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