Singled Out: The Lesbian's got Mommy Issues!

Because I am a fearless business entrepreneur with quite an insatiable competitive edge, in yet another one of my luminous moments of brilliance, I have decided to invest in a new challenging business venture. To put it boldly, I want to take over the world. But not just any world!

As ambitious as it may seem, my aspiration for world domination is fairly reasonable. I just want to become a very big fish in a very small pond. What this means is that my macrocosmic master plan to control the entire planet starts locally by going after a defined niche, namely my mother's world. Somehow, over the years, I seem to have fallen off her radar and disappeared from her cosmos. So now, I intend to regain full monopoly of her attention and affection, even though she resides in Paris while I remain steadfast in sunny LA.

Mind you, this impulse didn't come out of nowhere. I have every justifiable reason to launch this enterprise. You see, a couple of weeks ago, as I was casually chatting via Skype with mommy dearest, she scandalously announced that if my youngest brother was going to join my other two brothers in the land down under and move to Australia within the next year to pursue his studies, she too would pack her bags and fly herself to Kangaroo land.

The announcement wouldn't so much have been a devastating news flash to me had my mom, in the past 10 years I have been stuck on US soil (for legal administrative reasons), taken the time to hop on a plane to come visit me. But alas, she never did. It doesn't take a brain surgeon to do the math. Yep, I haven't seen my mom in 10 years.

But I'm not mad at her! I love my mother.

I'm mad at my three brothers who unconsciously have been continually stealing my thunder. Forgive me for foolishly thinking that out of the four of us, my status as the only girl in the family, would by default give me motherly preferential treatment - not so much! But that's ok. So what if they are my fiercest competition and my #1 problem? I'll let them be the Three Musketeers for they're about to see who the real D'Artagnan is.

But for now let's forget about D'Artagnan. Because I am a risk-taker extraordinaire and I have an innate knack for pacifying things. From now on, my modus operandi is "one for all and all for Mona."

So, to amicably remedy the tragedy, I have deployed my Pinky & the Brain thug team on my mom. Hence, I shall now be referred to as Dr. Mo - sorry but Dr. Evil was already taken. Accordingly, having founded my own Machiavellian cartel, for public appearance sake, I needed a menacing sidekick villain. That's when I promptly enlisted the help of my little harmlessly devilish assistant "Diabolo," a.k.a Georgie my puppy.

Step # 1 of my global boohooing plan of attack: I am suing my mother! That's right! I am mentally taking legal action to be compensated for a decade of affective neglect and maternal malpractice vis a vis my genetic right as her sole daughter to be her favorite child!

I don't feel the L.O.V.E! Believe me, this is far from being a random whimsical juvenile tantrum. After all, while I'm no longer a child, I'm still just a 38-year-old kid!

The ultimate drama for me is the brutal slap on the face realization that I have invested an innumerable amount of time and dollar bills on 10 solid years of totally unnecessary therapy.

To think that all along I was convinced I was mentally disturbed is extremely disturbing! Now I legitimately do need therapy - shit like that will take a life-long commitment of intense couch sessions to mentally mend. Luckily, out of this travesty came my super sexy therapist who has much to be smiling about these days knowing that now we genuinely have a real problem in our hands.

Seriously, why didn't anybody tell me earlier that the "it's not you, it's me" crap was literally really just that! Duh? Of course it's not me, it's all her - and more precisely it's all my brothers. I strongly support the theory that they're as collectively as individually guilty for the simple genetic fact of being biologically designed with an extra additional dangling apparatus.  But I'm about to lose my head here (no pun intended).

Frankly, I could very easily dispose of my three siblings - let's just say I have certain Sopranos' connections. That would instantly rid me of the problem - temporarily.

Sure I'd be inconsolable for a while but in time, probably a minute or two, I'd totally bounce back on my feet and proceed with my dysfunctional life.

Don't call 911 yet! I'm just kidding! But honestly how can I successfully take over my mom's world and conquer her unconditional attention if they're always obstructing my way?

But I'm not giving up yet. Dr. Mo just had to find a new approach. I'm not gonna lie, heaven knows I've surpassed my wildest expectations in the field of "I'm a celebrity; Mother get your ass out here" schemes.

If I may say so myself, I have pulled some quite extraordinarily impressive stunts over the years as a desperate cry for attention - picture a little girl with adorable puppy eyes, holding up her hands as a non-verbal implication that loudly begs "pick me up."

While all my previous attempts have royally failed, it wasn't for lack of creativity or ability to think out of the box. I've never run out of ideas. How could I? Not only does 10 years give me plenty of time to concoct a multitude of diabolical scenarios but let's not forget that I have access to the ultimate weapon of mass destruction: my inexhaustible demented mind.

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(continued)

Let's review for a second my acrobatic bravados because surely I've covered the entire "look what I can do" spectrum. Some of my Kodak moments include - but are not limited to - two graduations, a roundtrip voyage to an eating disorder, a risky lumbar spine surgery, a three-year life-threatening detour into the nether region of my dark side, and let's not forget a famously glamorous coming out confession via email.

Obviously those were not big enough events or monumental career hallmarks to warrant an emergency trip to the City of Angels.

I mean what else could I humanly possibly do to get her attention? I tried jumping up and down, waving my arms around frantically, rolling myself on the floor, yelling, yodeling, and even threw in some other newbies. Clearly, the only thing I have masterfully accomplished is morphing into Bozo the clown.

I guess, unless I relocate to Australia or physically pull a Chastity Bono, Dr. Mo will have to gracefully bow down to Dr. No. NOT!  After all I didn't spend 10 freaking years in Villainville to abdicate so easily!  I shall make her see how indispensably irreplaceable I can be. My brothers have nothing on me. They might have a pee-pee but they're all pussies - and my darlings! And while evidently, I'll never be a boy, I can surely become "THE man!" - Albeit, a woe-man!

Granted it's not the end of the world. It's just the end of mine. What can I say? Even at 38 she is still the world to me.

So sue me or call me stupid and crazy, but even if it kills me, sooner or later my master plan will be working.  I, Dr. Mo (and mini Mo: Diabolo) have not played my last card yet.

Victory shall be mine!  

Mwaaaahaahaa ..... I mean, MUAH, I love you mom!

Read more of Mona's Singled Out tales!