A PERFECT WORLD

In case you haven't been conscious or in your right mind the world is a pretty messed up place and it doesn't seem to be getting any better. We have war, poverty, violence, disease, hunger, billions of gallons of BP oil polluting our water and of course the Desperate Housewives of Atlanta.
Could it really get any worse?
I have found myself retreating to my" happy place" more frequently than I watch the news these days. After many nights lying awake wondering what would be considered a "happy world", I have decided that I had to come up with my own solution to make my own happy world. Luckily for me with the help of my good friend, Frank the Tank, we came up with the solution the other night over a drink….or three…on what would make up the happiest place on earth: LEAH LAND.
My philosophy is simple I tell him;" Build it and they will come". If I create the happy world for myself then others will follow and then hopefully all the other ugly senseless stuff we see in the news would dissipate. It may seem long winded but I have no doubt that you will be asking to come over after reading this-- After all, who wouldn'twant to live in LEAH LAND?
Ahem…
In my perfect world.....or rather….in LEAH LAND….

 All people would understand and appreciate "Leah Humor". Therefore, everyone would genuinely think that I am as funny as I think I am.

You could not be held accountable or punished for something that you did as child that your parents found out about 15 years later.
Best friends, the loves of your life, parents, cute delivery guys and your pets would never go away, get sick, mistreat you or abandon you. All fake friends, imposters, AT&T, Postal Workers, DMV workers, the person who almost killed me on the 805 freeway (aka the worst driver in the world) and creepy stalker guy at the gym WOULD go away.
College guidance counselors would not promise you: "Why sure I will sign you off on taking that class so you can graduate, just come back on Monday" and then have a massive heart attack over the weekend…and not make it.
A girl would never unknowingly have to endure catcalls, while hiking up the entire 200+ stairs at college, in a sundress, with the back of her dress caught up in her backpack
When trying to get out of yet another parking ticket, you wouldn't make the parking police SO mad that they give you a $125 J-walking ticket (+ court handling fee) in addition to the parking ticket.
In public areas you would NEVER pass out/faint, have an insane allergic reaction that ambulance workers have to administer the Sweet Jesus Paddles, walk into glass walls thought to be open entries, trip, fall or accidently flash someone in public on the way down to the ground as innocent bystanders gasped in horror.
You would never have to go to Postal Court to have mail delivery reinstated because your 18 year-old, deaf, arthritic, no hair on his tail, Golden Retriever was dubbed "a menace to society".
You would never walk into a quiet room and say: "Hola!...Geez Debbie Downers… who died??" and someone actually did.
If you got in a car accident and unfortunately yelled at the top of your lungs at the person that hit you "don't you play stupid with me" that person wouldn't be (coincidentally) really deaf.
All texts would be understood, never sent to the wrong person and loved by all recipients thanks to the "Texting under the Influence Clause".
Any misfortunate incidents of "acting out" at the company holiday party would not result in termination reprimand or gossip upon return to work on Monday.
Google maps, MapQuest and GPS systems would all have an "avoid ghetto" option
If something really, really bad was going to happen in your life you would be cued by background music
You would never sit through an entire dinner meeting, smiling ear-to-ear, not knowing (or having anyone tell you) that you had food stuck in your teeth and food on your face.
Everybody would adopt "Leah Time" and arrive to their destination whenever they are done being distracted by shiny things, puppies and rainbows.
Every drink would come with a Koozie and an umbrella.
We'd get paid lots of money for the time we spend preparing work, commuting to work, talking about work, and work functions that are conveniently scheduled on our "free time".
Cupid would have better aim and would take timing into consideration.
Cell phones would NEVER be lost, dropped in a beer at a Padres Game, run over by your car, left in the back of a taxi, or stolen by someone apparently with family in Japan.
Impulsive spending habits and retail therapy would be rewarded when it came time to do your taxes.
All sporting equipment would be hot pink-including but not limited to: rackets, softball gloves, bats, footballs and kick balls.
Strawberry Ice Cream and a copious amount of Whip Cream can solve all problems. Therefore it would be required at EVERY political gathering, POW WOW; debate etc… and would be creatively integrated into the entire experience.
Wardrobe malfunctions would be limited to the Superbowl only. They would never re-surface in the form of your tagged Facebook pictures.
I would dance as well as I think I can dance after a few drinks-- all the time.
DVR "skip forward" option would land in the exact spot you want it to reach each and every time.
No pedestrian or gardener would ever step near my moving car again.
When pulled over for breaking the law instead of having to take 30 minutes out of your day to tap dance, cry, or use your female batting of the eyelashes tactic-- the cop would instead give you a fist bump and tell you he was terribly sorry for inconveniencing you.
Macaroni and Cheese would be served at every meal with the biggest portion going to me.
There would be no lack of amazing outfits paired with incredible shoes as money would be no object.
If you ever have your 15 minutes of fame on a game show you will know when you actually won instead of the camera staring down at you for a disgustingly awkward amount of time as your friends and family watched nationwide.

My dog Scout would find her voice and it would sound like a female version of Scooby Doo's voice (..ruh-row!)

You would never leave your house looking amazing and see no one of importance. In turn, you would never run into anyone of importance (most importantly any ex-significant other) when you have never looked worse than you did at the exact moment they say…"Leah??" but what they really mean is "DANG what the heck happened to YOU?"
Unfortunately the world is not a perfect place. Most likely it will never be the place I hope it to be. With the implementation of LEAH LAND I know that at least you can come with me and we could find refuge, even if for a short time, that would be rid of oil spills, war and reality TV. So don't mind me if I don't seem to want to participate in the chaos from time-to-time. This way you know where to find me—I will be dancing in the little corner of the world I have created with a full belly of macaroni & cheese, my umbrella drink snug in my Koozie and endless good times on the horizon.
xoxo,
lms

The reinvention of Leah Marie Sadowski

I have never wanted to be me. Not for a split second. Not that living the glamorous life of a child from Minnesota isn't something that we all wouldn't have bragging rights to, but I have always had this sense that there was something that was missing. This isn't something I just came up with on the spur of a moment. On the contrary; the reinvention of Leah is an underground, progressive movement that has been around since the beginning.
I suppose the first sign of sickness was when I no longer wanted to be called by my name. Not the change from Leeeeeah to Leaaaaah but the change from Leah to Maria (make sure to roll a sufficient amount of 'R's' when pronouncing Marrrrrria). I was convinced that I was someone's lost Mexican child because I liked Taco Night so much. My people would come for me and we would eat Tacos every night and have a piñata for the dessert hour. It was all just a waiting game.
"Leah come over here and grate the cheese for the Tacos" my Mom would instruct.
Nothing; I would budge for nothing other than my Hispanic name.
"Maria come over here and grate the cheese…"my Mom would say with an ever slight tinge of disgust in her voice.
My eyes would light up. She was obviously in tune with my apparent Hispanic Heritage, I would think to myself.
Mom-0, Maria-1.
"Well a little too soft but overall I give it a B+!"
"Leah Marie Sadowski you grate that cheese and you grate it…NOWWWWW…"
Well, well, well. She could at least call me Leah MARIA. I imagine to myself that when my Mama and Papa came on the mule (that coincidently would look like Eeyore) to pick me up they would be so happy that I was so in tune with my heritage. They would then chastise my Minnesota family for not giving me the freedom to express my inner-self and for imposing slave labor cheese-grating on their poor lost chica. I wore my traditional Spanish dress every single day one summer just in case they showed up earlier than expected. It's so weird that they never did.

I gave up on my family in Mexico as I grew older. There were so many other possibilities of who I was and where I came from that could not be overlooked. It was a fortunate turn of events otherwise I would have never come to the conclusion that I was separated from my African Tribe. They knew about me, I decided, they just couldn't get to me yet. Why else would I be the only child out of four children in the family that had an African American Cabbage Patch Kid? Think about it. It only makes sense. My Minnesota family just wanted for me to feel comfortable with my heritage and the transition back to my tribe…whenever that was going to happen. I still blame my Minnesota family for moving to the suburbs during my high school years. They obviously threw my tribe off the trail.


High school years were sprinkled with a variety of reinventions: everything from the actress Leah whose name was none other than Venus Lopez to the days of singing into my hair brush as the amazing Mandy Lauper. You name it I did it.
I even had a vision that my calling was to be the next Pinky Tuscadaro—enter the moped era.

I imagined myself as an outlaw of some sort on my moped that cost a whopping 25 cents to fill. I would race circles around the high school yelling at everyone to save themselves. All dreams were tragically shattered when my Dad imposed the "bright yellow, open-faced helmet with white racing stripe" law. As an exceptionally short teenager I met and knew the bullies pretty well. Chrissy Zanabowski once offered up a knuckle sandwich for my homework and the yellow helmet; in return I had to offer up arms and teeth. Luckily for the open faced helmet I could take a couple of chomps out her arm while she swung me around the parking lot by my chin strap. Not until that exact moment did I understand the importance of an open-faced crash helmet.

I never quit chasing the idle dreams of reinvention of Leah the Great or finding out the reason why I've been told that I am a "dog of my own trot".

I moved across the country with $100 dollars, a lot of ramen noodles and the hopes of a better life. I posed as an athlete, a Game Show Contestant and an ESPN Dog Trainer although I've never owned a dog that knew how to fetch. I even passed myself off as a college graduate that could do algebra. Boy did I fool them. Who knows what the next reinvention could be—I am actually leaving this next one up to the reinvention Gods. Apparently my "gut feelings" have not been as intuitive as I had hoped. The ironic part is that my Minnesota family still seems to claim me as one of their own. Looking back I think they deserve a medal of some sort for not killing me. Leah was a nice place to visit, but you wouldn't want to live there. Through all the trials and tribulations I thank my dear parents for the exceptional Taco Nights, the African American Cabbage Patch Kid and of course for imposed crash-helmet laws. I will still love them as my own—even when my tribe comes a knocking.

xoxo

lms

Monkey Business

Life is funny sometimes. Not funny "Ha-Ha" but rather more like the ironic way that things are played out. It's "funny" how life just has a way of turning you upside down and shaking you by your ankles until you scream "Uncle!". You may not realize that you behave a certain way in life but sometimes it takes the likes of a couple of cocktails and girlfriend gab-fest to really put things in perspective. That, fortunately, was the case with my most recent life altering event which we will label as the "Trouble in Paradise" Chapter of Leah Marie Sadowski. My good friend "Babs" just finished listened to me drone on and on about the woes of my troubled relationship until she could take no more.

"You know what your problem is Leah....?"

 Never a good interlude to anything. "You are just like a monkey" Seriously? All right, I am game....

"How so Babs??" I say as I am literally holding my breath. Do I smell offensive? Was she referring to my dance moves? Is she making reference to my tendency to scratch my head and make screeching noises when I work on the computer?

"When it comes to relationships you swing from branch to branch like a monkey never letting go....relationship to relationship...never stopping."

"I beg to differ. I never...." I am quickly interrupted by her further arguing her case.

"When is the last time you were without a boyfriend?" she stares right into my eyes waiting for an answer. This girl is not budging until she gets an answer.

"Ummmm...well I will say 4th grade. Oh wait a minute..." I stare into space like I am going to find the answer there "I forgot about Johnny Jonkowski....make that 3rd grade!" I smile smugly like I just delivered the million dollar answer.

"You have got to be kidding me..."

"Oh you think I should count Patrick Parsinsky in kindergarten? We did actually get married behind the church during recess until Sister Mary Ancient put an end to that...."

"That's ridiculous..."

"No it was beautiful. I was a spring bride. My bridal party threw Cheerios. When it was over he punched me in the arm harder than I have ever been punched; magical" I drone on apparently lost in the moment. I should really look up Patrick, I think to myself, we really did make a good couple back then.

"No that is ridiculous that you have never been without a boyfriend. Just like a monkey..never touch the ground just swing one to the other. When are you going to take time for yourself?"

I look at her with bewilderment. What in the world is she talking about? Myself? Monkey? Swinging? Me? Single?? It's like she just told me the world was round. Just---can't----compute.....A really long silence passed, I played a couple of responses back in my head that just didn't seem to work out and then I changed the subject. Unfortunately the prophetic words of The Great Babs stuck with me until finally I could take no more and called up my friend "Frank the Tank"

"Hey Frankie it's Leaaaaaah....Leaaaaaaah" I find it completely necessary to sing Outkast "Hey Yeah" but with my name every time I call Frankie. It really is a joke that never gets old by my standards.

"Hey you--what's shaking in the land of Leaaaaaaahhhhh?" That's why I love Frankie; always there to continue on the Outkast Tradtion.

"Oh not much you know a little bit of this, little bit of that...DO YOU THINK I AM INDEPENDENT?" My every intention was to start out slow and build up to the topic. You know, interject it casually. Needless to say things did not go as planned.

"Independent? Yeah sure, you work, you have money..well until you spend your last nickle on shopping."

"I am!" I let him sell me on the idea. Stroke that ego Frankie, stroke that ego.

"You pay your own bills, you are very self-sufficient..."

I interrupt him not liking the direction of the bullet point list."But what about relationships? You know boyfriend stuff? Do you think I could be without a boyfriend?" 

"Absolutely not."

"What? I think I lost you there for a minute Frankie. You must be in a bad area for cell coverage."

"No" he states firmly.

"No? Whatta ya mean 'no'?" I am baffled. How could he have executed that answer so quickly and with conviction?

"I mean you are like Jerry Maguire. You know the part in the movie where they say: "Jerrrrry can never be alone" he says in his broadcaster voice. Did he just compare me to Jerry Maguire? I never did like Frank the Tank much, I think to myself. He is so self absorbed. Who does he think he is? "Like The Runaway Bride and Elizabeth Taylor all wrapped into one. Very long committing relationships you just run to the next when you are done."

Wow. Runaway Bride AND Elizabeth Taylor. Frank the Tank has officially been demoted to the Casual Friend List. He soooo doesn't know me.

"Oh wait a minute...not Elizabeth Taylor...." he says. Sweet he realized who he was talking to and has seen the light. "Zsa Zsa Gabor! That lady is feisty! You know..."

Click. I hang up abruptly and ignore the automatic call backs saying that he must have "dropped the call". How did I get here? Does everyone feel this way about me? Is that why I haven't been successful? Where in the world did I go wrong?
I have a lot of time to think about this--actually since yesterday when I experienced my most recent desertion by "the one for me".  So I am here--somewhere I don't want to be--alone and extremely down on love. No swinging branch to branch; alone.There were bumps in the road in this relationship and avoidable mishaps that I am going to have to come to terms with in the future. I am hoping and praying that the saying "unlucky in love, lucky in cards" will ring true and I can make my fortune as a traveling Go-Fisher around the world as poker has never been my forte. I am sure that there is some silver lining in this rain cloud although I haven't quite found it yet. I sit and run the scenarios around and around in my head and have some nagging questions left:
If finding the one you love is "fate" what happens if you mess up? Isn't the whole concept behind fate that you are destined for that reality? Most importantly....if you wait too long can you miss your fate?
Get back to me on that.  I will be around all day.  You can find me making my next million dancing around like a monkey with a deck of cards at the local nursing home. Those retirees ain't got nothing on me.
xoxo
lms

Oh no you didn't.....

It has come to my attention lately that it is the end of the world as we know it. Customer service around the world is nearing extinction. In fact after getting off the phone with the cable company--I won't name any names---(AT&T!*) it is evident to me that the two most common elements in the world are Hydrogen and Stupidity.
After my one hour conversation with who I will refer to as "Betty" my faith in mankind is faltering. You see, Betty is not really a person per say, Betty is an automated service. My time with Betty has grown in the last few weeks. The time that they disconnected my service at my house and then re-hooked it up at my house that I haven't lived at in a few years was pretty memorable. Who could forget the time that they replaced my satellite TV with only infomercial channels? Mine and my dogs wardrobe has never been so "Snuggly" after that "services mishap". The icing on the cake came today on a particularly feisty work day when all life lines depend on the Internet and mine was no where to be found.
Oh we have had some good times Betty and I; we laughed, we cried we down right bonded. And let me tell you we had some great conversations about things that I didn't even know anything about!

"Welcome to "AT&T". Please say 'English' or 'Spanish' to continue."
"ENNNGLISH"

Please let us transfer you to that department....
(wait for it...)

"ni gan moo goo gai ma long duck song" "ummm...YOU SPEAK ENGLISH?" I shout into the phone because they are foreign therefore they are hard of hearing too.
"ni gan moo goo gai ma long duck song"
"I am not sure but I am pretty sure that phrase is on that silk-screen shirt I just bought. Lemmee see....."
Seriously?
The fact that I just wasted 20 minutes out of my life to finally get to a live speaking person is beyond comprehension. Lost precious moments I could have been spending with Betty is quite discerning.
I call back.
"Welcome to 'AT&T' Please say 'English' or 'Spanish' to continue."
This time I try my English accent. Betty loves an English Accent.
"ENNNGLESHHH" "How can I help you? You can say simple phrases like "Pay My Bill" or "Technical Difficulties"..." Betty drones on.
None off these cover my questions. I panic.
"You turned off my #$?!#$! service again for no rhyme or reason!"
"I think you said: 'sign up for the NFL Season? Say Yes or No"
"NOOOOO! Listen to meeee!"
"Did you say GOAL TV?"


I look at my watch--another 20 minutes that I can NEVER get back out the window.
Curses Betty! One last shot.
I am a college graduate therefore I am smarter than Betty.

"Welcome to "AT&T". Please say 'English' or 'Spanish' to continue."
I mix it up this time with a southern drawl, nice and slow just like my girl Betty.
"Annnnglesh"
Before Betty even has a chance to give me options I start pushing numbers. Mostly 'zero' because that is the International Number for "HELP!"
Silence
Betty comes back on the line, "Thank you for your business. We are sorry to see you go but please visit us again in the future for competitive pricing and the new U-Verse Technology!"
What? Did we break up Betty??
"Oh for crap's sake!" I yell into the phone.
"U-Verse Rates? Please hold while I transfer your call..."

Oh sweet Jesus...

Fine Print:
***For legal purposes and the hopes that my internet has now been fixed please note a phrase my lawyer recommended...(OK Law & Order):
"Although inspired in part by a true incident, the following story is fictional and does not depict any actual person or event."

For my next act....

Growing up my parents didn't love me enough.
OK they did love me enough but they clearly did not help cure my disease of: 'Me-need-lots-o-attention-onia". Their lack of being able to provide me around-the- clock care...err... attention... forced me into a life of entertainment. I was determined to become someone that people would stand up and take notice of--right behind two sisters, a brother, and family pets.

"For my next act I will be balancing a Fisher Price barnyard animal on my head while standing on one foot and singing Kenny Rogers...."

I said it: Kenny Rogers. An absolute inspiration.

Like any entertainer, one does have to know "when to fold them" and this unfortunately was something I never fully learned how to execute appropriately according to my father:

"You know what your problem is?"

(wait for it....)

You just don't know how to stop while you are ahead..."

I would stare blankly at him while standing in Wonder Woman Underoos, pink boa and pigtails. Whatever did he mean?

My parents cannot be punished for not trying. They provided me with lots of material that I used over and over again like a washed-up comic.

"Hey Missssssster!" I would yell at innocent bystanders at the mall, grocery store, or wherever tickled my fancy. My Mom close at hand towing four young children around.

All I needed was a head turn from the stranger. Some acknowledgement.

They wouldn't even have to utter a word.

"Do YOUUUU" I would point directly at the stranger doing my best voice over of a game show host while talking into my microphone (a.k.a. thumb) "wanna know where my blond hair comes from?" I would pretend like I was calling them down--they were now the next contestant on the Leah Show.

The innocent bystander would glance at my brunette-laden family and then turn their eyes back to me not sure if they were on Candid Camera or if I was just a short bus passenger.
"Misssster....!" I would say as if he should already know the answer "my blond hair is from the Milk Man!"
Their laughter would only be drowned out by my own knee slapping and hyena-like laugh.
I was and am the funniest person I know. Just ask me.

My mom would usually whisper a polite apology as she shuffled us away.
Looking back maybe I wouldn't have used the joke so much had I known that my mom was stepping out on my dad. Wise guru Jason Jankowski was kind enough to tell me what it actually meant at age 13 over a mean game of Stratego in the backyard playhouse.

I showed him.

I defended my Mom's honor while executing the best half-Nelson ever seen and screaming: "My mom is soooo a virgin! Take it back!"

As I got older my obsession with my so called 15 Minutes of Fame grew out of control. Nothing could suppress my attention appetite. After strategic planning and lots of reality and game show television watching I figured the only way to the top was national television. That's right----game shows.

I owe my first taste of the good life from my good friend Erica Everly. Erica Everly told me about the auditions for a game show. After about a minute of thinking it over Erica and I were LA bound. The audition consisted of a table of producers--who I will call Peter, Paul and Mary--a video camera and a microphone.

A real microphone may I add.

"Ms. Sad-a-wa-wa-owski..."

"Um...my fans call me Cherista"

"Really? They...what? Wait a minute..."

"Well actually no, but I would imagine if I had fans that's what they would call me"

"Well Ms...Cherista...um...Sad-a w-wa-owski... can you please describe to us the most embarrassing or funny moment in your life?"

I take a big swig of lemon water and pull up a stool.

"How much time do you folks have..?"
I don't think I am bragging per say when I say that Peter, Paul and Mary called me before I even got home. Maybe they were scared that I would take a shot at a second audition.

Whatever I did--it worked. My big day came when they aired Cherista's debut. I think the entire nation was notified off my air times. My Minnesotan parents even had a little shindig back home to celebrate my debut. For some unbeknownst reason it occurred to my father only when the guests were arriving to THEN ask me if he should be worried.

"Heyyy ya sport. We're just fixin to watch your show right now got the VHS tape loaded up. Yah-your Godparents drove up from down south too.... Sooo...." his voice gets a bit lower, almost a whisper "tell me right now if you did anything to embarrass the family..."
"Ummm...I was on a game show Dad.......case and point"

"Oh sweet Jesus..."

Luckily through modern technology and an apparent extensive editing of the program I am still in the family tree. It was a little touch-and-go there for a minute when I won and apparently didn't know I won...but nothing a little over-acting couldn't fix. I still don't understand why they cut the cartwheel but I suppose that's how it goes in showbiz.

The best part of having "me-needs-lot-o-attention-onia" is the ability to infect others with the disease as well. If done correctly I have been know to infect a whole room. This was never more evident than the bizarre series of events that landed me at a party in EAST LA (to residents Eeeeast Los).
Funny. I always thought they over exaggerated the roughness of this part of town or even the ethnicity. After a closer look into the situation I can safely say that I was..and probably am still.... the only blond haired, blue eyed, pink velour running jump suit attendee to parties in this neighborhood.

And while I am on the subject never go into a party such as this and utter the phrase: "what's up beotch*z??".

Especially with a valley girl accent.

Lesson learned.

After my grand entrance (and the long terrifying silence) I made it my mission to make these people like me.

I HATE when people don't like me.

Everybody was going to join the Cherista Train if it was the last thing that I was going to do. My significant other who I was with did not find the escapade amusing at all.
"I am seriously not messing around Leah...do NOT step out of line. They DO not and WILL not understand Leah Humor..."

"It's Cherista tonight..."
"Oh God...please nooooo..."

"Relaxxxxx....have an Old English 40." I dig my hand in the garbage can of ice "Oh look they have a brown paper baaaag you can wrap around it...!"
Half way through his 40 oz of malt liquor and feeling no pain a very nice girl ran into the house to announce my debut to the party..and little did she know my significant other.

"Some crazy white girl is outside singing La Bamba with the band and playing the electrical guitar!!"

You know when you can to-the-minute pinpoint a time when someone just absolutely starts to loathe you?

"Blond hair, blue eyes?" he says to the girl as the crowds rush past to see.

"Yeah--you know that crazy white girl??"

"Nope. Never seen here before.."

Well I am not one to brag (clearly) but I will say that I am a recognized figure in this part of town now. I am familia from what I have been told. Whatever the case thank God I know Spanish, have a love for tequila and lots of Menudo songs or I wouldn't be telling the story with such fond memory.

I suppose for the most part my disease has mellowed a little...possibly I am in some sort of remission. No more phone cranking the parents late at night to look cool in front of my friends. I have only auditioned for one other game show. Apparently telling them that you collect unicorns doesn't land you on stage these days. I unfortunately don't have any Wonder Woman Underoos (yet) but the quest for laughter and applause is still in my blood.
I think possibly a reality show could be my ticket but the chances of being banned from the Family Tribe are just to great. In the mean time I will think of my next plan of attack and hope you are there for my next act....whatever that may be.

xoxo
lms