Dear Lord. Won’t it ever go away? What did we do to deserve more drama out of the Anna Nicole family?

Finally, Vergie Arthur *cringe* has quieted down. Finally, Howard K. Stern appears to have went in to relax mode. Nobody has tried to dig her up. There are no more wannabe daddies coming out of the woodwork. Seemed like the train wreck was just about cleaned up and we could all just go on with our lives……

Until 5 minutes ago.

Now it seems Anna’s freak step-sister, Donna Hogan, the author of the much acclaimed biography about Anna Nicole, Train Wreck, is gonna try to step into Anna’s life and live it. Chick is gonna get a new set of boobs and bleach her hair. She’s icky, and borderline scary.

Get this. She’s gonna get the new rack and go try to screw her way into Playboy… *cringe again*.

Wonder how long it’ll be before Howard K. moves in on her? At least she’s got the book profits… that dork doesn’t even have a job now.

For real, the last thing I want to hear on the news everyday is all the crazy shit this broad is gonna do to try and drum up some (apparently much needed) attention. Yup, I could live a thousand lives and be happy never to here any of this crap about Anna Nicole and her screwed up family/friends again.

On second thought, maybe I should start a cause….  Donations accepted for Diva’s boob job and other minor plastic surgeries in an effort to beat that freak skank to the punch.  We’ll call it the “Make Diva Famous Fund”.

Mark, you’re in charge of passin the collection plate, pal!

     Ya know, I have a lotta friends.  If we’re gonna co-ordinate a ride-a-long, I expect a lotta things.  Some people are gonna be there.  Last night, I co-ordinated a ride home, which, of course, didn’t happen.

     Can you say “FLAKES,” boys and girls?  (Yes, MULTIPLE.)

     I knew you could.

     Most of my friends are pretty responsible.  But I have others who are, for lack of a better word, flakes.  Sure, they can write a blog about how apologetic they are about whatever they’ve done most recently, but damned if they’ll ever just come out and tell me…. It counts just a little more.
     I hate it, when I’m out with friends, and I have to put up with the constantly vibrating text alerts asking for advice about ridiculous things.  “What should I do?  What should I say?  Where should I go?”

     Now, notice it’s only 11PM.

     *shrug*

     I would so love to be an irresponsible prick now and again, and not have to take any responsibility for my own actions.  Instead, I usually end up doing all the hand-holding.
     Now, the addendum to that is … I made the decision to trust the flakes,  anyway.  And, I sincerely hope the idiots got home okay.  *shakes head*

     Me, I made sure I did and got another ride.

Drama, drama, drama. Some of us tire of hearing it over and over. However, there are many, many folks out there who do nothing but sit and wait for drama, any drama, to happen.

They feed on what they are fed until a new feeding frenzy starts up.
Honestly, since Monday, how much have you heard about Anna Nicole and her circus of drama?

Not much, huh? Because the new frenzy has started. They’ll run the Virginia Tech angle into the ground until the next huge blog of drama drops into the laps of the media.

It’s not a new deal… to exploit the sorrow, sadness, tragedy of others.

• Diana & Dodi
• JFK Jr. & party
• The D. C. Sniper
• Jennifer “Runaway Bride” Wilbanks

Who cares?? Not me, but apparently lot of folks get sucked into huge drama to escape from their own.

Mother-in-Law. Those three words hyphenated together have somehow become the monster in the closet. Simple meaning from the dictionary: mother of one’s spouse.

If it were only that simple, huh?

Granted, I am a Mother-in-Law now that my beautiful, eldest daughter has taken that plunge into marital bliss. *eyes rolled waaay back into the head*

Presently, my view is that I am the most wonderful, giving, caring, patient, non-homicidal mother-in-law out there. I do it for my baby girl. Otherwise I’m sure I’d be a horn sprouting, pitchfork shaking monsters hiding and waiting for that boy to come around screw something up.
But, not me. I assure you.

My ex-husband’s mother was the devil reincarnated in female form. I kid you not. She was scary right down to the evil glint in her eye and forked tongue. She would aspire to purposely make me feel like I was treading on thin ice. That was generally verbal. But did she stop there? No, she is Korean. Everything she would cook was flavored up with just about enough fresh chopped red-pepper to kill a two ton rhino. “Takey Diva some that”.

Sure, thanks. Let me get right on eating that. I love my gastrointestinal tract to be lit up enough that when I fart, I shoot flames across the room.

Looking back, I should have taken it as a sign. He has never, nor will he ever be anything but a mama’s boy. She buys his pants, his shirts, he boxers and socks. She does his laundry. No wonder the man moved back in with her when before the ink on our divorce papers was even dry.

What kind of man was she raising? I’m not all to sure about it, but I know she was in definite competition with me for his affection.

Good for her though. I got out of having to wash his vine ripened socks.

The above thoughts bring me to the following point, which was inspired by my favorite rag-mag.

Could one actually live with one’s mother-in-law on a more or less permanent basis??

I for one, would never even consider living with my significant other’s mother. Even if she was an angel just like me, I couldn’t do it. Two alpha-females in one house is a design for disaster.

I’m just glad to know that Tom and Katie are going through it too. Tom’s mom and other family members all live in the house with the happy couple.

Is Katie going to be able hang on?? She has to deal with Mr. Cruise, and his mother.

My thought is: No way!! I give them another year at the most if THE MOTHER IN LAW doesn’t get the boot.

     A few months ago, I went out with a couple of friends (Gina and Joe) and had a fun time.  In trying to make sure Joe was okay to drive (he ran from the car) I inadvertently dropped my phone in her backseat.
     Long story short, one of her workmates, Paula, volunteered to bring me the phone, and I agreed.  She didn’t bring it to me, however.  Instead, she threw it out her window in Halls, TN (where I definitely do not live) and ignored all attempts at contact.
     Fortunately, an older gentleman named Wade ended up with the phone (picked up from a ditch and put it in his mailbox by his postwoman, he said).  He called me, from my phone, and arranged to get the phone back to me.  Thank God for honest people in the world.
     Last night, a friend of mine called Paula and let her have it.  In turn, Gina calls me to scream at me so much I have to walk outside from where I was to hear her.  She calls me a liar, tells me that I had fabricated the entire story and that she’s told my friends, they believe her, and blah blah blah blah whiney, idiotic garbage.

     This is overly dramatic for me, and whole lot of them can screw off.

     Another asshat has been hanging around telling people he’s a race car driver, with millions of dollars, million dollar contracts, and he’s gonna start paying three of us at the first of January.
     He told me that he lived in a 4000 sq ft house and wanted me to secure it and run Ethernet around it.  Told me had a four bay garage where he keeps his race cars, and one of the bay doors is torn off because he and a friend came home drunk and couldn’t get it open to park the truck — so they rammed it. 
     He told me that he has a private jet, and has invited us all out on several occasions, but never follows through.
     He’s told us all that he owns Tennessee Racing, Inc.
     He’s an IMCA driver and points leader.
     He’s on Team ARCA.
     He’s a NASCAR driver.
     He was in Daytona this weekend with Teresa and Dale Earnhardt, Jr.

     Needless to say, he hasn’t paid any of us a cent.  “My racing license was revoked, and I’m trying to get it back.”  Of course, he’s already told me that one, and that he did get it back.  “Yeah, but I went this weekend and got it back.”  Of course, he’d already told me that they’d reinstated him the week before.  But that’s also been mixed with, “I might be going to jail,” “All my assetts are frozen by the court,” and “I have to go to Europe to hide from some very bad people.”  Of course, those things have changed, too.  “The judge let me off even though she hates me,”  “I have more money than the courts know about,” and “I said I was gonna to Europe to hide after I hurt the guy who was molesting my daughter.”  But no, he didn’t.  He’s talked himself into both a corner and poverty.
     About the house:  “Oh, well, I haven’t bought it yet.  I was looking at four, but they were out of my price range.  I only have $750K and need $1.2M.”  I can’t help but wonder why he’d crash the garage doors on a house he doesn’t own, then?  He lives in a crappy apartment in South Knoxville.
     Why doesn’t his pilot file flight plans?  “I didn’t know they were supposed to.”  Yeah, that pilot stuff might elude him, especially since he claims to have had a pilot’s license.
     Tennessee Racing, Inc. doesn’t exist?  “Yeah, I registered that in Iowa.”  No, not there either..
     He’s not on the IMCA list.
     Team ARCA’s never heard of him.
     NASCAR certainly hasn’t ever heard of him.
     Teresa and Dale Jr. have had a parting of ways and certainly haven’t sat down to dinner together, much less together with anyone else.  And since Dale Jr. has been busy with the Nextel Cup and giving press releases about the future of DEI & his younger brother, Kerry, it’s pretty much an impossibility that our dear-old-bullshitter had dinner with just him, even.

     “Well, maybe I should just not come around if it’s gonna be like that!”
     “Good idea.  BYE!”

     Besides, I doubt Dale Jr. would take time out of his busy schedule to have dinner with a door-to-door vacuum cleaner salesman.

     I declare this a Drama Free Zone.

     Take it outside — we don’t need that crap in here.