I’ve never been the other woman. Until now. I admit it. It’s true. For the last three years, I’ve grown increasingly disgruntled at settling for second. Now before anyone gets in a tizzy, I’m not talking about the husband or boyfriend kind of “other woman.” Not to be judgey or bitey, but I do have morals, and my pursuit of happiness allows me to only date a guy who’s cleared/willing to date just me. Just sayin’. I’m talking about being search engine second fiddle to my bête noire, if you will: the divalicious, curvaceous and bodacious Donna Adamo, aka Elektra. Yeah. Her.
Go ahead. Take a moment (you may need two) and Google her other images. Be warned, she carries a PG-rating. If you let your mind wander, it’s an easy R. Check out the blue single-string bikini image. Where does it…..? Seriously? Ouch. Now, I’m not going to get into who came first. This isn’t about age nor am I jealous. Okay, maybe a little. What it’s really about—is when you search ME – you get HER. And when you search HER, you get ME. I found out about my competition while interviewing for an anchor job in 2009. I did not get the job. Go figure. Conversely, I’m pretty sure there’s a job or two she didn’t get if a prospect Googled me. The first time I Googled me/her, I initially wanted to call the police, or a priest, or the Pope. Instead, I called my mother. That’s what we do when we’re confused. My mother is still praying for me/her/we. So back to my problem about the professional wrestler/bit-part actress/body-builder/bikini floss model/Playboy bunny: It’s a problem because not only does she make me want to call Jenny Craig, but every time a friend or employer or colleague or FB friend or Linkedin-er or Tweeter-er or stalker Google me, they get HER—all vogued out with her I’m effortlessly long and lovely, yet lean and curvaceously buffed and chiseled, adorned with long curly shiny hair and Crest™-like pearly white sparkly teeth that offset my elektrifying I’m-so-ripped buxom hot sun-kissed bronzed body so men will want me and women will want to be me, cuz I’m Donna Adamo aka Elektra, and you’re not … look. God forgive me, it’s annoying. Now three years in, I have (rather maturely, if I do say so myself) entered the acceptance phase about the whole deal and have actually (almost) embraced our likeness and two differences—beginning with the latter. She’s tall. I’m not. She’s brunette. I’m blonde. Albeit brief, that’s where our differences end. In fact, I’ve come to realize Elektra and I have tons more in common and that I actually appreciate her. For starters, we’re both Italian American. Okay, she’s really Italian. But I’m really American. We’re both native New Yorkers. She’s downstate. I’m upstate. We both celebrated our twenties. She sashayed in NYC clubs, while I hung out in Utica bars before we both dabbled in modeling. And I use the term ’modeling’ ever so slightly. We both like clothes. I just prefer wearing more. We both like feathers. I like them on birds. She likes them on her arms. We both have curves. I just make it a point not to pretzel twist and contract while leg lifting to enhance mine. We both have six packs. Elektra’s is neatly nestled beneath her abdomen. Isn’t it pretty? Mine is neatly stacked in the fridge. Caffeine free. We both have BIG brown eyes. We both became public figures—she was an Extreme Championship Wrestling wrestler lady. Isn’t that fun? She allegedly tag-teamed with the notorious Lou E. Dangerously Dangerous Alliance and once had her shirt ripped by Jazz. I don’t know who Jazz is, but that’s not really nice. I was part of a well-respected morning anchor team at the CBS affiliate in Syracuse with the hardest working man in local news, Keith ’Kryptonite’ Kobland, and once had my skirt ripped when I gracefully tumbled down a hill after my legs got ahead of me trying to get the live truck with only five minutes to spare in four inch heels. I made it in case you’re wondering. We both appeared on HBO. She was once a Bada Bing Girl in a Sopranos episode. Okay… she’s got me there. I didn’t appear in The Sopranos, but I watched it every Sunday. Oh, and I once dressed up as a Valley Girl for Halloween. I have a friend whose adorable daughter is named Bing. Oh, and I go Gaga soprano in my car. Alone. I probably sing better than Elektra acted. Oh, and we both have body fat. I worked the numbers, and while you’ll have to look closely, I calculated Elektra has .00000022% body fat. I have 22% percent body fat. Whatever, witch. We both like tanning. :) She’s pumped to the MAX. Me too! I risk my neck every day wearing five-inch pumps just so people Elektra’s height won’t bend down and say apologetically, “I’m sorry, what did you say?” or worse, “are you standing up?” Oh, and before I forget! It appears we both like implants. She keeps hers in her chest. I’m getting implants in my mouth. They cost about the same—$12,000—not covered by insurance. You can’t miss hers. You won’t see mine. Actually, mine are more cost effective and the recovery isn’t nearly as painful or long. AND the oral surgeon assured me mine won’t bulge when I smile or when exposed to cotton, polyester, or Victoria’s secret. Does anyone know her secret? Okay, that’s for another day. Anyway, I’m getting four implants. Elektra only has two. And mine won’t ever pop… or sag… or have to be removed when gravity calls. And finally, we both have been Playboy centerfolds. Salacious, I know. According to Wikipedia (so it MUST be true), Elektra actually appeared in Playboy. GOOD for her. I’m not surprised she caught Hef’s eye. Hopefully, she didn’t poke out an eye as he’s looking a little frail these days. Oh yeah chickey! Well, I was in Playboy. Kind of. A viewer once cut my face out of an autographed picture I gave him at the NYS Fair before sending it back to the station with my head glued to the body of a centerfold photo. Creep. Somedays, being Donna Adamo just ain’t easy. I think Elektra would agree.