Huh?

When I was growing up, girls didn't have action figures. When we needed little plastic role-models, there was only one place to turn. Barbie.

And someone somewhere seemed to understand our need for small, semi-posable projection objects (or at least to understand the profit potential such need generated), because Barbie slowly became more democratic. There were Barbies from different cultures. Then different lifestyles and professions. There was Doctor Barbie. Rollergirl Barbie. Rockstar Barbie.

There was a Barbie for everyone.

Except for me.

Where was the Barbie for the sulky little proto-goth girl who did weird performance art about pooping bunnies that got her kicked out of the second grade? Who made cassette tapes about feline orthodontia, complete with unhappy cat noises in the background? Who spent a summer in the linen closet running The Shark Information Center?

I was a weird kid. And I did love my Barbies. I played The Six Wives of Henry VIII with them. Their heads popped off in very satisfying ways.

Later, I fell in with some folks who spoke astrology. And I learned that these are Eighth House issues. The house of the horoscope ruled by Scorpio. The house that is supposedly all about sex, death, money, power and the occult. The house in which half of the planets on my natal chart reside.

I also learned that the other half of my planets hang out in the Second House. Ruled by Taurus. Comfort. Sensuality. Shiny things. Yup, you guessed it... accessories. So my Second House influences (one could say) made me want to collect and dress and color-coordinate and play with Barbies.

And my Eighth House influences made me want to pop off their heads.

Out of this understanding, Eighth-House Barbie was born. If no one was going to create a little plastic role-model for me, I was going to have to do it myself. Only I'm older now. Instead of Barbies, I seem to collect shoes. And, just recently, polka-dotted undergarments. And I do all this weird Scorpionic work out in the world. And I write about it. So now I have this little electronic projection object who blogs about what it's like to be into both footwear and personal growth. Who likes high-thread-count sheets and hanging out at deathbeds. Who worries about having the proper clothing and accessories for a challenging, rip-your-guts-out ritual.

Eighth-House Barbie. A city girl camping out in the wild back-country of the subconscious. And tragicomedy ensues...