And she's baaaaaaack!

No ruling on a paternity test, but the nice German gentleman who bought Anna Nicole's private diaries decided to show them to the AP.

And it's a top headline! And why wouldn't diaries with lots of spelling and grammar errors discussing how she eats too much be top news?

Boobies.

I'll admit it. I love the gossip blogs. They are funny, irreverent and totally increase my own personal self-esteem by showing me supermodels and actresses without make-up, airbrushing or good lighting.

But sometimes, they go too far.

For some reason, Cord, the editor of Mollygood, decided that a post about Uma Thurman's "sagging" breasts was appropriate. You can see the photos that he based his post on by clicking on the link.

Cord sets off to defend Uma's boobs but does a shitty job of it saying large breasts will eventually fall. Ummm, sorry but her boobs still look great. This is what happens when we get used to looking at fake boobs all the time. We can't look at a great set of God-given ta-tas without sniping.

Letter to a new wife.

Dear Annoying Fool,

I just wanted to write you a note to thank you for lunch the other day. I worry sometimes that I don't have the innate patience necessary to raise a child in this day and age, but now that I managed to spend an hour and a half with you without punching you in the head repeatedly, I think I may be all set.

On some level, I realize some of your completely irritating qualities are age-related. Lord knows, when I was 23 I probably thought I was hot shit, too. Of course, when introduced to a new setting, I didn't automatically start spouting off just how hot I thought I was but I'm sure some of my arrogance leaked through. But note, if you want to convince people that you are "really, really, like, you know, ummm, totally smart," it's often best to leave off some of the more stuttering qualifiers. Of course, this particular affectation may be due to a speech impediment so if you find that advice difficult to follow, perhaps not acting like a complete lunatic who can't add up the cost of her lunch, can't seem to recall how many chocolate candies to add to each plastic Easter egg (3. Still 3. Even now, still 3), or, even most importantly, goes on and on about how funny it is to be deeply mired in credit debt would help, too.

But, you know, it is entirely possible that the A you received in your freshman level U.S. History survey does qualify you for Mensa membership. Good luck with the application.

Honestly, I think you are a smart girl. I noticed glimmers of intelligence peaking through despite your best efforts. And unfortunately, this can only lead me to conclude that you are *that* girl. The smart girl who has decided that it is far more valuable to act really, really stupid. And I hate that girl. Pretending to be ignorant is far more malevolent than just being so. First, it's manipulative. Fine, perhaps you got some of us to stuff a few more Easter eggs than you because you pretended not to understand the 3 concept. Maybe you get guys to do your taxes or do your homework so you can go out and shotgun a few beers. But is that worth the blows you are giving to your own dignity? I guess it's easier to shine when no one expects anything of you.

But second, and most importantly, your actions make it that much harder for the rest of us. Women who would like to be able to not be looked at as pariahs because we've read a book or have an opinion on the way the world is run. Sure, it may be easier to twirl our hair around our fingers and giggle in the midst of important conversations, but it does not make the world a better place.

In any case, I hope you grow the hell up and snap out of this phase. For your own sake and for mine. Because if I do give in and hit you, as I'd so like to do, I'll have to deal with some serious doubts about my fitness as a parent.

Love,
Non-Essential Equipment

Still don't know where we're going.

I guess you are probably getting pretty bored reading that I don't know where we're going or even when CPT Dick may get a clue of where. I know I am. But you want a clear glimpse into the life of the military family? This is it. A helluva lot of waiting and not knowing. It's a mainstay -- sort of like dirty brown t-shirts all over the laundry room and battle rattle hidden in in the nooks and crannies of the closets.

There are rumors, though. Which, you know, are even better than orders. Because you can get all riled up and then have the rumor turn out to be nothing and feel totally stupid. But the rumor puts CPT Dick in a unit that will deploy in August. And for that reason and that reason only I believe that the rumor encapsulates our future.

So I'm now preparing to move in the next four months and then send my husband off for a year. Honestly, we did the Baghdad thing once already and I feel fairly prepared for it. But Munchkin? He's a Daddy loving little fool. I'm not quite sure how well an extended absence will go down with him. I'm guessing not too well.

Can't-say-anything-nice policy rescinded NOW.

My mother left this morning. Although I love her visits, it is nice to have the house back to myself. The kitchen won't be as clean and I won't have someone to watch Munchkin while I take a nap but my freedom has returned. You know, the freedom to scratch myself and bash the President when the mood strikes.

Oh. My. God.

Oh, no they didn't!

But they did. Germany country band does their cover of Outkast's Hey Ya!. So wrong and yet so damn catchy.

So, like...

Why should we totally discount the fact that the British sailors confessed but not that Khalid Sheikh Mohammed did?

I can't keep up with the hypocrisy. Plus, with what's at stake, being able to recognize the irony isn't all that funny.

Company.

I've been a bit remiss in posting -- mostly because I've been playing hostess. My mother is in town, has been for a while, and it's hard to insult the world when the woman who raised you is within 5 feet and whispering, "If you can't say something nice, there's no need to say anything at all." Even now, it just sort of takes all the wind out of my sails. Especially since she is so often using that as a response to my rants on ol' W.

But tomorrow she takes off and I will be back alone with my rage. I can't wait to see what might pop out of my mouth.