I'm Dannielynn's Father!

Ok, I know what you're thinking: "Um, due to your female genitalia, I'm almost 99.9% sure you're not a father." For those who don't have their fingers on the pulse of the National Enquirer, I guess the other possible thing you're thinking is, "Who is Dannielynn?" Well, let me answer your question with another question? Do you know who Anna Nicole Smith is? Dannielynn would be her 7 month or so old daughter, a dear child conceived out of wedlock. Anna Nicole's history includes topless dancing, playboy centerfolds, a marriage to an 89 year old oil tycoon (I thought it was true love, though many have accused her of gold-digging, but that's niether here nor there), and her own reality TV show in which she let us in to her world, otherwise known as a drug induced haze.

Her colorful background has allowed for numerous men to claim that they are Dannielynn's father with a certain amount of credibility. At least three have come forward to claim paternity, and the courts are all in a tizzy, especially since Anna Nicole's early demise last month. I am here to set the story straight. I, New Girl, am Dannielynn's father. While she has spent the last forever number of years fighting her evil stepson for the estate of her late husband, she has secretly had access to his Swiss bank account, worth almost as much as his known legal estate (about $500 million). What has she been doing with that money? I'm glad you asked. She has invested in cutting edge reproductive research looking for a way to use the DNA from two of the same sex to create a human embryo. This research is pretty hush hush due to the implications for same sex couples and the holy hell it would cause among the religious right, so I'm not surprised you haven't heard about it. You can trust me all the same.

Mid-summer, 2005, researchers found a way to make it happen, and Anna Nicole was eager to be the first to put it to the test. She asked me to be the genetic material donor. I was so touched, how could I say no? Well, a short time later (about 9 months), out popped Dannielynn. All this is to say, I'm tired of the lies and the hullabaloo, and I thought it was time to reveal the truth. The judge will be receiving my DNA sample any day now. When I am awarded custody of Dannielynn, I pledge to continue the fight for my, I mean her, millions from J. Howard's estate.

My new haircut (is coming soon)

I have been getting many comments about the lack of recent posts. As I think I've stated before, I don't like posting when I don't have something funny to say. I laugh plenty, but mostly at other people, and recounting their embarrassing moments and anecdotes doesn't strike me as appropriate, or all that funny.

The other day, just after such a conversation about the lack of fodder for my blog, I got gum stuck in my hair. How does a grown woman spit gum out into her hand, but miss the hand and hit her hair instead? It was quite stressful as I was just about on my way out the door. I couldn't go out like that, it would only make it worse, not to mention look ridiculous. Do I go get the peanut butter? For those of you not in the know, peanut butter breaks up the sticky property in gum, making it easy (well, easier) to extract from hair. The problem with that idea was, I can't go out with peanut butter in my hair either. Even if I had wiped most of it out, I'd still smell like a 4th grader's lunchbox. Instead, I did my best to work through the gum knot, pulling away strands of hair one and two at a time, but quite frankly, there was also plenty of hair breaking going on. If my hair dresser were dead, he'd role over in his grave. Luckily he's alive, but that's neither here nor there. All through this process, I was thinking, "I can't believe this happened to me, this is something Tonda would do." Luckily she agreed when I told her.

So, all that is to say that I have resolved to cut my hair as soon as possible to a length in which I would have to be doing some pretty crazy flailing and head shaking in order for gum to have a trajectory from my mouth to my hair. Also, I'm just tired of my hair being so long. The boyfriend isn't thrilled with the idea of me cutting my hair, but I have a sneaking suspicion that he'd rather that than think about gum in my hair, due to his revulsion of gum in general. Thus, should he complain about my haircut, I will silence him with memories of what I will hereafter call, "The Gum Affair."