a lot of doll."

Ellowyne folds her arms with... is that a smug look on her face?

"Oh HELL no--"

We all take a step back. Very quietly.

"You're just gonna sit on MY shelf for how long now and not say a damn word and then when we finally get a man in here you're just going to waltz in and take him based on your sizeist assumptions? What are you supposed to be, eleven years old? YOU THINK YOU'RE WOMAN ENOUGH TO TAKE THIS ON? BECAUSE I TOOK DOWN THE WITCH-KING OF FUCKIN' ANGMAR AND BITCH I'LL FUCKIN' TAKE YOUR CANDY ASS ANY DAY THAT ENDS IN Y."

(There was a moment there where we all expected Fugagorn to go "HEY!," so we look over at him and he is giving us a very tiny, wide-eyed head-shake.)

And then Ellowyne crouches down with her hands on her knees and says, very clearly:

 "BRING IT, SHORTBREAD."

Awwwww hell.

October 12th, 2008: Addendum

So... the catfight that broke out on The Shelf last night was bad. Really, really bad. Ellowyne and "her sizeist assumptions" made the mistake of sassing Eowyn over the hypothetical--HYPOTHETICAL!--rights to Edward Dollen, they threw down, and then Eowyn pantsed her. See, this is why you don't ever pick a fight with someone who only comes up to your elbow. So Ellowyne and her gold lace capri pants take a dive and Eowyn immediately goes for the curls, which look way different from the ones in the picture--they're these tight, stiff sausage curls, a whole huge ponytail of them in the back, and Ellowyne is very proud of them. So Eowyn gets one good fistful and Ellowyne is immediately screaming bloody murder, not because it hurts but because she knows what every little girl finds out too late--once you fuck up doll hair, you never get it back the way it was. Yeah. So apparently Ellowyne talks a big talk, but her walk stops dead at weave-pulling.

I seriously don't know how I'm going to keep the peace over there now.

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