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.

My First Manic Episode!

AWWWWWWWW!! Just look at the cute little baby nobody cares about! COOCHIE COO!!!

Aaaah, such sweet innocence. Those were the days. Those were the days.

Yes, party peoples, please turn your eyes just slightly above and just over to your left so that you can fix them upon our Exhibit A right here. Yeah, right there. Perfect. If we’re all on the same page here…and I think we all are… I just want to make sure, ok? Just want to ensure we’re all checking out the same babe.

Yeah, that babe. She sure is cute, huh? Well, check it out, because that sweet little package of goo-goo-goo-goodness just happens to be me. Yes, me. See? Told you I was a babe from the day I was born. Now you have the picture as proof.

I was so sweet and tender, Martha Stewart would have paid some serious cizzash money to get her hands on me…for soup. You did know that’s what that big ass kettle she’s stirring in the intro for “From Martha’s Kitchen” is for, right? No, there are no damn potatoes in that thing! Those are babies boiling in there!

My biological mother surely would have sold me to her, because if I remember correctly, Mama told me they paid about $500 in green stamps from the old Piggly Wiggly and a lifetime supply of Pall Mall Lights 100s. I’m sure Martha would have given her a much better deal. Martha would at least throw a nice set of her cookware and some sheets to sweeten things up.

You know, I remember that day this picture was taken. I remember I was all grins right there because I could see somebody headed my way. Hooray! Someone might actually pay attention to me today! I hope they want to stay and play. Or perhaps pick me up and hug me or kiss me. Hugs and kisses sure feel good, I know, because I got one from the neighbor boy next door last week. I don’t know why I always hear mama calling that poor boy a pervert, he always seems real sweet to me. But I guess I have to appreciate whatever stimulation I can get, cause mama is usually to busy with her stories to entertain me.

It looks like she’s got something in her hands. Maybe it’s a present or a toy for me! Yay! Maybe it’s a holiday! At least on holidays Mama and daddy stop and talk to me.

Oh, wait, oops..uh…oh, it’s just mama throwing in my crib some more crossword puzzles and her old Reader’s Digests she’s all done with. She usually does that to make sure I have something to keep me occupied while she’s watching her soaps. Mama takes her stories verrrrrrrrrrrrry seriously, and I had to learn the hard what happens to bad girls who interrupt them.

Like the other day, I wet my diaper right in the middle of AS THE WORLD TURNS. I knew it was really bad timing, but I just couldn’t help it. Well, Mama got really mad at me because she missed the part where Dr. Bob Hughes put Sandy into the Oakdale sanitarium after she got burned by the fire. I’m guessing it was so important to her because Mama spent a little bit of time in the sanitarium herself, but that was before I was born. She probably wanted to see if the place still looked the same.

So, to teach me my lesson that I needed to learn to wait until I saw either the Tidy Bowl Man or Mr. Clean before I could pee (oh, and if I saw the ChuckWagon, I was good ,too),
I had to spend some quiet time alone in Mr. Albert’s sock drawer. It really wasn’t so bad, it was the one with all the dress socks, and those are really nice and smooth, {Editors Note: “Mr. Albert” is Mama’s “pet name” for LeDonna’s daddy. P.S. He’s Chinese!

So yeah, I was pretty cute back then, wasn’t I? Yeah well, that didn’t last long. See, since I was adopted, I wasn’t able to breastfeed, so I had to drink formula from out of a can. The problem was, I guess I had some kind of a “milk allergy”,and my parents had one hell of a hard time finding a formula that I could actually digest. Finally, she decided that she was just going to start making her own formula for me at home for scratch. And wouldn’t you know, it turns out pureed twinkies with some non-dairy creamer and just a touch of Ovaltine was just what the doctor ordered. Never had a problem eating since. One small side effect-I did octuple my birthweight within the first year and looked a little bit like Verne Troyer as The Michelin Man, but hey! I was fed.

One of my mother’s favorite things to do was dress me up. She loved it so much, she made sure I was dressed to the nines each and every day of my infancy. My mother had always been a bit of a fashionista , and she had a keen sense of style she had honed during her formative years at one of Caddo County’s most prestigious orphanages, The Ursaline Orphanage in Shreveport. {Editor’s Note: “Orphanages” are a lot like “Boarding Schools”, just with 2 key points of distinction. #1) all the kids are poor and #2) the children’s parents are most likely dead, and even if they aren’t, they’re not coming back for the kids EVER, in contrast to those parents of boarding school students , who will be happily picking up said child at the end of the academic year while on their way to dumping them off at summer camp.}

Mama always made sure I had lots of clothes, and I had all of the finest leisure suits and patent leather shoes that could be found at Weiner’s and Montgomery Wards. Mama was even so ahead of her time, visionary that she was, she had herself a personal shopper. Ms. Weebos at Sears used to call Mama all the time and let her know when fashion favorites such as my Florida Orange Winnie-the-Pooh polypropylene jumpsuit or sassy Captain Kangaroo/Mr. Green Jeans reversible modacrylic 2-piece pantsuit sets were in stock.

Mama even used to take me shopping at the big Neiman Marcus store down at the Galleria, but she stopped because one time I was being bad and I fell out of her arms while we were riding on the escalator. Lucky for me, daddy was able to swoop down and rescue me after I’d only fallen 4 or 5 steps. I wasn’t heard too badly though, and as the story goes, I was still just a laughin’ and a grinnin’, even as daddy was having kind of a hard time prying my pinky finger out from between the plates at the bottom of the steps. It hurt a little, but it wasn’t too bad. Nothing that a good rubdown with Daddy’s homemade Chinese whiskey medicine wouldn’t heal up real nice.

One of my Mama’s favorite stories to tell me is that she used to love to dress me up like some of her favorite TV stars. Sometimes it would be a leather jacket and sunglasses, and I’d get to be Kojak. Other times, it would be a welvet suit with a ruffled jabot…so I guess I was Yul Brenner doing a guest spot on the Partridge Family? I’m pretty sure I had a Barnaby Jones look too, but for the life of me, I can’t remember what it was.

My Top 3 guesses as to what I must have been thinking in that picture?
1) I guess I better savor this one last gasp of happiness, cause from here on out, my life sure is gonna SUCK!
2) The man who is holding me claims to be my father, yet suspiciously looks just like the Grinch. What’s up with that?
3) Ok, guys..who put the lampshade on my head? C’mon now…yeah, that’s funny, but c’mon, it itches, couldja get it off? Oh c’mon now! Gosh, you guys suck.. (pout)