And Isn’t it Ironic!

And who would have thought? It really does figure!

I find it highly, highly amusing and am really tripped out by the synchronicity here….

So, If you (who care) can recall, I believe it was Ryan “Sexiest Man Alive” Reynolds who ditched (and whyyyyyyy, because “you outta know” that if you do this, she’s gonna write a really hateful song about you) Alanis Morrissette back in 200-oh wtfeverland, because he was so sooper hot he was gonna bag the world’s most favorite ooberbabe ( or shall I say, ‘booberbabe’? ) Scarlett Johansson.  Which he did, he bagged her, dragged her and tagged her as his wife, in a union that at the time I thought was kind of weird, because at the time…did anyone ***really*** know who Ryan Reynolds was?

So now, it looks like Ryan’s choking on a little jagged little pill called Scarlett Johansson dumping his **truly** handsome ass, leaving him with his own case of Scarlett Fever, and his own ‘Scarlett’ Letter to boot (the letter would be be “D” for dumbass, that’s what I’m thinking). So where exactly do they put Scarlet Letters these days…do they get branded on the ass, like a cow? Or are they still embroidered on a handsome ascot or kerchief of some sort? I guess the new hip way would be to get it tattooed, like on your forehead. Now that would make a statement.

The even funnier piece to complete this sad little travel puzzle for those who wear helmets, is that Alanis has moved on, and actually managed to spawn her new baby boy in an almost astrologically brilliant touchdown move that coincides and actually somewhat trumps the date of the filing of her former estranged lover’s divorce petition. Huzzah~!!!!!!! Ah ha ha. Exquisite.

And the even BETTER part…the lil’ box o’ massengill apparently has gone back to Alanis for “support” during this tough time. I hope secretly, she kicked him in the ballsack, just a little, because obviously, he outta know by now, he had it coming to him.

I think maybe Ryan and Dave Coulier should get together and maybe start their own little support group, where they could meet up at the movies and reminisce about their happier times with Alanis.

CDInsight.com – News: Alanis Morissette Gives Birth to Ever Imre on Christmas Day.

 

Crap! I don’t like how these photos are going to layout, but I have no more freaking patience.

Narcissism Begins At Home

Hee Hee Hee Freaking Hee. Looooove this new Tiger Woods commercial for Nike. It is so creepy, I almost can’t stand it except it’s so amazingly, God-awfully Grrrrrrrrrrrrreat! (Sorry, had to throw in the Tony The Tiger bit, I know, infantile.) Who the hell comes up with this shit? I mean, are his handlers for real? Are they subconsciouly trying to make Tiger look ever more like the soulless alien sociopath he really is? It is just fascinating to me that after all he has been through, having all his inner kinks splayed and exposed to gazillions of people, being crowned Chief Executive Royal Douchebag, Master Asshole Supreme, Sargent McWags-His-Dick…you name it…there really is, truly, no real sense of shame. I mean, I don’t really see it. It all comes off as being way too canned and contrived.

In a scandal where the perpetrator is widely criticized as being stiff and insincere…why in God’s name would you film a commercial that I would imagine is supposed to be some sort of positive pr…that captures the subject in a bizarre catatonic goggle, and in splendidly grim black-and-white no less, with the disturbing disembodied voice of his dead father piped in? What the hell? Did the Art Director whip out his ouija board and channel Hitchcock’s direction from the grave on this one? Maybe Tiger has a secret Polanski fetish…would not be surprising, actually. It just boggles my brain as to why, if you are trying to make the man more family friendly, wholesome, and honorable, would you not perhaps have a commercial with Tiger…and his family! (Quite possibly because they truly can’t stand to be in his presence) Or at least, hey, they’res the Tiger we know and love GOLFING! That’s a novel idea. Or hell, eating a hamburger, kissing a baby, visiting the elderly…doing something normal at least, anything…anything! Anything besides him just standing there like he’s rehearsing for a cameo role in a remake of Invasion Of The Body Snatchers.

You know, I get the angle I think they were really aiming at. I think this was supposed to show a serious, reflective Tiger, ruminating on the words of his father. That would have worked perhaps, if they were able to capture an expression on his face that actually looked like he was thinking about something. Something other than perhaps eating your children.

And I love the voice over they picked! Out of all the sound bites available to them, they picked the one that leaves Tiger most wiiiide open for ridicule. I love it! Loooove it! Nike should just go ahead and fashion a commemorative Tiger Woods pinata for scorned wives everywhere to bash with glee and abandon. Or better yet, a faux Tiger carcass that can be hung in various Albertson’s parking lots across America for wanton stoning and picking apart by the frenzied masses, like Benito Mussolini. Tiger effigies would be pretty cool too. I think I’m going to burn one tonight after dinner.  .

So you hear his dad asking Tiger these questions, and I’d like to fill in the blanks to what I believe was floating around in Tiger’s potentially vacant head.

“I want to know what your thinking was…” (Hookers. Oh yeah, and Me. Money. Golf. Hookers.)

“I want to know what your feelings are…” (Feelings.  Hmm. Not sure what those are. I am a sociopathic android. I feel like I like hookers, money, sex, golf, and myself. Oh, and hot wings. Yeah, I really do like those.”

“And I want to know, what have you learned?” (I have learned to always, always, always! Delete text messages to my hookers, porn stars, blow up dolls, vicodin dealer, etc. etc. Always. And take Elin and the kids out Wednesdays and Friday nights, stay home Monday and watch ‘Dancing With the Stars’. This will create the illusion I love them. Oh, and season passes to theme parks. can’t forget those.)

On a final note, I think that Tiger’s decision to play in this year’s Masters speaks volumes to the truth belying his character. The man has won 4 jackets already. I’m sure he will win many more. What would it hurt for him to take a year off and focus on his family, rather than his public image and bank account? I hear a lot of people-primarily men- rooting for Tiger “to just get back to what he does best, playing golf!” Sure, let Tiger go out and play…after he has taken some time to really try to make things right at home. It’s beyond obvious his wife is not happy about his choice to play, which is why she is in Sweden, while her husband is out trying to reprove to the world just what an incredibly big penis he is. I mean, has. It’s all about the “Wood”, you know?

Men like Tiger make me vomit in my mouth just a little, because at the end of the day, it really is still all about him, and there is so little true accountability for his actions. While on the surface, there are these lame emotionless apologies cast out like memos designed to cover his metaphorical ass, they are a thin veil that barely covers the bulging (lol I said “bulge”) muffintop that is his ego and sense of entitlement. I’m sorry, I just truly believe that a man who really wants to show his wife and the world he has truly changed, would be channeling his sole focus on his family, not his career, especially since this guy obviously is not feeling too much of the effects of a “tough economy”. (Hell, sales of many of his endorsed items have increased! I’m sure purchased by other men who cheat on their wives in an attempt to create a “band of brothers”, bonded together by mutual douchiness, self-absorbtion, and adultery) Dude can more than afford to take some time off and hang with the wife and kids. You know Tiger, like the kid you say you felt so bad about missing his first birthday because you were in SEX REHAB…hellllloooo…it is NOT NORMAL to miss your child’s FIRST BIRTHDAY because you were in SEX REHAB! Hello, are we casting for VH-1 Celebrity Tool Academy yet? I think we have a winner! And by the way, you know what the name of his rehab facility was? “The Gentle Path”. WTF? Really? The gentle path to what? Why aren’t these places called “Camp Boot Up Your Freaking Ass?” or “Enter Here For 28 Days of Being Socked Upside The Head Repeatedly With A Petrified Nerf Bat”? The only gentle path there needs to be for manturds like Tiger is a gentle path to a good ass-whooping.

So, again, Daddy…why are you not with your son NOW, and instead of being off playing GOLF trying to reprove you are KING OF THE MOFO’ING WORLD?????!!!!! Do you not care that your kid is going to get into kindergarden and be like, “what do you mean your daddy didn’t cheat on mommie with a dozen trampy hobags and then leave for a long time to go into sex rehab and miss your birthday and then make it up to you by taking off to spend time playing a really lame sport with a bunch of elitist codgefarts when he could have been home playing putt-putt with you? Huh? Really? I thought that’s what all celebrity dickhead daddies did!”

Where are your priorities, really? And shame on the men who support his behavior and think, just let the man play golf! Why? Cause you want him to be vindicated and you can vindicate yourselves on some level vicariously through him? It’s really sad. So many men are still so chauvinistic and seem to feel this great sense they are entitled to stuff their man snausage into any and every female orifice they find arousing, and women are just supposed to spread their legs, like it, shut up, and leave politely when they are asked to. Oh, and don’t forget to thank Sir Cocks-A-Lot for the privilege of his time and touching his penis. He did, after all, buy you a dinner or two.

And don’t  dare have any care or feelings for Sir Cocks. No matter he told you how beautiful, wonderful, special, fabulous you were, perhaps bought you gifts or at least a couple of drinks. Why should you take stock in the fact he said he cared about you…as a person. Certainly he cared about you as a person! You are a person with a vagina that is much warmer and more pleasing than a blow-up doll. Plus you are a person that can make him feel special, important, sexy, manly. See! You are very, very useful to these sorts of chaps. You are vital to stroking the penis, stroking the ego. After all, there is only so much of  the aforementioned the man can do himself. Please, be a love, help a fella out! It’s exhausting being the center of the universe! It really is the least you can do. Think of it as a public service, something that all good female citizens must do, kind of like voting! And hey, remember that we are lucky we get to do that!

Ok, I’ll stop now, before I start to sound like Alanis Morrissette. Eew.

Being sick sucks :(

Sorry folks, I haven’t been posting lately because I have been feeling rather under-the-weather. And I’m not quite sure why, but my illnesses always seem to align themselves with my menstrual cycle. Which just has to be proof of a larger, much more nefarious conspiracy at hand here. It it pretty obvious that there is some sinister force that is out to cripple me psychically or at the very least just really gets its jollies by metaphorically pissing on me while I’m down. Damn you satan, quit fucking with my fung shui. Leave me alone. Your attempts at derailing me and curtailing my acid-tongued malignment of your pitiful minions (I.e. Kate Gosselin and others) are weak and effects are short-lived.

I may have fallen down, but I can, and will get up. Thanks to my Life Alert Emergency Response Pendant (further proof there is a God), like The Phoenix I have risen from the ashes of my couch, and as Aerosmith and Gene Autry would say, I’m back in the saddle again. And although my senses are still a bit dulled (pleasantly) from overgorging on NyQuil, I’m sure I will find something sufficiently snarky to say in no time.

If I don’t puke first, then go back to sleep.

I will say, Kate did look sassy in that red get-up. It almost made up for her performance eroding into a sad gymboree play date with her kids.

what’s in a name, really?

I was watching The Young And The Restless today (as I always do, thank you, not that I feel I need to justify my unhealthy obsession with poorly written melodramas involving imaginary people that, for that hour, I forget this and think they are real.) One of the big storylines involves the swapping of a baby that was named “Hope” by her birthmother, and “Faith” by the woman who thinks she’s the baby mama. And I got to thinking…optimists seem to love giving their children names that express their sunshiny-warm feelings about the world, with names such as “Hope”, “Faith” “Charity”, “Serenity”, etc., etc.

I wonder why it has never become a trend amongst pessimists and the more Machivellian-minded to name their children after the main tenents of their core values? That could result in some pretty interesting new names in the baby world.I mean, they don’t even need to be viewed in the true context of the meaning of the word. The name could be used almost ironically, or just because the word sounds kinda cool. This should go over really well with celebrities who seem to enjoy naming their children after random names and concepts simply because they think they sound hip. For instance, do you think really Gwynneth Palthrow went with “Apple” because she loves fruit pies? Or that Nicole Ritchie named her son “Sparrow” because she veiws him as a delicate baby bird? Why not “Eagle” then…certainly that name would be more reflective of the type of bird I’d want my son to be if that was my angle. Not some wimpy bird that’s probably easily mauled by cats. Will her next child be named “Swallow”? That would be funny, there’s all sorts of connotations in that one. Or, if she decides to go with a fishy name, will she choose something meek and tiny, like “Guppy”, as opposed to a much more masculine, firmer sounding “Trout” , “Bass”, or even “Grouper”? (Wow, there’s all sorts of name possibilities latent in the fish world. “Cod”, “Flipper”, “Flounder”, “Tetra”, “Trigger”…I could go on for days!)

Or  take Gwen Stefani’s son Zuma…I don’t think she really believes her son will grow up to be some sort of king of the jungle, just as if she bears a sister and decides to call her “Zima”, she wouldn’t be proclaiming her love of a really lame early 90’s malt liquor beverage. It would probably be because the names sound good together. Little Zuma and Zima. What a darling pair! Really, it’s a shame they aren’t twins!

I mean, why don’t we try names like “Greed”? That would be a fine name for a boy. It sounds almost kind of regal, well-bred. We already have people naming their kids “Green”, or “Greenlee” like on All MyChildren.  We could maybe cange the lettering a little. Maybe “Gried”. See! That would be a swell name for a baby brother to Brooke Sheild’s lil’ girl Greir!

Think about it? Was Evel Kenievel sociopathically nefarious? No! Although he may have shown questionable judgement at times, it made a really cool name for a dude who flys his motorcycle over parked cars! And what a flair for marketing he must have had! He must have known that was a great name for an action figure!

Here is a list of more pessamistically or sinfully minded, but could be really hella cool, names I have come up with.

“Malice”, or “Malyce” (Great for families with siblings named “Maddox”, “Madeline”, “Miranda”, “Mathilda”!)

Avarice,  Avareese,  or Av’arice (Could be a delightful baby brother to sister named Ava!)

Deespaire, or D’Spare (Good one for an up-and-coming DJ)

Doom (Think “Doom McKay!”Awesome.)

Apathie (Has a nice French feel, don’tcha think?)

Arrogaunce (He could have been plucked strait from the Shire it sounds so Lord Of The Rings!)

Blame (Great soap name, along the lines of “Blade”, “Flame”) (Ok, I have never heard  of anyone named “Flame”, but hey, that’s kinda cool too)

Mizzerrie (Again, it’s got that French feel, and it wouldn’t surprise me some middle school goth hasn’t beat me to the punch on this one!)

Bitter. (It’s nice and and punk rock, you know. Like, “Bitter Johansson”. “Bitter Blakefield”. “Bitter O’Brien”. “Bitter Jones”. “Bitter Nyugen”. The possibilities are endless)

Madness  (“Madness Mulligan”. Perfect!) Or, simply “Mad”. We already use “Maddie”, so it’s really not a stretch.

Pretentious (“Pretentious Peterson”! Precious!)

Scorne

Skitzo (“Skitzo McGee”! See! Also, good creepy clown name)

Siko  (Long or Short “I”, they both work)

Tarde

Jerk (Good Old “Jerk McJames”! Or “Jerk Jagger”. Or, “Jerk J. Smith”. Very versatile, this one.)

Pryde

Lustie

Really, there are lots of single-syllable words that would make very trendy new names. Words such as “Fury”, “Rage”, “Slay”, “Murk”, “Glut”, “Crave”, “Boor”, “Spaz”, “Scum”, “Sludge”, “Stinge”, “Hanker”, “Ego”, “Death”, “Desire”, “Shallow”, “Raw”, “Rough”,”Trash” and “Fungus”…shouldn’t be just monikers limited to punk rockers, comic books and soap operas, but names for a new, fresh and edgy wave of alterna-babes and social misfits defining and leading a new generation.

Other poly-syllabic words can get a breezy and refreshing twist with plays on spelling and pronunciation. A little tweeking of vocal inflection…and you’ve got a totally cute new baby name! Hey, it worked for Nick Cage’s “Asswipe/Assswipe'” famous character on SNL. That was so freaking funny!

Try taking “Obstinate”. Sounds a little harsh and brutal in its original form. But jazz it up as “Aubstienaat”- it becomes very chic in a Eurotrash/Krautrock kinda way.

“Odious” doesn’t have to mean “stinky”.  He could be part of a new wave of great Greek philosophers!

“Skanty” “Antagony” “Toxic”, “Envy” all become super-cute when you add an “ie”, i.e. “Skantie”, “Toxie”, “Antagonie”, “Envy”! (Again, so francais!)

“Meager” = “Meeger”. “Vulgar” =”Vulgaar” (so Vogue!)

“Insolentia” and “Inimicalle”. Could you dream up names more stylish and wonderfully snobby for your next multiple birth? I think not.

I know you think my thinking is pretty far fetched, but really, we’ve been dabbling in this arena for a long while now, with names like “Vanity”,”Bum”, “Desiree”, “Slut”…oh wait, I guess “slut” isn’t actually a “name”, it’s just the name I use to refer to all the bitches in my life behind their backs.

Anyways, just wanted to throw this out there, something for you to think about!

Kisses and Hisses! XHXHXHXH Mwah!

LD 😀

PS. I know, I was all inconsistent, inaccurate and “wonky” with the haphazard use of parentheses in my diatribe. I must admit, I subscribe to a much more “emotional” use of punctuation, using certain symbols when it “feels” right, versus “intelligent” and “grammatically correct”. Hey, don’t judge me, I’m sure you got the jist of what I was saying.

My New Favorite Song

Falling Down – Scarlett Johansson

Damn you, Scarlett Johansson. I’m trying to hate you here, with all of your pouty-lipped seductive perfection. That was supposed to be me who loved in the elevator with Benecio  Del Toro.  Seriously! He was looking for me, but there you were, already in the elevator shaft , obviously lookin’ for some shaft, then Benecio walks in and you just jumped on that poor man like a spider takes down the fly, and you not only sucked out his life blood, but you  defiled him, in an act of lewdness so vile it was a mockery of that horrible Aerosmith song. You heathen hussy! He was supposed to be MINE! The latino men all love ME. ME. Not you! You already have every white man in America hot for you, at least leave the latin love for me. Thank God! for Benecio, don’t worry my love, there will be other days, other elevators, more  opportunites.  You will not cock-block me next time, O Ye Scarlett Wench!

Oh but yeah,  your new song is really kick-ass.  Seriously, I really, really love it.  I have to hand it to you, I wasn’t expecting anything nearly this cool coming from the likes of you. I had pegged you as more of a Jay-Z or P-Diddy protege. Maybe called “Scar J”, or something like that. I could see you all hooched out with scarlet sequined booty pants and a matching red vinyl bra to show off your “gurls” { editors note: Scarlett refers to her boobs as “her girls”}, and maybe a funky fresh grill with “Scar J” in rubies. From a distance, all that red on your teeth could look like bleeding, like maybe you’d been punched by your baby’s daddy or had a bad case of the meth mouth.

Ok, no, that’s not true. Sadly, I know Scarlett is not that kind of girl. I have to resign my self to admit not only is she breathtakingly gorgeous, she is immensly talented. There! You happy! I said it. I am waving my white flag. I surrender to the splendor of Scarlett.  She got me on that SNL show she hosted.  I was hooked, I became a believer, not a hater.

 Seriously, the song is great and I am really looking forward to hearing the rest of the record. From what I’ve read, NME has given it stellar reviews, calling it “brilliant” and “sure to top some best of 2008 lists”. And I always stand by my NME as an excellent gauge of musical authority…unless they’re talking about Coldplay. {Sorry! I just could never get into them. Possibly…due to a subliminal Gwyneth Paltrow resentment connection. Oh, and that thing about Chris Martin sounding like a congested muppet, or  like Dave Matthews  but having an asthma attack. BTW… WHY did they name their kid “APPLE?” Thankfully it wasn’t a multiple birth, or we would’ve had sisters “Pear” , “Plum” and “Apricot”.  (Actually, I think she already has a friend named Plum, as in Plum Sykes, author of Bergdorf Blondes and occasional contributor to Vogue. How I know this, I have no idea, especially since I have no intrerest in Gwynneth or her boring perfect life. Really.) I can’t even begin to fathom the fruity name they would come up with for a boy.  What fruit would be suitable to name a boy after? There really aren’t very many “manly” fruity names. I guess if you name a man after a fruit, it would be like calling him a fruit, and that would be a bit offensive to the gay community. Well, I suppose if there were a boy, she could just name him Tomato, and shorten it to to Tom. That’s right, tomato is indeed a fruit, and quite a masculine one at that. I love a good, rich, hearty, beefy tomato. Even more so when it sits atop a rich, hearty, manly patty of beef.  Sigh. Yum.

Oh, sorry…I got lost in my dreams of hamburger.  Wake up!

You know,  it really would have been hilarious if Gwynnie would have had a whole litter of pups, she could nickname the gang “Her Little Fruit Bowl!”} (and she would have to say it just like Butters on South Park)

Whoa Nelly! . Now that’s what I  call a tangent!

Kudos to Scarlett, anybody who can take Tom Waits music and work it into something that doesn’t make me want a lobotomy when I hear it…has magical abilities, and I am in awe.

I Told You I Looked Scary When I Wake Up In The Morning!

This here was the morning I wokeup and thought…”DAMN! I guess I really should stop drinkin‘”

Has anyone here seen my concealer? I can’t seem to find it, I think I need a touch up. And where’s my visine? Do any of you guys have a recommendation for a really good tooth whitener? I mean one that REALLY works? These Crest Strips just aren’t doin’ the trick.

Mom!

You know, it figures it would have started right at the exact moment I just happened to hit puberty. The universe has its way of jacking with me like that. It gets a real big kick out of fucking with me, likes to tell me I’m an “easy target”. Yeah, I guess I always have been kinda gullible like that.

What the fuck am I talking about, you ask? And what is this nefarious “it” I’m pissing on about,and what does it have to do with that magical, yet subtly perturbing rite of passage that occurs when a girl takes her first wobbly steps down the golden path of her burgeoning womanhood? And, I don’t mean a bat mitzvah-that’s crazy, I’m not even Jewish. You know what I’m talking about.

That “it” is HER. HER!! Yeah, that her, as in the very famous lady in the picture you’re staring right at, who just happens to bear a name that is just too ridiculously similar to mine? You know who I’m talking about. That Miss Queen Of Media herself (no wait, that’s Perez!)…I mean, you know, Queen Of Pop, Queen of the World, Queen Of Sheba, Queen Of Shame, Queen Fucking Bee..whatever. Fucking queen of everything, MADONNA.

Do you have ANY idea what this woman has done to my life? Beginning at about age 13, she latched on to my psyche like a bloodsucking lamprey and has been gnawing her way through the corpulent bowels of my ego ever since. I mean, you remember when Madonna first exploded on the scene, and began herTerminator- esque quest for her Holy Grail of Complete and Total World Domination? Yeah, it was crazy, right? She was every where, you couldn’t escape her- radio, MTV, (or, Friday Night Videos for lame-o’s like me whose parents refused to get cable), the TV, magazines, album covers, posters, cds and cassettes flying all over the place…bad movies…Madonna t-shirts, bandannas, pins, notebooks,mugs, hats, underwear, outerwear, decorative tea cozys,vibrators…you name it, her face, name, ass, something-was on it. (Ok, I’m making up the vibrator part…but you know, now that I think of it…I wonder why there are no Madonna vibrators, dildos, scented massage oils…you think there would be, it’s a natural market…oh, wait,I’m getting a message here… what’s that? An anal plug? Really???? Ok, so, what you’re telling me is there was a limited edition anal plug Madonna was endorsing somewhere around 1987? Huh, interesting. I was not aware of that. Now, that little nugget should come in handy next trivia night!)

The point is that the 80’s were complete Madonna Mania for everyone, everywhere. Now, just stop for a second and put yourself in the shoes of someone whose name is almost just fucking like hers. It was hell, that’s what it was, pure and utter hell. The moment Borderline became a hit and the world fell under that damn strumpet’s spell, was the moment I ceased to be LeDonna…and morphed into LeDonna, The Ultimate Madonna Wannabe.

I didn’t even WANT to be like Madonna, really…ok, you got me. I suppose there was a certain moment when I would look upon her ever-increasing status as an entertainment, fashion and sex icon with perhaps a faint whisper of envy. And not that I particularly ever wanted to be any such thing myself…you know, beautiful, famous, wealthy, desired by the masses…oh, good heavens, no! Not me. No no no no no no.

Around the Sean Penn had dumped Madonna and she started showing up to awards shows with Micheal Jackson, I threw up my hands in defeat. Obviously, she was a creative force to be reckoned with, and much like that blasted ingrown toenail I’d been battling with since my freshman year that refused to heal-she certainly wasn’t about to give up and just go away, and in fact, was growing larger and more noticeable each and every day. I had to accept that Madonna had become a permanent cross-stitch in the fabric of my life.

It probably wouldn’t have bothered me so much that she had started this fashion phenomenon and all the hip girls were dressing like her and looking cute if I hadn’t been so damn fat. Those ripped tees,mesh tanks and black rubber bracelets that looked so cute on all the skinny girls-if you put that same outfit on me, I looked like something fished up out of the Hudson River. Now I’ll just throw on a dead body and maybe one of those plastic 6-pack holders…alright! Let’s go! I’m into the groove!

Everytime my name was mentioned, I would hear someone-somewhere-“Madonna”? As if, where?  Here?! No, dipshit. Madonna is no where in the vicinity, today’s not your lucky day, you didn’t win the lottery or anything. It’s just me. LE-D0N-NA.

When I’m introduced to someone, 9 times out of ten, they will look at me quizically and say,“Madonna?!”, like I’m fucking with them somehow, playing some silly name game. “You’re not Madonna!” is one I get a lot. “I’m NOT?” I’d shoot back in astonishment. “Good God, you’re absolutely right. What was I thinking? There I go again, just assuming the identity of some random celebrity as my own…damn shrink was supposed to adjust my medication. I’m so sorry, this won’t happen again”.

Then I would be forced to clarify. “No, It’s LeDonna, kinda like Madonna, but with an ‘L’ instead of ‘M’…and ‘e’ instead of ‘a’, but it still sounds the same! Oh, and I get a big D, not a little one like hers”.

“So it’s like two names?” gggggggggrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

I always dreaded the start of each new school year, because it was inevitable at least half the teachers would totally bungle my name, they could never tell if it was “Lee” or “Donna” or “Lee-Donna”,none of which were correct.

“So is your first name ‘Lee’, or is it ‘Donna’, and your middle name’s Lee?”

Yeah, Miss Lady with The Master’s Degree. My first name is Donna, middle name is Le, and my last name is Lee. That makes perfect sense. Donna Le Lee. Donna Le Lee, that’s me! You know, my mother was crazy, and yes, a touch redneck,but she wasn’t so out of her freaking mental galaxy that she would dream up a name as stoopid as “Donna Le Lee”. If she had, I surely would not be standing before right now, because I would have already committed suicide the moment I realized I was actually supposed to spend the rest of my days with a name that sounds like I’m a back-up dancer for Don Ho.

And please, let’s not even get started on my middle name.

“Alright, what’s your middle initial?”

“K.”

“What does that stand for?”

“Kay.”

“No, what does it stand for?”

“Kay.”

“No, I mean, what does the “K” stand for? ”

“Kay!”

“Honey, are you speaking spanish, is that it, are you trying to say ‘what’? I didn’t mean “que” as in “que-so”,I meant, what does the letter ‘K’ stand for in your name?”

“IT STANDS FOR KAY. K-A-Y, MOTHERFUCKING KAY! AS IN MARY ‘KAY’, RHYMES WITH GAY, KAY!!!! Do you understand me now?”

“Oh, yes, I see, Kay! LeDonna Kay Lee. My, isn’t that just the prettiest name!”

You four-eyed fat fuck of a liar. You don’t have to patronize. I know my name sucks.

Actually, I have made peace and grown to like my name. I think it sounds kinda cool, kinda like a movie star. LeDonna Lee. Which is awesome, because one day, I will be. I haven’t given up dreams of entertainment glory. As long as there are webcams and pornos, I still have hope.

And while we’re on the subject…

This little guy here is a purple ribbon, which is often worn by many women who are survivors of domestic abuse and violence and is meant to symbolize courage, strength, hope, faith, and new beginnings.

But I just have one question, guys…

Purple???

Isn’t purple the international symbol of the bruise? I know we’re supposed to be recognizing domestic violence, but that’s kinda twisted. Aren’t we supposed to be celebrating the recovery of the victim, and not of the victim’s body? (Get what I’m saying here) Instead of purple ribbons that remind us of bruises, shouldn’t we perhaps have skin-colored ribbons to signify happy, healthy flesh that hasn’t been smacked, pinched, or poked with a fireplace poker. I spend a lot of time at Joanne’s and I know there have been great strides made in the field of ribbon design- I’m sure we can find a flesh-tone-friendly ribbon suitable for all skintones. (very pc, mai oui?)

I mean, when I think of the color purple, I think think of bruises. Or maybe Prince. Or that dastardly and frankly disturbing child molesting dinosaur Barney. Oh, and sometime times, Whoopi Goldberg, remember, she was in that movie The Color Purple? You know, the one that was all about slaves, and violence against black people and women and kids and stuff?

Wait a minute- I’m sensing some sort of a connection here. Is that where the domestic violence people got the idea for the purple ribbon, from the Whoopi Goldberg movie? And wasn’t Oprah in that, too? That must be it, I get it now. But still, they could have thought about it a little bit more and came up with a color that was just a little more happy. Maybe they could choose a color from another one one Whoopi’s movies, like, Sister Act, Jumping Jack Flash, or Ghost. Well, maybe not Ghost. We’re gonna leave that one out of the mix for right now, we’ll have to go back to it later when searching for inspiration for the Patrick Swayze Pancreatic Cancer commemorative tribute ribbon. Guys, I say salmon’s a good choice for that one, dontcha think? It’s kinda the same color as a pancreas, right?