The Beverly Hillbilly

I swear the air just smells better in Southern California. Perhaps it's the mountains, or the nearby beaches, or perhaps it's all of the GREEN campaigning they do. Or maybe a combination of all three. All I know is I'm happy to be here and as long as I don't have to run into Al Gore's porky ass, I'm in hog heaven.

Hardy har har. I'm soooo punny (see how I did it again?)

Let's recap quite possibly the most stressful trip to California I've ever had.  I didn't leave the office until about an hour after I had planned to due to some unforeseen last minute things that really needed to be done before I ex-communicated from the world for 3 hours.

Between the time I left the office and drove the .6 miles home (yes, I drive .6 miles), I had about 5 more emails and when I looked up it was 3:00.

This would have been fine for my 4:50 flight had I been going straight to the airport, but I had to go to my parents' house to drop off my car, switch my 2 suitcases to one big suitcase (thanks American Airlines for the baggage fees), then have Mom drive from there.

I hit the road.

5 minutes down said road, I realize I never picked up my prescription from Kroger.

Turn around. Get said prescription. Wait behind ASSHOLE trying to turn left with a GIGANTIC no left turn sign. I'm not a big honker, but this guy got the wrath of Courtney.

(When not in a hurry, I often back up traffic turning left from this very spot)

Hypocrisy is the new black.

It's now 3:30.

Get to Southlake at 4.

Throw shit in my bag in the most wrinkle-friendly way possible.

Haul ass to DFW.

"We're cutting it pretty close, Court"

No. fucking. shit. Mom.

Arrive 4:25. Tell check-in my bag won't make it and to throw it on the next flight.

"Sorry miss, you are too late to do curbside check-in. Please go upstairs."

Mom is chatting it up with the attendant about how he looks like Emmitt Smith.

I give her a quick hug that was probably more like a half punch and run to the escalator.

Arrive upstairs, repeat entire fiasco and then have to take my own bag to the search station.

Uh, hello?! I'm LATE I'm LATE for a very important date!

Why has the white rabbit not introduced me to some secret portal that will get me through the airport more quickly?

Grandpa checking boarding passes and photo id at security is slower than molasses and it's 4:47 by the time I get through security.

I'm running  hauling serious ass down the terminal.

my shoes, jacket, and laptop are under my left arm, air-dried hair flapping behind me, and my carry on swinging from the right arm.

I looked like the family from Home Alone when they are running through the airport.

"WAAAIT HOLD THE FLIGHT, DON'T FORGET ME!!!"

Then I see a line. For my flight. Delayed 20 minutes because of a problem with the airplane door. I just looked like an idiot for nothing. Nevermind the flight status TVs that said my flight was on time.

At least I had time to pee and buy a water. I didn't think to buy food.

We hit some turbulence, of course I didn't notice because my stomach was too busy attempting to eat itself.

Thank goodness there was a starbucks when I got off the plane so I could buy a tiny $9 sandwich before I waited another hour for my bag to arrive.

I've never been so happy to see a 60 pound bag roll around the carousel.

Head outside to catch the courtesy shuttle. It was like an episode of twilight zone.  There were mass amounts of people outside, but I was the only one on my shuttle.

The nice bus driver man helps me haul my bag onto the bus, considering it's half my body weight.

I realize 2 blocks from the hotel that I have NO cash

I spent my last 2 quarters on gumballs in the airport. Yes, I am 5 years old and I like gumballs.

Well this is just great.

I am the only one on the bus and I can't even tip him. I feel like such an asshole.

I yell thank you as I am running away into the hotel to hide, like a dog that knows it wasn't supposed to pee on the carpet but did it anyway.

Check in, get to bed, pass the F out. God, I'm tired!

I had meetings all day Thursday, but I did get to explore the hotel a teensy weensy bit!

Cute little soap and shampoo place mat was a crowd pleaser (I'm the crowd).

Then I encountered the pumpkin carving contest!! I love pumpkin carving.

Oh wait, I forgot that politics have taken over the world and we have to incorporate them into Halloween now.

At least the last one was neutral.

Though I wasn't particularly impressed with any of them.

I like scary jack 'o lanterns. Especially when they are carved while I am enjoying hot chocolate with peppermint schnapps and toasted pumpkin seeds.

I feel like I'm always talking about booze.

But it's because I like to talk about things I'm good at.

And I am good at boozing, running, and making sarcastic remarks.

Once my meetings were over, my friend Chelsea picked me up and we (gasp) boozed more.

Headed to R&D where I got some vodka, grape, basil muddled martini that was great with my seared tuna salad. Had those delicious pumpkin candy corns for dessert.

Candy corn is quite possibly one of my favorite inventions. Right up there with the dishwasher (which Chelsea's house doesn't have) and peanut butter (which Chelsea also doesn't have).

Hey, thanks for the sugar free oatmeal!

Nevermind the fact that I obviously need copious amounts of sugar to function.

I need my lucky charms.

Thank God you have candy corn so I don't DIE.

At least I could get hopped up on coffee.

Love me some French Roast (and candy corn).

If you were a candy corn, would you eat yourself?

The oldest damn pimp I ever done see

I'm in a very busy and important meeting all day today. I really don't even have time to educate you people right now, but this is just too good to pass up.

This guy has been drinking the purple stuff. We talkin bout the pimp juice, y'all. Meet Ahmed Dore.

117 year old Somali man marries 17 year old girl

 IT'S LEGAL IN TEXAS!

"I didn't force her, but used my experience to convince her of my love; and then we agreed to marry," the groom said. He's quite experienced, as she is wife No. 5.

The girl's family says she is happy with her new husband. What they really mean is that they are happy with the llama and chickens he traded in return for her hand in marriage (This is not reported, merely my own speculation as I am in expert in Somali affairs).

The family is disappointed that he did not trade goats, because they wanted to use the goat skin for when the 17 year old detainee starts popping out babies. The 13 step children she is inheriting (yes, her oldest stepson is turning 81 this year) are not enough. Mr. Dore wants more children so that he can increase his grandchild collection. He only has 101 and is aiming to achieve the Guiness world record before his old ass keels over and dies.

In other news, China is filing a formal complaint against Mr. Dore for thwarting their efforts to control world population. His sperm are expected to be the oldest living molecules on earth.

The pimp was born in 1897 and has a goat skin birth certificate to prove it. Hopefully, these two will have a magical Benjamin Button baby so everyone can say, "Aww he looks just like his Daddy."

And speaking of Daddies, a special shout out to Rachel for sending me this little gem to accompany pregnant Barbie:

It's Palm Beach Sugar Daddy Ken, complete with a little white bitch. And he keeps her on a close leash.

Stay tuned for more adventures this evening.

I'll be sharing my travel adventures to L.A.

Land of the kens and barbies.

Hope I find MY sugar daddy!

Call me Charile, cuz I've got a Golden Ticket

I went to the MAVS season opener with my pretend husband @GMFett last night.

God, I love that kid. He's obnoxiously loud, inappropriate, and drinks too much. Basically, he is the male version of me. And we all know I love myself.

Fortunately for us, George Sr. is out of town and we got to test out the new season tickets.

My previous American Airlines experiences with Marcus were in that lowly Platinum club. Amateurs.

Check it.

I mean, I could have tasted the sweat flying off Dirk's man-tastic bob.

If my mouth wasn't full of beer and hot dog, that is.

Let's talk about the refreshments, by the way.

First of all,

Our waitress strongly resembled the young Lindsey Lohan, Parent Trap style.

There was no need to make jokes about the drapes matching the carpet, there was no doubt.

She could have possibly been a lesbian too, since I got a bag of Lays with my foot long hot dog, and Marcus didn't.

The more likely cause behind this is that she was sick of him messing with her.

Does her drink go on your tab? NO!

look of panic crosses her face, brief hyperventilation

I'm kidding, yes.

(Insert loud joke about shoving foot long wiener into my mouth)

Bad behaivor = no chips = eating MY chips = be nice to the waitress, dick wad.

Anyway, half time finally came and we headed to the Jack Daniels club.

Actually we walked the wrong way for 5 minutes, then I got reprimanded for not telling Marcus we were going the wrong way. Have you met me? I have to GPS my way to 7-11. Back off asshole, and get another drink. Your "nice" tank is running low.

You could have at least bought me some of those candied cashews for all of the energy I expended clacking along in my 4 inch pumps.

Finally we arrive.

Ah, Old No. 7, I've missed ya bud.

Sleaze ball city.

1) Stripper at front door gives me 2 for 1 admission card to strip club.

2) Meet friend Robert* downstairs with the client he brought to the game.

While the guys go get more drinks, I get left with Client McFeminist

Sleazy dudes older than my father approach, "Are you two together?"

My plan was to walk over to the bar and stand by protective young men on the other side of the invisible "Don't cross if you're over 40" line.

Her plan was to pretend we were lesbians and then tell the guy off. I was more embarassed that anyone would believe I would be with THAT if I was a lesbian. Nice try, honey. You are maybe a 4.

Of course, men couldn't care less is she is a 4.

Text from Robert* later in the game: "I feel like I should fuck her just to prove to the guys at the office I'm straight."

A) What?! This is a man thing.

B) Robert* works for George Sr.

Marcus replies: "Or you could get her home safe. Your call."

I eagerly await the results.

Guess who was sitting in front of us when we returned to our seats?

Brenda and Laura Johnson from Dallas Divas & Daughters!

This show could have its very own blog topic, so I'll just dip my foot in the prattle pool, instead of cannonballing off the diving board.

Her mom is divorced, confirmed by absence of wedding ring, and was shmoozing with date while daughter moved to empty seat beside her to create a buffer between herself and mommy dearest.

Laura was wearing some sort of faux-chinchilla fur and looked like a typical miserable 17 year old who would rather be drinking Boones farm and smoking pot with her friends in an empty parking lot.

Recap of the rest of the game: Marcus got a t shirt from the MAVS dancers, we made fun of Fuddy Duddy rent-a-cop who couldn't have stopped a 90 year old man with a walker from getting on the court, watched the "Thriller" dance, listen to Marcus heckle the players in the voice that he imagines a large black man to have, and left shortly before the MAVS lost by 10.

"It's only 10 o'clock. Cocktails?"

This was not a question.

It was fair warning that I was going to feel like shit this morning.

Which I do.

I. am. hungover. as. fuck.

(Sorry for the language, Mom)

The rest of my night involved shots of jager at Stoneleigh P.

Princess had Soco-lime.

Queso verde made an appearance too.

Looked sick, tasted fantastic.

That's what she said.

The Red, White, and Boo Hoo

Alright people, WTF.

I felt like I was in a live feed of @shitmydadsays the other night at dinner when my dad blurted out,

"America is raising a bunch of pussies."

But he's right.

Oh, wait, but not Barack Obama.

Apparently, "He may be skinny, but he's tough"!

Sorry dude, I'll take Michelle protecting me over your "tough" ass.

I'm pretty sure your chicken legs might be smaller than mine.

Besides, Texas supports the NRA. I'll just stand close to my gun. It's "skinny but tough" too.

And, Florida! I can't believe you. I thought you were a red state.

Home Depot Fired Wally Beaver! 

For wearing a "One Nation, Under God, Indivisible" pin?!

He'd been wearing it for 19 months, but bringing his bible to work was the straw that broke the (atheist) camel's back.

Boss man doesn't like free speech, especially when it involves religion.

Sounds like Home Despot to me!

You can thank me for the vocabulary lessons later.

Angered, I ripped through the newspaper to the sports section!

(actual occurrence: clicked on the google "sports" link)

More Jesus Bashing! 

Penn State students cause a stink because their white out shirt "looks like a cross"

Kind of, but it looks more like the stripe down the middle of your football helmets 

1) Your student population voted on it, so it's your fault.

But the whiners probably didn't vote anyway. and I bet they don't like college football either.

That's how it works right?

2) Shouldn't you be more concerned that it says WHITE OUT?

OMG that is SO RACIST!

What about red and yellow and black?

All the other little children of the world.

Jesus loves them too, oh wait, that's your whole problem.

Ugh, I remember the days when people were PROUD to hold the American flag during the fire drill.

I mean, we used to have to move our safety pin from the green smiley face to the yellow non-smiley face (but not frowny yet) just for fighting about who got to be line leader and hold that damn flag.

I swear, it's this kind of shit that drives me to drink!!

Luckily, Daily Candy saves the day again!

 

Three liter wine barrel for $30 AND it stays fresh for 6 weeks?

Yippy-skippy!

It's the closest I am going to get anytime soon to fulfilling my recent hopes and dreams to opening my own vineyard in Sonoma.

Plus it has a cute name, www.redtruckwines.com.

I would recommend buying in bulk to avoid high shipping costs.

Or just fly out to Sonoma yourself with Southwest's amazing 72 hour fairs.

Of course, as a self-proclaimed Costco advocate and lush, I do not foresee buying in bulk to be  a problem for Moi.

Does vodka come in 3 liter barrels yet?

Rat a Tat Tat

I was planning to sleep at my parents' house last night anyway, but the storm that rolled in with thunder that shook the entire earth definitely sealed the deal. That was quite possibly the best decision I've made in months. Contrary my usual bitching and whining about my hate for Monday mornings, the glass is half full today.

For quite a few reasons:

1) My mom makes really good coffee. I think it's just from costco, but she grinds the beans fresh each morning and I packed up a thermos for the car (I blatantly disregarded her smirk as I filled the only insulated travel mug we have: OU).

2) It took me an hour to get to work.

It probably would have taken an hour and fifteen minutes had I not been the asshole who passed the 2 miles long line of cars waiting to get on the highway before cutting over at the last minute and giving a cute little smile and wave to the woman who let me in.

By "let me in" I obviously mean that the Cadillac that insisted on NOT letting me in (despite my attempts to sideswipe him) forced this woman to let me weasel through unless she wanted some lovely damage on the left side of her car.

Time to rock n roll!

Now, I would not want to commute every day, but I actually enjoy having a drive in the morning. Yes, I know that's weird. But I got to listen to talk radio and hear the following commercial:

"Hi, y'all! It's me, Melissa Rycroft. You may remember me from Dancing with the Stars or the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders....."

She went on to talk about T-mobile, but I'm lucky to even remember that.

Uh, excuse me? That is so NOT where we remember you from!

That face is famous for actually crying when Jason "Weenie Man" Weinerson (who you had known for 5 weeks?) didn't give you a rose.

Boo-hoo.

There really aren't room for those tears, Jason cried enough for both of you.

3) Now the BEST part of the morning! I rolled out of bed this morning around 7:15 when I heard my mom making the coffee. As I was brushing my teeth, I heard this weird semi-screaming noise coming from downstairs. My Dad and I met at the top of the stairs "What's going on down there?"

"THERE'S A GIANT RAT IN THE GARAGE!!!!!"

This instantly reminds me of a time in 5th or 6th grade when I had a mouse ATTACK me.

I've always been a bit of an early bird and would go downstairs, make my own breakfast and just relax before school started.

Well one particular morning, I go to get some cereal and as I open our pantry door, a mouse jumped out from behind a can of green beans aiming straight for my chest.

With lightening speed, I jumped onto the counter before it could get to me, and that is precisely where my dad found me perched, shrieking, when he ran into the kitchen.

Back to the story at hand. Being a typical man, my dad says, "He was probably just eating the dog food, how big was the rat anyway? Are you exagerrating?"

A) To women, rats/mice/general rodents do not have sizes, they all looks like this:

B) If the rat was in fact eating the dog food, we have bigger problems.

The stuff is made with a lethal combination of lamb and beef that produces large amounts of gas in animals.

This gas eventually travels through the animal and erupts in a green cloud that hovers overhead with the most horrendous stench ever to strike the human nose.

Trust me, our house is not a pleasant place after the dogs eat dinner.

It reminds me of a recent clip posted by the one and only @cameronconder.

Remember Witches? Where the children turn into Rats via a cloud of green dust?

POOF

That's what it's like.

DING! 

That was the lightbulb going off in my head.

The good things just keep coming.

HOW BOUT THEM COWBOYS!

Romo pulled it off yesterday, and this calls for yet another childhood favorite:

We will.......

We will.......

ROCK YOU

SOCK YOU

Pick you up and drop you

Flush you down the toilet

Hope you enjoyed it!

I will now take the time to admit I am a completely fair-weathered fan since Romo hopped on.

I miss the days of Aikman, Irvin, and Smith.

The trifecta of terror, the trio of trouble, the triplets of triumph....

oh, the glory days.

Back in the early 90s, our family used to have a Sunday Cowboys tradition.

There really wasn't much out in the Southlake area at the time, so we'd go to the only breakfast buffet in town: 

Shoney's

Nothing like unlimited eggs, french toast, pancakes, and butter to prep for a football game. We really did need energy though. I'm pretty sure my Mimi had a hernia yelling at the tv every sunday.

I'm also pretty sure that this was the start of my chubby phase.

 That worked out just fine since the only thing I ever wore was an oversized cowboys sweatshirt from my parents' closet. It matched my glasses.

I just couldn't help myself.

Everything's better with bacon!

Unless of course, you're Steve Phillips.

I love the 80s part Standerfer

No matter how old I get, I will always love coming home. There is something about spending a weekend with the family that just makes everything seem better. It's probably because they created me and have to love me no matter what--although who wouldn't. Also probably because they feed me well and it's free on my end (covered mexican and italian, mission accomplished).

Saturday morning we got an early call that people wanted to come look at the house. My parents have been trying to sell my childhood home and have already built a new one so it's kind of crucial at this point.

We went to look at the new house and I'll just show you my two favorite rooms...

Ah, yes. The wine room. Complete with  racks for the red and a chilling fridge for the white. I told my dad to just put a little swing in there so I never have to move. He said okay.

Room No. 2, MY room.

Now, I love this room for two main reasons.

a)) I stayed in Austin the summer after my first year at UT and my parents knew I was never coming back for more than a short visit. So they turned my room into a gym, and I have slept on the couch for holidays the past 4 years. I will finally have a bed again!

b) It has a cute little door to the attic so I can keep my small slave child locked away without worry.

I'm pumped about the new house, but it will be sad leaving the old one.

And, as promised, we will take a trip down memory lane. To keep it reasonably short, I'm going with a halloween theme for the solo shots. Don't worry, more to come. Just make sure to get your daily Cup o' Joe.

Some of them are kind of blurry due to the fact that a scanner was not readily available so I was taking pictures of pictures on my iphone. I'm impatient. You don't care.

I'll start from the beginning.....

 

 My parents in 1985. My dad graduated law school from Baylor (Hey Bears, drop out of the big XII and you might win a game once a year) and I was on the way. Too bad they didn't have those David Beckham condoms back then. They could have prevented 24 years of chaos.

My mom just walked over and scoffed that I was "putting this online?!" After then making sure I wasn't giving out my home address and phone number to stalkers she mused, "Just think, in that photo I was only 4 years older than you are now..."

Well, times they are a'changin and unless I get myself into quite a little pickle, that's not where I will be in 4 years. Your second child will most likely be providing the first grand kids.

Now, flash forward to Halloween circa 1989 (estimation).

Don't I look excited to be a pirate hooker at the age of 4?? I only used that face when I really didn't want to have my picture taken. My grandfather was a photographer through my childhood and I learned to plaster on a fake smile like you wouldn't believe. I'm photogenic to the max. Lessons start at $10/hr.

This is probably when I was still an only child. Check out the stache on daddy-o. This is really a better depiction of me. I loved pink, my hair was usually a mess, and I was very happy--until I didn't get my way.

In fact, we moved to Southlake in 1991 and I started 1st grade. I'm not sure if we didn't realize it was picture day or just didn't care, but I had a messy ponytail, hot pink turtleneck, and knee-length cut off jeans on. Oh, and I was missing front teeth. I'm a real gem. Keep it classy!

Times change, people don't. Although now I prefer purple and the "messy ponytail" is socially acceptable.

God Bless the fashionistas of America.

Here I am as a cowgirl at age 6!! Oh wait, this wasn't halloween, my family just thought it would be "cute" to have pictures that would haunt me well into adulthood.

Actually, I was quite the little cowgirl. I took horseback riding lessons for a couple of years and even did some horse shows until I got bucked off and it scared the living shit out of me.

These days, I'd love to get back into the saddle and ride again. Get your mind out of the gutter, I'm talking about horses.

The following picture needs to be included for two reasons.

1) I am reading "Goosebumps" and therefore it qualifies as "spooky fun"

2) It is the only glimpse you will get into my awkward phase for now.

Please note the glasses. I found out my senior year of high school that my friend Jaime had the same ones in turquoise and purple rims. Mine were gold, black, and red since you can't tell. But the really great part is the SHOES.

Mom, why did you buy these for me?? White high tops with VELCRO? arghhhh I cringe just thinking about it. I also wore umbros and plaid elastic shorts almost every day of 4th grade. ew. In my defense, other kids did too. Well the umbros, not the plaid.

Are you getting antsy yet?

Do you want to see the picture?

Okay.....

My shorts probably match the couch.

And just to prove I am not an only child, here is a non-halloween glamour shot of our family shortly after my brother was born.

That's me in the red.

"Court, you have curly hair?"

No, no I don't. I was a 6 year old with a perm.

And bows, lots of bows.

I think after I told my mom to send my brother and sister back she started going with the "the bigger the hair the closer to God" mantra to try to save my soul.

Speaking of, I feel bad for just snapping at my dad. He kept going on and on about going to church with them. I planned on it. My dress clothes are in the car, I'm up, not hungover, and ready to go.

But I have 2 hours and I am TRYING to get my blog entry in for yesterday and today. And he just kept going, and going, and "ALRIGHT I GET IT! I'm GOING! I TOLD you I was going! I'm tryyyyyying to write my blog, GAH, DAD!"

Now I feel guilty. Like I need to go apologize. The thing is, I get my impatience and stubbornness from him. So really I shouldn't have to feel bad. But I do.

So I hope you enjoyed. I'm going to go chase the car down the cul-de-sac in my boxers and t shirt flailing my arms and holding a "Sorry I always have to be such a bitch" sign.

Once he says he forgives me, I'll add in some excuse. "But just for the record, you know i'm not a morning person..."

It's really unnecessary (and a total lie), but I have to get the last word.

Always.

Sunshine and roses,

Courtney

This Blog is giving me a complex

In the spirit of the American obesity epidemic, I like to reward myself when I am "good" in the form of food and drink. For example, I had fully planned to go out last night. I even drank a beer while I dried my hair and put on full make up.

After the one beer got me tipsy the lightbulb in my head went off that I hadn't eaten dinner yet. So I grabbed some grub and turned on the tube so I wasn't eerily eating in silence while the houligans on McKinney hooped and hollered 50 feet below my balcony.

2 episodes of project runway later and halfway into Real Housewives of New Jersey, I realized I wasn't going out. By the way, if you watch RHNJ, the best line was to Kim from Nene, "Is yo wig squeezin yo head too tight, Heffa?"

Anyway, to celebrate my grown up behavior on a Thursday (re: by grown up, I mean lazy and hypnotized by that little screen on the wall), I decided to go to Starbucks this morning for a pumpkin spice latte. However, as I was pulling into the parking lot a panicked voice went off in my head, "You can't get that latte! You drink black coffee, two sugars! What if someone sees you? You know the guilt will drive you to put it in the blog!" I could have ignored it, I could have just gotten my signature pike roast--no room for cream, but for some reason I just drove straight past the parking lot and rounded the block to my building.

So thanks, blogspot, for guilting me into drinking the workplace brew that we call coffee around here. My family will be suing you in 30 years when I die of toxic tar build up in organs I didn't even know I had.

Speaking of organs I don't have, David Beckham condoms are coming soon (pun definitely intended)!!

They will be sold in the Museum of Madrid and and can be seen there in the exhibition Tears of Eros.

Um, yeah, Tears of Eros. That's what your man will be crying when you strap a little latex glove on his junk with David Beckham's face on it.

We won't even go into the fact that DB has 4 kids. Romeo Beckham is a September baby. New Year's mistake? Probably. I was.

Although my mom says I was a "pleasant surprise." She's just being nice, no one would use the word "pleasant" to describe me.

Bjorn Halvard Knappskog, is probably all sunshine and roses right now though.

He claimed the Monopoly World Title and $20,580 yesterday (congrats! my friends will not play board games or cards with me because I get too "agressive"). He's a 19 year-old Norwegian by the way, which means he can buy us all several rounds of beers! I'm looking him up on facebook right now....and I requested to be his friend.

The last people I asked to be my friends were these guys....

Party in the FIP

They all accepted and get extra points for being so fab-u-lous! I'll let you know how Bjorn and I are progressing.

So now I'm just Tweeting and wrapping things up before the weekend. Dreading the first "T.G.I.F.--Thank God I'm Fresh!!" tweet.

Oh, are you?

I think you're "Totally Going Insane, Fool!"

Little Miss Piggy kissed a frog, and he didn't turn into a Prince....

Well good morning, good morning! It's Thursday!! Thursday is practically Friday and then I am off to Southlake for a relaxing weekend with my parents. Well, we'll see if I come back to Dallas Saturday to watch the Horns game, but for now, I plan on laying low and sipping vino with my favorite Florence Henderson look-alike, my mom!

Moving on, I was planning on writing a nice little quip about my sushi and sake dinner with @GMFett, our waiter with a rockin' stache (and ensuing jokes about mustache rides and happy endings), and the black gay couple sitting behind us who made my night by inhaling too much wasabi and simultaneously laughing, crying, and hollering their way through dinner.

However, Brooke Hundley totally overshadowed that one! Cat's out of the bag, StevePhillips! Way to pick a crazy bitch. Letterman can thank her later for stealing the spotlight. If you are in the dark, click here, to get some background.  For those of you that get the gist or don't really care, she's a 22 year old assistant that Steve Phillips has been banging on the side, and she thinks they are in a magical romance. Let's dive straight into her letter to Steve's wife, Marni Phillips.....

My personal favorite line is, "I may be 22, but I'm not stupid."

Oh, honey, honey, honey...yes you are. And you aren't the prettiest peach in the basket, either. But you do rock a double chin quite nicely.

The real kicker is that she dropped the letter off at his house in person and then smashed into a stone column when leaving. I'm sure she is a very distraught young lady, but I am giggling nonetheless. This is like a bad (upper middle class) version of Cheaters.

You can see Marni's statement to the Police here, although I found it a bit passe.

The statement released by the Phillips' teenage son, however, just adds to the madness.

Really, Brooke? Riotgirr4life? That's the best screenname you can come up with to pretend to be this boy's classmate and then ask him inappropriate questions about his parents via AIM?

HOT MESS.

Almost as much of a hot mess as Steve himself. I guess the affairs with multiple women when you were GM for the Mets wasn't enough.

You had to have that side of bacon didn't you?

Hope it tasted as good as your divorce. 

Cheaters never win, Steve. Cheaters never win.

Perhaps Steve and Marni should invest in counseling via the Cheaters website. Live online counseling starts at just $1.75/minute. 

Break out the piggy bank