Posts Tagged ‘personal



25
Apr
08

Nuttier Than A Damn Fruitcake!

That was always one of Mama’s favorite expressions. She used it a lot when referring to crazy people, homosexuals,blacks,christians,me, any of my friends or teachers,neighbors,customers that would come into our store and bounce checks,or Ronald Reagan. Oh, and me.

Once I got past the sort of emotionally abusive tone of the cliche, I found that it is such a humorously befitting metaphor of my rather screwball life. I have decided to use it as the working title for my upcoming memoir- “Nuttier Than A Damn Fruitcake: Real-Life Revelations of America’s Most Beloved  (Although Largely Unknown) Loopy Loon” .

I believe that sharing my  stories of hardship, lunacy and folly will help other lonesome neurotics realize they are not the only ones who struggle with mood swings, addictions, self-destructive behaviors, family woes and failed relationships. They will also find tasty recipes for more than 500 decadent cupcake creations, and a section on how to make the most insanely great latch hook rugs inspired by Andy Warhol.

This is the first step for me on my pathway to riches by way of mentoring others. I should be finished writing my book around the same time I complete my Life Coach certification from that Sally Struthers Correspondence School, so I should be good to go and ready to spread my good news of hope in the face of inadequacy to the masses. I feel so good about myself. Not so good about all the times I’ve used the word “good” in this paragraph. No bueno.

25
Apr
08

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*

23
Apr
08

My F’in’ HOT New Look! (you are gonna be soooo jealous!)

Just got back from the hot new Fancie Farms Mega Mormon Hair Hut And Style Emporium down the street, I decided my current look had grown a bit stale, and I just wasn’t feeling so pretty any more. Since I am all about keepin’ up the hotness at all costs, I decided to turn myself in to the beautah authoritahs down on the Farm, and treat myself to their fabulous Quaker Queen (TM)PolyPro Ultimate Prairie Princess Day Spa Experience and All-You-Can-Eat Root Vegetable Buffet! Lemme know what you guys think:

Sassy, no? I really dig the singular brow, it’s a fresher look and so much easier to maintain than two seperate ones. I’m just way too on-the-go to mess with all that. And I hope I can recreate the pompadour by myself at home…I have my hairgami tool and a tub of Dippity Doo, hopefully that will help. Check out the back:

Sexy, huh? And I love, love love the retro colonial-cuteness of this frontierswoman frock with the sporty shoes! Really edgy, it’s like Pioneer Punk! In the fall, I’m gonna rock the same shape, but in jewel-tone velvets and maybe a leopard-print. Fierce!

And here I am striking a pose with two of my Style Sisters, looking coy and sweet for our new husband, Mr. Clegg DeAaron Jeddies. I can’t stand it, he is such a hottie:

I know, I know, I’m a lucky woman. I wasn’t expecting him, but he was a bonus gift since they were running low on fennel and parsnips at the buffet. I have to share him with about 16 other girls but I don’t mind, I think of it as sorta like a timeshare.

23
Apr
08

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.

23
Apr
08

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

21
Apr
08

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?

21
Apr
08

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…




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