Camp Part 3 in Purple

Camp
by Shelley Brown copyright 2013

Being Jewish meant I went to Jewish overnight camp in Wisconsin to "Make New Friends but Keep the Old".  Days filled with swimming, archery, being force fed food with mayonnaise and having a little stuck-up brat put "Sun-In" in my shampoo bottle turning my hair an unusual, coppery shade of orange.  It was a time of innocence and bitter homesickness with abandonment issues.  A time of love and a time of severe competitive, rivalry which psychologists have now identified as bullying.

One summer, I had a major crush on the granola eating, Kumbaya counselor couple who I wished were my parents. Paradoxically, I wanted to kill Mrs. Kumbaya, get her out of the picture and be the child bride of Mr. Kumbaya. They were patchouli-smelling hippies with long curly blond, bandana wearing hair.  In retrospect, I now realize they were probably homeless and in need of a job for the summer to support their nomadic marijuana smoking, “Dead” listening, free spirited lifestyle. Somehow I thought that my orange haired, Neiman Marcus denomination, 6-string nylon guitar playing self could magically become their love child!

They led us on nature excursions where we would capture whatever bug was in our path and violently kill them by putting them in a bell jar containing ether. I liked the smell of the ether.  A little demonic I suppose since it would kill anything in it's noxious, nail-polish-gasoline combo smelling path. 

I just wanted Mr. and Mrs. Kumbaya to love me so I made it my mission to HUNT, CAPTURE and KILL as many beetles, butterflies, moths and basically anything with creepy legs or wings.

I succeeded! Not only did Mr. and Mrs. Kumbaya love me, I won the NATURE AWARD at the final camp night awards banquet.  I also won the "Crying Towel" award but that's a whole other story.

Well camp was over, Mr. Kumbaya did not leave Mrs. Kumbaya for me so I packed my trunk for the shippers to send back home and took my little perfectly arranged in descending size by species with pins going through the middle of their deadness Styrofoam display boards in the van with me to the airport to fly back home.  Yes, I said fly.

Upon reflection, it was a good summer albeit the bullying, the Sun-In tragedy and the Crying Towel award because I was beaming with pride as I walked toward the plane holding my accomplishments in my little hands when disaster struck, the small turbo airplane propellers suddenly started and all the little wings and bug legs blew off until all I was left with were the pins holding their little dead middles.  Wingless, legless little dead middles! I leaned my unusual orange haired head on the airplane window and cried on the crying towel award all the way home.

“Make new friends but keep the old.  One is silver and the other gold”

Love Shelley

Camp Part 2 (in Blue Text)

Camp
by Shelley Brown copyright 2013

Being Jewish meant I went to Jewish overnight camp in Wisconsin to "Make New Friends but Keep the Old".  Days filled with swimming, archery, being force fed food with mayonnaise and having a little stuck-up brat put "Sun-In" in my shampoo bottle turning my hair an unusual, coppery shade of orange.  It was a time of innocence and bitter homesickness with abandonment issues.  A time of love and a time of severe competitive, rivalry which psychologists have now identified as bullying.

One summer, I had a major crush on the granola eating, Kumbaya counselor couple who I wished were my parents. Paradoxically, I wanted to kill Mrs. Kumbaya, get her out of the picture and be the child bride of Mr. Kumbaya. They were patchouli-smelling hippies with long curly blond, bandana wearing hair.  In retrospect, I now realize they were probably homeless and in need of a job for the summer to support their nomadic marijuana smoking, “Dead” listening, free spirited lifestyle. Somehow I thought that my orange haired, Neiman Marcus denomination, 6-string nylon guitar playing self could magically become their love child!

They led us on nature excursions where we would capture whatever bug was in our path and violently kill them by putting them in a bell jar containing ether. I liked the smell of the ether.  A little demonic I suppose since it would kill anything in it's noxious, nail-polish-gasoline combo smelling path. 

I just wanted Mr. and Mrs. Kumbaya to love me so I made it my mission to HUNT, CAPTURE and KILL as many beetles, butterflies, moths and basically anything with creepy legs or wings.

I succeeded! Not only did Mr. and Mrs. Kumbaya love me, I won the NATURE AWARD at the final camp night awards banquet.  I also won the "Crying Towel" award but that's a whole other story.

Camp

Camp
by Shelley Brown copyright 2013

Being Jewish meant I went to Jewish overnight camp in Wisconsin to "Make New Friends but Keep the Old".  Days filled with swimming, archery, being force fed food with mayonnaise and having a little stuck-up brat put "Sun-In" in my shampoo bottle turning my hair an unusual, coppery shade of orange.  It was a time of innocence and bitter homesickness with abandonment issues.  A time of love and a time of severe competitive, rivalry which psychologists have now identified as bullying.

One summer, I had a major crush on the granola eating, Kumbaya counselor couple who I wished were my parents. Paradoxically, I wanted to kill Mrs. Kumbaya, get her out of the picture and be the child bride of Mr. Kumbaya. They were patchouli-smelling hippies with long curly blond, bandana wearing hair.  In retrospect, I now realize they were probably homeless and in need of a job for the summer to support their nomadic marijuana smoking, “Dead” listening, free spirited lifestyle. Somehow I thought that my orange haired, Neiman Marcus denomination, 6-string nylon guitar playing self could magically become their love child!

They led us on nature excursions where we would capture whatever bug was in our path and violently kill them by putting them in a bell jar containing ether. I liked the smell of the ether.  A little demonic I suppose since it would kill anything in it's noxious, nail-polish-gasoline combo smelling path. 

I just wanted Mr. and Mrs. Kumbaya to love me so I made it my mission to HUNT, CAPTURE and KILL as many beetles, butterflies, moths and basically anything with creepy legs or wings.

I succeeded! Not only did Mr. and Mrs. Kumbaya love me, I won the NATURE AWARD at the final camp night awards banquet.  I also won the "Crying Towel" award but that's a whole other story.

Will Barbie Still Love Amputee Ken After Nam Part 3 (In Bold)

Will Barbie Still Love Amputee Ken After Nam?  
by Shelley Brown copyright 2013

For some reason I could not get enough of Barbie. I guess it follows in the same vane of looking into the bay windows of our empty living room that you weren’t allowed to go in and pretending I was tall and thin in sparkly Bob Mackie like Carol and Cher...(Charo was much too curvy). There were about 5 tall thin glittery me reflections in those windows.

I loved Barbie. She was perfect to me! Perfect EVERYTHING. She had PERFECT Everything! Everything....Body all boobs and legs, hair, make-up, a man AND AND AND clothes! I don’t know what the fuck I did with Barbie’s clothes? She always seemed to be sporting the latest in light blue or white toilet paper design I came up with from the box of Marshall Field’s toilet paper my Mom ordered. Yes, you could order 100 rolls of toilet paper from Fields.  Obviously, that’s where my hoarding of paper products comes from. I always have to have at least 20 rolls of toilet paper and a minimum of 6 rolls of paper towels at all times.  But alas I digress. Barbie somehow lost all of her Barbie clothes? I have no clue what happened to them.  Maybe Skipper hid them or, OR?  Could it be Ken? I had the camper, the doll house and all the usual 70’s Barbie accouterments however; I preferred to make up my own furniture and my own games for them including “Carnival Accident” and “Will Barbie love Amputee Ken After Nam”?, “Moshing Barbie with  Ken Sans Sex Organs”...oh and there was “Bad Skin Barbie”.... 

The quintessential Barbie bedroom was made up of a bed (a tissue box) where Barbie and Ken spent most of their time, especially after Nam, tearing up the sheets (thin pieces of tissue paper ) with their various proclivities (again, the paper thing. We had lots of tissue boxes.  No, not from Field's.  Mostly from hotels.  I preferred the name brand as they seemed to survive more than one episodic romp) The furnishings also included a table whose base was made from the red flower painted Wooden Russian Nesting Dolls.  You know them, you love them. The set of  wooden dolls in decreasing size... you open up the first one and SURPRISE, you find  a smaller Wooden Russian Doll and then, SURPRISE, a smaller Wooden Russian Doll and then SURPRISE, a smaller Wooden Russian Doll until eventually the smallest one became Barbie’s little Wooden Russian Baby. Oops SURPRISE!  

The bedroom romp would almost always be followed by a trip to the carnival with Skipper in tow.  Well, you know what happens at carnivals besides chartreuse stuffed animals and shooting games….Da Da Da Duhhhhhhhhh….Time for the Carnival Ride on my pink phonograph player.  This seemingly innocent and enjoyable ride would turn into a complete nightmare of injuries, and fatalities as my little 9 year old hand become processed to turn the knob to high-speed.  Toilet Paper dresses and limbs were found everywhere on my hot pink plush carpet which by the way was an exact match for my hot pink ceiling….a 1970's strawberry blow-pop nightmare for all in this day and age….

Unfortunately I had several “Barbies Gone Wrong.”  Several Babies? Okay, ALL of my Barbies had the misfortune of visiting a 9 yr. old unlicensed cosmetologist who just happened to be me.  Not only was I a Possessed Carnival Ride Operator, “Carnie”, an Haute Couture Toilet Paper Clothing Designer, a Creative International Interior Decorator, I also just happened to be a Hairdresser, Make-up Artist and Esthetician.  Barbie’s beautiful luscious mane of thick blond, mid-torso length hair would disappear at the hands of my creative genius until she had a uneven Florence Henderson Shag to go along with the immaculately applied BIC PEN blue eye shadow.  Like some of my family members, Barbie was prone to bad skin.  She obviously didn’t have the black Erno Lazlo Mud Soap, a Neiman Marcus exclusive, my mother used on her perfect flawless skin.  Yes, Barbie had pin induced facial acne!

STAY TUNED FOR MORE.  PLEASE FOLLOW MY BLOG TO WIN PRIZES AND DON'T RINSE YOUR CHICKEN.

Love Shelley

Will Barbie Still Love Amputee Ken After Nam Part 2

Dear Friends, Part 2 is in bold below Part 1.

Will Barbie Still Love Amputee Ken After Nam?  
by Shelley Brown copyright 2013

For some reason I could not get enough of Barbie. I guess it follows in the same vane of looking into the bay windows of our empty living room that you weren’t allowed to go in and pretending I was tall and thin in sparkly Bob Mackie like Carol and Cher...(Charo was much too curvy). There were about 5 tall thin glittery me reflections in those windows.

I loved Barbie. She was perfect to me! Perfect EVERYTHING. She had PERFECT Everything! Everything....Body all boobs and legs, hair, make-up, a man AND AND AND clothes! I don’t know what the fuck I did with Barbie’s clothes? She always seemed to be sporting the latest in light blue or white toilet paper design I came up with from the box of Marshall Field’s toilet paper my Mom ordered. Yes, you could order 100 rolls of toilet paper from Fields.  Obviously, that’s where my hoarding of paper products comes from. I always have to have at least 20 rolls of toilet paper and a minimum of 6 rolls of paper towels at all times.  But alas I digress. Barbie somehow lost all of her Barbie clothes? I have no clue what happened to them.  Maybe Skipper hid them or, OR?  Could it be Ken? I had the camper, the doll house and all the usual 70’s Barbie accouterments however; I preferred to make up my own furniture and my own games for them including “Carnival Accident” and “Will Barbie love Amputee Ken After Nam”?, “Moshing Barbie with  Ken Sans Sex Organs”...oh and there was “Bad Skin Barbie”.... 

The quintessential Barbie bedroom was made up of a bed (a tissue box) where Barbie and Ken spent most of their time, especially after Nam, tearing up the sheets (thin pieces of tissue paper ) with their various proclivities (again, the paper thing. We had lots of tissue boxes.  No, not from Field's.  Mostly from hotels.  I preferred the name brand as they seemed to survive more than one episodic romp) The furnishings also included a table whose base was made from the red flower painted Wooden Russian Nesting Dolls.  You know them, you love them. The set of  wooden dolls in decreasing size... you open up the first one and SURPRISE, you find  a smaller Wooden Russian Doll and then, SURPRISE, a smaller Wooden Russian Doll and then SURPRISE, a smaller Wooden Russian Doll until eventually the smallest one became Barbie’s little Wooden Russian Baby. Oops SURPRISE!  

The bedroom romp would almost always be followed by a trip to the carnival with Skipper in tow.  Well, you know what happens at carnivals besides chartreuse stuffed animals and shooting games….Da Da Da Duhhhhhhhhh….Time for the Carnival Ride on my pink phonograph player.  This seemingly innocent and enjoyable ride would turn into a complete nightmare of injuries, and fatalities as my little 9 year old hand become processed to turn the knob to high-speed.  Toilet Paper dresses and limbs were found everywhere on my hot pink plush carpet which by the way was an exact match for my hot pink ceiling….a 1970's strawberry blow-pop nightmare for all in this day and age….

STAY TUNED FOR MORE.  PLEASE FOLLOW MY BLOG TO WIN PRIZES AND DON'T RINSE YOUR CHICKEN.

Love Shelley