YAY ALEX!!!!

Yo GO GUUURL!

I know who really loves me. My boo Alex is more than happy to accompany her fatuous maternal unit to the Wild Waves sooper kewl happy times funtastic waterpark. Yay Alex, you just made my day. Now I can put off all thoughts of suicide until at least after the May 31 Big Splash event, it’s gonna be so much fun, with all the innertubes and my favorite Christian recording artists are performing! Yay! I’m gonna go buy my sunscreen and fake tan-in-a-bottle right now!

But before I go, I just want to give a quick shout out and props to my kick-ass baby girl, who just kicked to the curb her dungnugget of a boyfriend and showing him the importance of treating a young lady with the utmost kindness,love and respect, and never to take her wonderfulness for granted. Hopefully he will recognize now that she is gone that he has lost out on a beautiful, charming, dynamic and funnier than hell sugar cookie of a girl. That’s what you get hosehead! Pay attention next time, if you get to be so lucky.

Yay Alex!!! I am so proud of you! You rock my world. 🙂 Keep up the good work, sweets, and I’ll see ya at the Hooks Lagoon activity pool!

Will YOU Please Go To Wild Waves With Me? *please*

I know it’s not quite warm enough yet, but it will be soon. And I really, really, really want to go to Wild Waves. I saw a commercial today for this new casino with this kick-ass waterpark, and it just got me all excited for summertime again. And since I really shouldn’t be going to casinos-not because of the gambling, but because it’s on an indian reservation, and no doubt it’d spark a drinking binge for me-the next best thing is our sooper-cool Six Flags ThemePark Enchanted Village/Wild Waves!!!

(Actually, the Enchanted Village part is really gimpy. It’s more like those cheesy portable rodeo carnivals with the ancient rickety rides you’re sure are going to collapse and fall apart on you, crushing you to death in a smoking heap of rust of cracked plastic) But the Wild Waves part really is hella fun and sooper kewl. I’m designing my own waterslide that I hope the Six Flags people will buy from me, I think it would be a runaway smash sensation with both kids and parents and even old folks alike. It would be called the LeDonna Lee Lightening Locomotive (TM) Liquid Luge (and FunTime Silicone Lubricant wading Pool). It would look something like this:

Now I know what you’re thinking, it LOOKS like it would just be any other regular old waterslide, but oh no, this one is different. Rather than cascading down the twisted mountain of loops, curves and swerves on water, (so yesterday!) you and your friends will be gliding along a lightweight film of AstroLube, splashing down into an luxuriously exhilarating lagoon of cherry-flavored cellulose carbohydrate personal lubricant! (Banana flavor is available every Wednesday and the third Friday night of the month) Since it’s 99.3% water, it’s easily hosed off by our onsite Personal Powerwash SuperShower! And if you’re liking what you’re feeling, you can just continue the fun down at the LD Lover’s Lounge where you can frolic in the Hasbro(TM) Twister Tank, pin’ em down down at the MMA Brazilian Jujitsu Oil Wrestling Arena,or just turn down the lights and up the love in the LD Orgymatic Freelovin’ Nub Hut (maximum capacity 458 ) brought to you by Budweiser and our friends at Durex. Oh, and mark your calendars-next summer I hope to add on the bodacious LeDonnarama Disko Bootie Barn and Anal LuvHut. See you all there!

I’m really sad, because my boyfriend refuses to go to Wild Waves with me. He says swimming in public pools is unsanitary, and he picked up the ringworm one time when he went to a waterpark as a kid. Personally, I think he just doesn’t want to admit he probably got it from himself. {I know what a secret poop-picker upper he was when he was a kid. Ooops, I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone that.} Sorry, hun. Besides, I’m not afraid of anybody’s funky old ringworm! I have my own chiggers and body lice, that’ll scare any old puss-ass ringworm away! Shoo!

I think this deep-seeded desire for aquatastic beachtime summer fun stems from a deficit from my childhood. As a young adolescent, I was overweight and abhorrently pale, and would rather endure the flames of a thousand fires than expose the world to my obscene fleshiness in a bathing suit or shorts.As a result I rarely spent much time in the sun (which lead to the vicious circle of continuous pastiness and obesity, as one generally cannot get a tan if their skin is never exposed to the sun, and one cannot shed pounds if their lard ass refuses to move). There was one time that I gathered up enough nerve to go to Waterworld with a few of my other calorically-challenged friends. Here we are posing for the camera in an effort to appear happy, footloose and fancy-free:

Of course, I’m the one one the right, the redhead. (I always made sure I was the runt of the litter, subversively choosing my friends that made me look thinner. I know, I know, it’s a self-esteem issue)

Also, I remember I was always trying to get my parents to take me out to a waterpark, or even to a neighborhood swimming pool. But they never really had the time, they were always busy working at the store. Finally, Mama caved in and got me this thing here to shut me up:

I’m not sure what that was, I think she emptied out one of her old plastic shoe bins. It was fun and all, but somehow, it just didn’t quite do the trick. My heart still yearned for just a little something more.

So please, would you please, accompany me to Wild Waves this summer! We can get a Season Pass, or maybe cash in some Pepsi Cans and get $5 off an EarlyBird admission. It’ll be fun. We’ll get matching sunburns, drink $6 fountain pops, and maybe even come out of it with an ear infection!! Yay!!! Thank you so much, you’re the best! I can’t wait! Woo Hoo! Yay!!!!! I’m goin’ to Wild Waves! I’m goin’to Wild Waves! (Insert “Happy Dance” here)

Great New Recipe Idea!

While we’re on the subject of food, and since I’m a bonafide chef myself (LOL! Ok, I can’t make that claim with a straight face, not even sarcastically)…well, I mean, since I work close to chefs, and do manage to absorb some of their outstanding food knowledge via osmosis {and also by rubbing some of the dishes into my skin, much like a salve. Sssshh, don’t tell, they may think it’s weird and revoke my Food Handler’s Permit) I figure I may as well add a cooking segment to my regular line-up of blog topics, so I can share my vast and profound love of all things edible with you all. After, no better way to unite friends and family than via the stomach, right? {And especially stomach lining…cause after all, everybody loves menudo! No silly, not the all-mexican boy band! Tripe, dorkus! Tripe!}

So today, I’m going to start by sharing with you a long-forgotten favorite of mine, but I’m going to show you how to prepare it with a chic new twist that’s really gonna knock the socks off your friends and family the next time you entertain. This will the first installment in my Cooking With Canned Meats series, as most of you know my affection for processed and potted meat products, not only for their superior texture and complex flavor profile, but also because they are non-perishable and we should all have a pantry full of these deliciously salty lifesavers on hand to get us by in case of a terrorist attack or if the big one hits. You think it can’t happen? You just wait and see what happens once that Barack Obama gets elected into the oval office! You’ll wish you’d stocked up on all that Spam when it was on sale during Spring Dollar Days at Albertson’s! 10 cans for $One Dollar!$ Only a damn fool would pass up a deal like that. Anyways, I’d advise you to print these handy recipes out and paste them onto convenient 3X5 index cards and keep them in a safe spot in your kitchen, because come election day, trust me, you’re gonna need them.

Ok, I’d like to introduce to you a favorite, but oft-forgotten member of the canned meat family. Some of you may not be familiar, or may have in the past even been a little frightened of this little fella, but I want to take this opportunity to ease those fears and encourage you to have an open mind. We’re about to embark on a culinary adventure that’s sure to surprise your tastebuds and leave you scratching your head, wondering why you were such a scared little sissy pants to begin with. So with no further adue, I’d like to bring out the delectible and delightful Ye Olde Oak Brand Lunch Tongue.

Now, Ye Olde Oak is my personal choice because of it’s long standing history of quality, but some of you may have a hard time finding it in stores, as it is a UK import. So, if Ye Olde Oak cannot be found, you can always substitute Tom Piper tongues in a pinch.

Now, do be aware that Tom Piper is not 100% pure beef tongue, like Ye Olde Oak, so you’re going to detect some lamb in there, and maybe some elk, antelope, llama, yak, and I think I’ve even detected a hint of dingo once or twice. The nice thing though, is although you would expect a gamier taste, it is surprisingly mild, with possesses a richness and complexity in character that straight beef tongue just really doesn’t have. So choose which ever one is most pleasing to you.

Alright, now that our secret ingredient has been unveiled, it’s onto the recipe of the day. We are going to be making a luscious Lunch Tongue and Fois Gras Terrine served with a refreshing Pomegranate Chardonnay Jelly. It’s an elegant and refined take on a popular french favorite that your family is sure to love, and bonus! it takes great smeared on a triscuit.

LUNCH TONGUE AND FOIS GRAS TERRINE

12 cans lunch tongue, pureed

1/2 (approx. .75lbs) duck or goose liver/fois gras, cleaned and deveined (or leave the veins in, if you want more texture)

3 tsp. juice of pickled pigs feet

1 cup finely diced shallots

1 packet Lipton Onion Soup mix (this shit makes EVERYTHING taste good!)

Enough bacon strips to line loaf pan

Terrine dish or loaf pan, 5-6 cup capacity

Preheat oven to 200°F and line a small roasting pan with a folded kitchen towel or 6 layers of paper towels (this provides insulation so bottom of terrine won’t cook too quickly).

Sprinkle each lobe and any loose pieces of foie gras on both sides with halh of your pack of Lipton Onion Soup Mix. Sprinkle remaining mix into lunch tongue puree, mix well. Line the bottom and sides of terrine dish with bacon strips, be careful not to overlap.(Also, do not snack on any remaining leftover pieces of raw bacon, no matter how tempted you may be. I got really sick doing that one time.) Next,firmly press large lobe of foie gras, smooth side down, into bottom. (Wedge any loose pieces of foie gras into terrine to make lobe fit snugly.) Sprinkle with diced onions. Now, slather the lunch tongue mixture into terrine and firmly press down to create a flat surface and snug fit. Sprinkle with remaining diced onions. Cover surface with plastic wrap, then cover terrine with lid or foil.

Put terrine (with plastic wrap and lid) in roasting pan and fill roasting pan with enough hot water to reach halfway up side of terrine. Bake in middle of oven until an instant-read thermometer inserted diagonally into center of foie gras registers 120°F, 1 to 1 1/2 hours, or 160°F (for USDA standards), about 3 1/2 hours.

Remove terrine from pan. Discard water and remove towel. Return terrine to roasting pan and remove lid. Put wrapped cardboard directly on surface of terrine and set a weight on cardboard (this will force fat to surface; don’t worry if fat overflows). Let stand at room temperature 20 minutes.

Remove weight and cardboard and spoon any fat that has dripped over side of terrine back onto top (fat will seal terrine). Chill, covered, until solid, at least 1 day.

Unmold foie gras by running a hot knife around edge. Invert onto a plate and reinvert, fat side up, onto serving dish. Cut into slices with a heated sharp knife, serve with Pomegranate Chardonnay Jelly (see below)

POMEGRANATE CHARDONNAY JELLY

3 1/2 cups chardonnay (try to use the good stuff for the best flavor, save your Boone’s Farm for the after dinner party)

1/2 cup fresh pomegranate juice

1 (2 ounce) package dry pectin

4 1/2 cups white sugar

1. Combine wine, lemon juice, and pectin in a large saucepot. Bring to a boil, stirring frequently. Add sugar, stirring until dissolved. Return to a rolling boil. Boil hard 1 minute, stirring constantly. Remove from heat. Skim foam off top, if necessary.
2. Ladle hot jelly into hot, sterilized jars, leaving 1/2 inch headspace. Tighten 2 piece lids. Process for 5 minutes in boiling water bath.

***** On-The-Go Ho’s tip: If pinched for time, a shortcut solution of a half jug of wine to 1 pack cherry jello works just as well.Just tell em it’s pomegranate, they’ll never know the difference!*****

Bon Appetit!

This is Alex

Hey everybody, I would like to introduce you all to the light of my life, my beautiful daughter Alexandra. She’s the one on the right. Which I guess is kinda obvious, as there is only one female in this photograph, and although her friend here is pretty, I don’t think pretty enough to confuse with a girl. But you never know these days with kids and all the gender-bender cornfusion so prevalent in today’s heathenistic paganized devil-worshipping youth culture. Damn trannies are everywhere, you don’t know who is what, and what’s an optical illusion. Sometimes I can’t tell if I’m looking at a man, woman, something somewhere in between, if I’m suffering an acid flashback or if I just got something smudged on my glasses. Frankly, it’s frustrating.

I don’t even know who this kid is in this picture. But I’ll tell you what, he needs to get is damn arm up from around my baby, he’s a little to close for my comfort there and I don’t want to have to go grab my shotgun. Do you see his hand there on her knee? I swear these damn kids only have one thing on their minds, and that’s filth.

Would you believe my sweet little petunia there is 18 years old? I know I certainly can’t. It’s really hard for me to grasp that my tiny little sack of taters has blossomed up into a full-grown spud. It seems like only yesterday I was bottlefeeding her favorite blend of rice cereal and spaghettios, reading to her my favorite excerpts from Macbeth, and telling her fun fairy tales like the one about the Easter Bunny living outside the back of Walgreens in a cardboard box.( He needed to live close to where all the candy was, and Walgreens cut him a much better deal than that evil over-priced Eckerd Drugs. Alex and I were having an important conversation about entrepreneurship, and it was really helpful for me to paint a picture of how to launch a successful start-up using the legendary Easter Bunny Buisness Model Method.) Alex and I were just like the Gilmore Girls-if Lorelai and Rory were escapees from the psychaitric unit of some other planetary dimension.

That poor child deserves a Purple Heart for surviving 18 years growing up with me as a mother and living to tell about it.

You will be hearing many more Alex stories as this blog continues on. Some will be happy, some will be sad, some will be surprising,but you can guarantee that with Alejandra as the subject, all will be entertaining. (And don’t freak out on me, child, they will only be mildly embarrassing. 🙂

I love my woobie. *smiles*

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.

Lord, Why Am I Such A Damn Slob?

Hey, ya’ll like the latest shot I added to my portfolio? I don’t know, I’m just not as pasty and bloated in this one, I don’t know if I’m comfortable with it. I asked the makeup girl to go a little lighter with the bronzer, but she just kept puffing my face shouting, “Miami! Miami! Miami!” I guess she’s trying to get me ready for all those bikini shoots I have scheduled down in South Beach. Which reminds me, I hope those custom snakeskin thongs I ordered are ready, I sure have been looking forward to them. And man, I think I need to grab some more root touch up while I’m on my frozen burrito/gatorade run to Rite Aid. Didn’t realize I was showing so much gray!

All my life, I have had a bit of a problem in the slob department.  The problem seems to stem from the fact that I am a slob. I have tried many times over the course of my life to rectify and cure myself of this sloppiness, but every time I try to clean up and get myself organized, I just get distracted, bored, or just plain fall asleep.

I can tell it’s starting to grate on my boyfriend’s nerves, he shows it in all these really funny passive aggressive ways, like calling me names under his breath while taking the teetering tower of Diet Coke cans I piled so delicately and skillfully out to recycling (Doode! It’s Modern Art!), cursing as he trips over the 12 pairs of heels strewn about the living room floor (Honey, they’re part of my new workout routine called Hopscotch Hurdles. You’re supposed to jump over them! Now, don’t be a spoilsport, just do it, hop! it’s good for your heart) and tossing the 118 months of back issues of CatFancy I had loving accumulated even though I don’t own a cat out the window in a fit of fury (Hey! I WAS SAVING THOSE FOR A REASON!!!!!). I don’t get what his problem is. It’s not like a months accumulation of Qtips encrusted in earwax is a health concern or anything. Sheesh, lighten up. I try to make the trash can, sometimes, I just miss and forget about them. You’re not perfect either,you know.

I’ve been this way all my life, although I’m not sure why. Maybe it does stem from Mama, she was a bit of a packrat. She used to keep EVERYTHING, and I mean EVERYTHING. Instead of buying me toys, she used to give me bags of her old prescription pill bottles and empty Afrin Nose Sprays to play with. Which was kinda fun, all my dollies were so healthy and always had the cleanest nasal passages! I remember one time when I was in high school, my friend Jarrod was over and he started going through this drawer of random shit in our den, and he pulls out this bottle filled with what appeared to be maybe rocks of some form or another, or perhaps some miscellaneous car parts leftover from a tune up, and asks me what exactly they were. Upon closer inspection, I realized that those had been Mama’s leftover teeth from when she had them pulled and gotten her dentures.

Why she was saving them, I could only imagine. Maybe she thought they were heirlooms, and wanted to pass them down to me as part of her legacy. I imagine that’s probably the only thing she’d leave me in her will.

If you were to peer into my room as a little girl, and didn’t know who lived in it, you would most likely have concluded that this was a crawling hole for a schizophrenic rat from the land of H.R. Puffinstuff, or wondered if Sanford and Sons had expanded their business by opening a shop out on Sesame Street. (Did you guys miss that episode?) The floor just always seemed like a logical place to store things. It’s not like I used the floor to actually walk around on or anything, so I needed all my key items piled up close to me where I could reach them without breaking a sweat.

Every year at school, I would start out so resolute, with all my nice new folders and dividers, determined to make this year the best year ever! and transform myself into this UBER-organized autotron, consistently and effortlessly filing every scrap of schoolwork neatly into its rightfully designated place. “I will be organized this year!” I would chant to myself. “I will be successful! I’m going to pay attention and make good grades and be the best little Aldine Senior High School Student, EVER!”

And then, I’d get a crush on some stupid boy who had no idea I existed and would have screamed in terror if he had have known I existed, and daydream about having sex with him all day long, even though I had never had sex or even been kissed, but -I had read a lot about it in Cosmopolitan and those Penthouse Forums my dad used to sell at his grocery store, and so I had a pretty good idea what it was all about. {editor’s note-evil grin right here}Needless to say, although my mind was focused on biology, it wasn’t exactly the type that would get me a passing grade, and I became easily frustrated, and not just sexually….I just started cramming papers wherever, whenever I bothered to even to the work, and by the middle of the semester my locker looked like I must have been studying up hard for Bag Lady 101 or maybe Advanced Theorums In Hoboitry. In fact, my senior year, I was voted Most Likely To Reside Out The Cardboard Recycling by a panel of my teachers and counselors. I love awards, so I was pretty stoked to have been recognized.

But you know, it does get a little old struggling with the same old self-defeating habits, and I guess it would be nice to maybe wake up and not think, “Damn girl, you smell like foot”. I have been trying harder to change lately, but it’s one hell of a process. Every day, I pray soooooo hard, “Pleeeeeeaaase God! Make me a Type A personality. Even just for a day. PLEASE!” And everyday, I’m lucky if I come up a Type B-. It’s just really hard when you have a hard time paying attention, and your mind wanders, and you can’t ever finish what you sta

I sure do love to help. :)

I’ve decided to start volunteering recently, and happily, one of the opportunities that has come up is providing support to victims of domestic violence. It’s great, because this is absolutely one of the A #1 causes I am passionate about, so I’m excited to have a chance to get in there and do whatever I can to make a difference in these women’s lives. I’ve found that it can be a bit of a challenge finding a good volunteering gig, the really good jobs seem to already be taken. For instance, I went to Nordstrom and asked if they needed any help with advertising, for I would be happy to model any of their 1000’s of high-quality and fashion forward garments all around the downtown area. Oddly enough, the answer was a No!

Then I headed over to Gordon Biersch and volunteered my superior beer-tasting talents absolutely FREE OF CHARGE! just to be a good citizen and help them out in their QA department. I mean heck, it has to be tough for an outfit like themselves to consistently produce a great-tasting product, and I’m sure it would be helpful to have some folk on hand to serve as sort of a “frontline of defense” and save some poor elistist schmo from overpaying for a brew that might possibly even be just a skosh not up to snuff?

I was floored when I was politely shown the door and asked to never return. I even inquired about tasting opportunities with any of the new brews that were still in the development stage. I’d be happy to give those guys my opinion on how they taste! Plus, I’m sure I’d have some helpful feedback for them, after all, I have spent a lot of years swilling a LOT (and I do mean ALOT) of beers, and trust me, I know good beer when I taste it.

Again, the answer was NO! What is the deal with these people? Maybe I have something stuck in my teeth. And what was up with the arm-twisting thing the security guy was doing as he was escorting me out the door?? Dude just about ripped my arm off my shoulder. Man, what a jackass, that really hurt.

Oh, I guess it’s for my own good anyways. I don’t need to start drinking again. It was kinda early, anyways, I think it was like 8:00 in the morning. Now if it were 10? Maybe a different story. Ok, ok, I gotta focus now.

So yeah, the plan is for myself to provide encouragement and solutions by phone to callers who are seeking help to extract themselves from some sort of potentially dangerous situation. So I guess I’ll start out by being a good listener, assess the situation, then give them resource information and any helpful tips or perhaps some encouragement or advice. Which is great, because that is exactly what I am best at. 🙂

You know, one of the most valuable lessons I have learned in my journeys down this wide and rambling road we call life, is that every cloud really DOES have a silver lining. It’s true. Attitude is everything, and when it comes to life, it’s up to you to decide whether you’re going to put a positive or a negative spin on any given situation. And domestic violence is no exception.

I know there are a lot of “standardized ” wisdoms in the world of counseling victims of domestic violence, things such as “Yeah, if he hit you with a hammer,you should get that checked out”, and “Um, yes, sweetie, I think the part where your “partner” shot your mother and set the dog on fire, may indeed be a red flag”. Those sorts of things are kind of no-brainers, and honestly, I think I’m gonna feel a little weird stating the obvious to some of these women. In fact, most of them I’m sure have heard the same meaningless line of tripe crisis lines always tell callers anyway…they got the standard “run for your life” shpeel the last time Earl beat the living tarfeathers off their behinds. I’m thinking these women would really benefit if I could possibly bring something different to the table. So, I’ve been working on some fresh new twists on looking at the subject of domestic violence, and I think they’re really mighty encouraging. Take a look and let me what you think:

1) Yes, having been punched, choked, and grabbed from behind I’m sure was frightening and is horrible! But hey, it’s not gonna seem so weird or scary the next time someone tries to mug you!

2)Try to make dodging punches and bullets a bit more like a game. Try to imagine that you’re just acting out a real life game of Grand Theft Auto, or something else along those lines.

3)Try to make the most out of each trip to the courthouse when you’re filing your Order Of Protection paperwork. They’re a lot of really hot Family Law Attorneys down there, and if you’re on your game, you might just land yourself a sugardaddy. Stay away from the cops though. They’ve got the anger management issues, too.

4) Hey, you get priority placement for social services!

5) You know, you get great free samples of shampoo and stuff at those domestic violence shelters. Be smart and scoop up all the love you can!

6) If he’s stalking you, try looking at it as “Hide N’ Go Seek”. You know, think “Stratego”, make it a challenge! Oooh…where’s he gonna be next? Is he gonna be – here?? Noooo, ok…maybe he’s HERE hiding out in the bushes. Or will he find me HERE and be waiting for me behind the door with a butcher knife? See! Gives it a slightly more frothy, fun, frivolous feel, like “Where’s Waldo?”

7) You know girl, “bruise” is the new “black”. You didn’t hear about that? Guuuurrl, you better go on and work it NOW!

I’m totally stoked. It feels so good to be giving back and helping others. I’m sure if I keep coming up with more of these freshfaced words of hope and encouragement, I’ll be the hotline’s favorite counselor in no time. Maybe I could parlay this into like a full-time gig. Yeah, I think I may have just found my calling. Wait! I just came up with another one, listen to this:

“Don’t be sad about that shirt he just ripped right off you. See, use these shreds of fabric to make dandy fashion hair bows. Or, you can use them as bondage restraints to really put some extra sizzle into your make-up sex!” Good God, at times, my genius…