Diary of an Obsessive-Compulsive Blonde

11:46 a.m. October 28, 2007
My bedroom floor

Dear Diary,

So, last night was yet another sucky night like Friday night. Yet again, nothing went as planned. And now I feel like a total bitch and a cheap whore, and my best friends won't talk to me. God, I was really looking forward to this weekend, too!

So yesterday afternoon, I was in my room doing homework and blasting KISS FM. That really stupid yet hilarious and awesome song, "I Got It from My Mama" came on and I began singing along. Then my mom came into the room and started singing and dancing to it. Jesus H. Christ.

"Oh my God, I love this song! Girl, where'd you get that body from? Where'd you get that body from? I got it from my mama; I got it from my mama!" My mother sang loudly and horribly. "This song is so true! You should be thankful your mama is such a hottie, Barbie. That's where you get all those good looks from!"

"Funny, mom. I guess I know where I get my sense of humor from, too."

"I know, right? So guess what babe. Mommy's got a da-ate!" My mom proclaimed in a sing-song voice.

"Ooh, who with?" I asked, looking up from my geometry homework.

"A lawyer! Can you believe my luck? I met him at Subway the other day," my mom told me.

I then asked the most important question of all, "Is he hot?"

"Hell yeah! He looks like George Clooney," my mom said dreamily.

"Ew!" I exclaimed.

"What's wrong with George Clooney?" My mother asked indignantly.

"He's so…old!" I said.

"Hey! And what's that saying about me?" Mom asked.

"Nothing. He's, like, ten years older than you."

"Whatever. I still think he's hot," My mom said. "So are you doing anything tonight?"

"Yep." I informed my mom, turning back to my unsolved proofs.

"Who, what, when, where, how?" My mom asked.

"Amber, Danielle, Gabriela, Annie, Kaycie. Party. Tonight. 10:00. Christi Harrison's house. Bel-Air. Hot-air balloon."

"What? Hot-air balloon?" My mom asked, perplexed.

"You asked how I'm getting there," I told her.

"Oh, so you're trying to be funny. I see," My mom said.

"Well, I did get my sense of humor from you, mommy dearest," I said.

Mom rolled her eyes, "So, how are you really getting there?"

"Gabriela. Her 'rents got her an Escalade for her sweet sixteen."

"Niiice. Perhaps I should warn you that you ain't got a snowball's chance in hell of getting a car for your sixteenth birthday. Sorry."

"No problem. I'll just mooch off of other people for rides."

My mom laughed and ruffled my hair, "That's my girl!"

"Kay babe, I'm gonna go get ready for my big date!" My mother squealed and ran out of my room happily.

I just shook my head. You gotta admit something's wrong when you're more mature than your own mother.

Later, as I lay on the couch watching TV and flicking my lighter on and off, the doorbell rang.

"Mom! George Clooney's here!" I yelled.

She stumbled out of her room, a huge grin plastered across her heavily made-up face. She giggled and began jumped up and down, shrieking, "Oh my God oh my God oh my Go-od! He's here!"

She ran up to me and began twirling around, "How do I look?"

"Gorgeous, as usual," I replied. And she was. She was wearing a strapless black mini-dress and silver stilettos, and her platinum blond hair was curled.

"Alright, alright. I can do this; I can do this," my mom said.

"That's the spirit!" I encouraged her.

"I can do this!" My mom yelled, then marched over to the door and yanked it open.

And my mom was right. This dude really did look like George Clooney.

"Hey, Peter," my mom said in a low, sultry voice, and flipped her hair back, the signature McBride move.

And, like every guy that even looks at my mother, Peter was awe-struck, and it took him a minute to get his voice back. "H-hi Crystal. You l-look b-beautiful."

Mom giggled, "Aw, thanks Petey! Is it okay if I call you that? Alright. Well, before we go, I want you to meet the daughter I was telling you about."

Peter walked indoors and said, "Well, hello, Barbie. You're the spitting image of your mother."

"Is it supposed to be a compliment that I look like a 34-year-old woman?" I asked dryly, continuing to turn my lighter on and off.

Peter's smile faltered, and my mother cut in a high-pitched giggle, "Oh, Barbie does like to tease! Well, let's go, Petey. Bye, Barbie!"

"Bye, Mom! Nice to meet you…Petey," I called out, then laughed and turned on the T.V.

At about 9:00, I got dressed and did my makeup. It was a costume party because Halloween is on Wednesday, so Amber and I were dressing up as Barbie and Skipper.
I know; I know. But I mean, as much as I hate my name, why would I pass up an opportunity as wonderful as this?

Amber planned our costumes, so of course I ended up looking more like Skank Barbie. My costume consisted of a metallic pink mini skirt, a white belly shirt with 'Barbie' written on it (in pink of course), and sparkly pink heels. Amber's costume is basically the same, except blue and with 'Skipper' written on her t-shirt.

I finished that off with pink eye shadow, tons of mascara and eyeliner, and glittery pink lip gloss. I ran out with my pink tote when I heard a series of honks from outside and my neighbor Mr. Nakamura yell a string of profanities out the window towards my friends.

"Bye Mr. Nakamura!" I yelled as I sprinted down the stairs to Gabriela's Escalade. (Not an easy feat, considering my heels are about a mile high.)

Mr. Nakamura just yelled something about how much he hated teenagers, and shut his window with a slam. I laughed and hopped into the car. (Again, not an easy feat.)

The car was stuffed full of my friends, and loudly blasting "Stronger," by Kanye West. As soon as I was settled in next to Annie, Gabriela put the pedal to the metal. And I swear to God, if you've never driven with Gabriela, you wouldn't know just how accurately that description fits her driving. Seriously, I was scared for my life in that car. Luckily, Danielle was our designated driver for the way back. She always is.

There were eleven of us stuffed into that car: Gabriela and her boyfriend Robert were in the front; Amber, her boyfriend Ryan, Annie, and I were in the middle; and Danielle, Liam, Kaycie, Kaycie's twin brother Kevin, and his friend Mark were piled in the very back.

"Hey, Barbie, I hear Parker's gonna be at the party tonight," Kaycie told me teasingly.

I turned bright red and just muttered, "Oh."

"Wait, Parker Cole? What does he have anything to do with Barbie?" Ryan asked, almost sourly.

Amber smirked and answered, "He has a thing for her."

"He does not!" I protested indignantly.

"Then how do you explain last night?" Danielle asked.

"Whoa, what happened last night?" Kaycie asked eagerly.

"Nothing," Danielle quickly replied, then mouthed, "Sorry," to me.

When we got to Christi Harrison's mansion in Bel-Air(which didn't take too long thanks to Gabriela's need for speed), we all ran out of the car and inside and separated, promising to call each other later.

Most of the party was kind of a blur for me, but I remember bits and pieces. I remember chugging as much alcohol as possible in an effort to forget about everything that's happened lately, particularly the night before. I remember freaking with several guys, making out with Jordan Miller(remember, the quarterback who apparently liked/likes me?), and Kaycie and I dancing on the Harrison's kitchen counter. Somehow towards the end of the night(or morning, really) I ended up in the rec room with a bunch of people playing beer pong. After I beat everybody's asses at the game, I began to feel like I was going to pass out, so I stumbled outside for some air. I staggered into someone's chest, and looked up to see Ryan.

"Oh, hi, Ryan," I said, relieved.

"Whoa, Barbie, you're wasted!" Ryan exclaimed.

I began to laugh hysterically, "I knowww, right!"

Even in my inebriated state, I saw something like recognition pass through his eyes, and he said, "You know, Barbie, there's something I've been meaning to tell you for a while now."

"Whhhattt izz et?" I asked, slurring my words terribly.

"I really, really like you," he pronounced.

My eyes narrowed, and my head cleared a little bit, but not much, "B-but what about Aaamber?"

"Amber's nothing. I want you," he said, then leaned down and stuck is tongue down my throat.

I kissed him back, not thinking at all, and, well I really enjoyed it, as horrible as that sounds. We made out outside for a few minutes, until I suddenly heard someone shriek, "You bitch!"

I stumbled back and saw Amber's retreating back as she stalked into the house.

"Oh, no," I moaned, and took after her.

"Amber! Wait! You don't understand!" I called after her.

"I understand perfectly, Barbie. I thought you were my best friend, but I guess you weren't. It's crystal clear," Amber hissed, then ran outside.

I opened my mouth to yell after her, but instead of a retort, all that came out was puke. And next thing I knew, everything was black.

When I woke up, my entire body was aching and I wasn't exactly sure where I was. I blinked a few times and looked around. I was in a car, but I wasn't sure whose. Then I looked over and saw-who else?-Parker.

"Wh-what's going on Parker?" I asked.

"Well you passed out in the Harrisons' living room, and since your friends had left, I decided to help you out," he said, giving me a small smile.

I moaned, "Ohh, oh no, oh no! So that wasn't just a bad dream? That really happened? I really kissed him?"

"Yeah," Parker said, his smile fading, "But it wasn't your fault. He took advantage of you." His tone turned sour then as he turned a corner, "It seems like guys have been doing that to you a lot lately."

"They have, haven't they?" I said, groaning, "Oh God, Amber probably hates me! I'm such a fucking screw up!"

"No, you're not, Barbie, don't say that," Parker admonished as we pulled up to my apartment building.

I gave him a half-hearted smile, "Thanks, Parker, but you obviously don't know me very well then."

I stumbled out of the car, and Parker called after me, "You alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," I said, holding up a thumbs-up sign.

But just then, I felt something rumble in the pit of my stomach, and ran over to the bushes to let it out. After vomiting, I waved to Parker and ascended the stairs before he could come after me. At the door, I stuck my hand in my purse, trying to find my key, but found I didn't need it when the door suddenly swung open, revealing George Clooney guy.

"Uh, hi, Peter," I said as he finished buckling his belt and put on his jacket.

"Hi, Barbie," He said, flashing me a dazzlingly white smile.

I let him through, and walked inside, shutting the door behind me. Once inside, I went straight for my mom's room. Once I entered the darkened room, I flung myself onto her bed and bawled, "Mommy, mommy, I'm such a bad person. I hate myself; I hate myself!"

"Oh honey, oh baby, what's wrong?" my mom cried out, wrapping her arms around me.

"I-I made out with Amber's boyfriend!" I told my mom through my tears.

"Oh, Barbie!" my mom said tightening her hold around me.

I lay there in my mother's arms for the second night in a row, crying until I could cry no longer. And as I lay there, I couldn't help but wonder how it had come to this. How I'd become this. And as I lay there, watching my mother's haunted eyes and agonized expression as she, too, thought things over, I realized something.

I got it from my mama.

Crushed in California,

Barbie