I originally met the Heenes when they did a Wife Swap episode with me and Connie Chung, who was posing as my wife so she could get on the show and jump-start her career (but have you ever tried to jump-start a car with no battery?). Connie got shipped off to live with the Heenes for a week while Mayumi came to stay with me in LA. Luckily I live a perfect life with friends, sunshine, entertainment and happiness, so there was literally nothing for Mayumi to do around the house except clean the pool (which frankly as an amateur scientist’s wife she did a pretty dismal job, completely mixing the chlorine wrong, burning her hands … then she had the audacity to ask for Neosporin – like I’m a fricking Walgreens?!?)

Several weeks later I got a call from my PR agency saying that Mayumi missed spending time with me and asked if I could come out to visit. Well, luckily I a few days off while Alejandra Guzman was getting her butt plumped up and hadn’t yet suffered the assteraffects (get it? HILARIOUS!), so I packed up my Rafi CD’s, hopped in my Beetle and headed to Colorado.

Well no sooner and Mr and Mrs Heene left for dinner (they didn’t leave a #, by the way – total faux pas in parenting land – should have been a red flag, but you know I like to believe the best in people so I even overlooked their forgetting to leave some spending money in case the kids needed something like a new CD or a nice scarf or a student loan payment) then that little brat gift from god- the one with ADHDHAD got in a right fight with the garden gnome (you can’t make this shit up!) and huffed off to the garage.

Next thing you know The View is being interrupted and I’m watching Brat-Child Heene fly over Colorado in some friggin’ JiffyPop nightmare. Of course the first thing I thought of was calling the local news, you know, cuz they’re the ones with the best cameras; second I called my PR agent, and third I did the responsible thing and called 9-1-1. Stop, Drop and Roll, right? Right!

Of course everyone came running immediately and interviewed the NEIGHBORS instead of me (I was PISSED!!!) so what else could I do when I heard that rattle and roll in the garage attic but tell that little twerp precious miracle to stay put and maybe he’d get a show out of this whole ordeal. Too young to commit to a contract, but my agent spent 10 minutes on the phone and got him attached to the project with Susan Sarandon to direct. I could almost smell the money.

Turns out it wasn’t money I was smelling, but despair – something I’ve been confusing for money all to often in the last few months. Dear readers, I had been set up yet again. The Heenes were not at dinner. They didn’t forget to leave me petty cash. They didn’t forget to leave the number where they were dining. They were in makeup trailers in the alley gearing up for a big family docudrama. And they had the nerve to send me an “appearance fee” invoice not two days later.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why I left immediately to head back to LA – where everything doesn’t end up with me being starring as a background extra pawn in yet another goddamned Hollywoodland con game.

If you can’t trust families from Colorado, who the hell can you trust?

‘Pop’ diva Madonna left Malawi today after receiving official permission to adopt a one-year-old boy from the impoverished southern African country.

The first kid that she adopted she threw a “surprise party” for, but as you can see from the video I took at that party, Madonna and the little kid just weren’t clicking (or in Madonna’s case, ‘cliquing’). And no one is to blame, really, except for maybe the kid, but maybe Madonna is a little to blame, too? I don’t know. Can a woman named after the mother of God’s only child really be blamed for anything? It’s a tough call.

After what seemed like 47 hours on Madonna’s cramped little jet, we finally arrived somewhere – I don’t know where, but it looked very much like Utah, and after disembarking, we jumped on the tram (actuallly some mules covered in aluminum foil – were they preheating them to eat??? What kinda place IS THIS???) and were taken to a hangar that had been predecorated to be a mid-to-lower-upper-lower-class living room. And that’s when it happened – she started crying. Not Madonna. She doesn’t cry anymore. Not after … well, anyway, another story, another day. But the child she wanted to adopt, Infinity, just kept going on and on and on. She probably knew it was a setup. It’s not her real birthday, what the fuck is a cake doing in the middle of hanger in Malawi at the Lilongwe Kamuzu International Airport? Madonna didn’t help matters any by doing what she did in the video. I thought it was really uncalled for, but Madonna’s never really been good with girls.

Anyway, I can’t really say anything else as I’m texting this to you from 45,000 feet and Madonna is getting suspicious. Just watch the video and judge for yourself. It’s the same reason why she and Sandra Bernhard aren’t friends any more, actually. That whole “pie in the face” thing except it was technically her “face in the pie” … and I’m just going to leave it at that and let your (sad sick and twisted) imagination run wild. Think south of the border (arrrrrriba!), and I don’t mean Tijuana.

Long story short: I’m sooooo glad she picked the boy instead of the girl – for the girl’s sake! The last thing Madonna needs in her life is someone prettier and younger than her competing for attention. Why do you think I’m never in any photos with her? Some would call it selfish of Madonna, but I prefer to view the situation as monumentally unselfish of me.

I can’t believe it was on the market for that long and no one bought it! I told her that she had too many (19!) pictures of the damned tacky bathroom and that she should get some shots of the garage and also the pantry. But you know Starr - you can’t tell her that a bathroom completely gilded in gold is anything but haute couture. Once Barbara Walters complimented it, but she’s so hard to read that it cold have been a jab. “Oh, dis is weewy wuvwee …” Was that an Elmer Fudd impersonation, or is Babs just being … Babs?

One of Starr’s maids actually went blind taking the photos – it was very sad and traumatic for all of us present! She went in the bathroom and closed the door and snapped a shot, and screamed, “¡No pudeo ver! ¡No puedo ver mis chivas! (I can’t see! I can’t see my goats!)” which I thought was in pretty poor taste since Starr said she was a Korean – I thought the maid was making a racial joke! Turns out she’s a Filipina instead, Spanish was a first language, and the bright flash from the camera ricocheted off everything gold in the bathroom providing a terrorizing funhouse experience that caused a flashback to her childhood when she was lost in the mountains with her grandmother during a thunderstorm and lost the entire family herd of chivas, or goats. All of this must stay between us since I’m sure a court case is sure to follow. Promise? Okay. I knew I could trust you.

So, back to pancakes. Starr and I are going to the hospital later – Our Lady of Perpetual Motion I think? – to bring her (now ex-) maid some goat milk and gladiolas. It’s a traditional dish. It’s traDISHional. That’s hilarious. I’ll have to tell her that in braille when I see her! Anywhoo, I’ll let you know how she is.

Her eyes are with the Lord now … and my stomach is going to be with IHOP on the way to the hospital, so I better hit the road. Being kind and visiting the needy really takes a lot out of a person!

I hope they have fresh strawberries.

The waiter just refilled my iced tea and brought G another “iced tea” as well. But again, nothing bad to say and I won’t say anything else. It’s just that … well, she was just really mean to Reese, and I adore her (Reese … well, both G and Reese, but Reese more because we really get each other, you know?). You know the one thing about Reese that I find the most endearing is that her enthusiasm is real. She doesn’t need Method or Scientology or Kalalblalallah to express her true inner self, which can best be described as a cheerleader who just won State. Goldie (who I also adore, of course, and not just because she saved my life) notices Reese coming over to the table to say hi to me and, rolls her eyes and says loudly so even the cooks could hear her, “Oh gosh, where’s your Chanel dress? Did Kirsten Dunst spill something on it or did they finally pass it on to someone else? A crossing guard? A homeless person perhaps? A tranny hooker? Who was next in line for that thing anyway?” And then she laughs really hard and keeps banging the table with her open palm until everyone is looking. Reese just made a run for the bathroom, tears starting to well. I hope I can capture all this on the tiny little SideKick pad!

“Goldie, you can be so mean some time. I don’t know how Kurt puts up with you,” I said, in an accusatory voice. The whole horrible story is that Chanel gave Reese a dress to wear that Kirsten Dunst wore just three years before, and they told Reese it was vintage.

“It’s because I PUT OUT for him!” she (kind of) slurred, the emphasis completely wrong in her retort. But she found that funny as well, and returned to banging the table and laughing.

I grabbed my stuff excused myself and headed to the back to find a collapsed Reese in the phone nook. “Listen, we’ve all been diddled by Chanel and humiliated by Goldie. It’s a rite of passage in this day and age. They’re both practically Wal-Mart brands anyway, so what does it matter?” She looked up, wiped the mascara off and said, “Really?” “Of course. And next year when you win, which you will again, next year you get to choose your designer.” I pulled her up gave her a little hug, and she escaped out the back through the kitchen. I headed back to the table.

“Hey, where’d Pointy McChin go?” Goldie asked?

“Oh she’s on her way to film a movie. How about you? How’s your career going, Goldilocks? Book anything lately that didn’t cast you as an ex-wife, living or dead? Oh that’s right, you did that infomercial for VIBErant(tm) hair care products. It was very nice, really. I saw it on late late late one night on … I think it was UPN or WB. You looked so … thin … then.”

Goldie likes a good jab and knows when to shut up. I went back to chewing my sandwich, Goldie went back to crunching her lettuce. “I just can’t believe how loud this sounds in my ears!” I’m thinking the same thing, Goldie. And we should have gone to IHOP.

Christie and I have this on-again-off-again friendship and I really think she’s a sweet gal, but she keeps marrying down. I told her on her first marriage just as she was ready to walk that aisle, “Christie, this is your one shot at true happiness. Don’t blow it.” Did she listen? No. She just laughed and said, “Too late!” Crass. Husband number two, I’m talking to her from Spain as she’s ready to walk down the aisle … again. “Listen, the starter marriage got you a house and a car. Don’t spread yourself too thin on #2.” She giggled when I said that and added, “TOO LATE!” God she can be so crass. Husband number three. God almost takes them both in a helicopter crash in Colorado in 1994 and I tell her, “Defy god! Go back and get married where the copter crashed and make this one stick!” Again she giggled, “WHY DO YOU THINK I’M MARRYING HIM?” Ugh. She always shouts into her cell phone. And again, crass. She didn’t even bother calling me this last time when she married Peter Cook. And you know what? I would have still given her words of encouragement. I would have said, “Listen, third strike and you’re out – but not in pee-wee league. You keep swinging until you get to first base!” I imagine her chortling and adding, “Oh, he’s already made it to home plate … along with his team!” God she can be so crass, even when I imagine her talking.

Christie stumbles out of her Cabrio and runs to the door, screaming all the way. Kind of like that Marianne Faithful song, The Ballad of Lucy Jordan. As I walk up to the door behind a now-sobbing Christie, Ithink to myself, “God, if there’s one person you shouldn’t get marriage advice from, it’s Courtney, who completely redefined the term shotgun wedding but whatever, Christie, whatever.” Always the gracious hostess, Courtney invited Christie to join us at IHOP and she sat there in our booth, makeup smeared and crying about something that Peter, the now-ex-husband, said to her. Apparently she’s a little long in the tooth , if you know what I mean. Her pantry is now a two-car garage. Her crawlspace is now a rumpus room. Her vagina is as sloppy as a Rush Limbaugh at a drug store filling a photocopied receipt and using fake id to purchase narcotics with cash while coming down from his last Oxy pill. That’s not a euphemism, and I’m sorry, but it’s the truth. He said if she were a dynosaur, she’d be a Sloppylottapuss.

I couldn’t order anything. I just had a coffee. And then a thought came to me.

“Christie, it’s not like you haven’t had a little work done here and there to freshen up the years,” I said, taking her roadmappy hand. “Why don’t you hire a ‘decorator’ to trim the curtains in your basement?” She gave me the Evil Eye, but deep down (and probably dangling outside a little bit) she knew it was the perfect solution. “And if that doesn’t work, Christie, maybe they can cast you in the next Harry Potter movie with your big pink wizard’s sleeve.” Courtney kicked me under the table. “OW!” I exclaimed, exaggerating the pain.

“Fine. I’ll do it. Just as long as no one finds out,” Christie relented. “Oh, no one will, Christie,” I assured her, as I wrote down the number of an amazing gynorejuvenator that I know, “no one will.”

God I hate going out with these two sometimes.

I promised myself that I’d try to repair the friendship after the whole IHOP incident last year where I embarrassed Jim when I asked him what he’s working on. NEVER EVER ASK AN ACTOR WHAT THEY’RE WORKING ON. It’s like asking a waitress if her tits are real – which is exactly what he did at IHOP to prove the point: DON’T QUESTION THE CRAFT!!! I could have died. Jim has boundary issues, but he tipped her really well.

Jenny immediately got out of the car and set the alarm. Jim and I were stuck in the car for 45 minutes before Jim finally opened the door and set off the alarm and Jenny came running back. Luckily people thought they were playing. Hahah. So witty, so fun, such a great match! They weren’t playing, they weren’t playing at all. If people even KNEW the dark secrets roiling inside their souls they wouldn’t even make eye contact.

At the party Jim corners me and asks me how things are. He’s got that super-imposing face and body language that I find a little disturbing. It’s like at any moment the alien that lives in his head is going to pop out and eat my soul. Or something like that. And sometimes his breath smells like garbanzo. I tell him about a few of the projects that I’ve been asked to help with, and he seems genuinely interested, but immediately when I stop talking, he changes the subject to Jenny and him. He asks what I really think of Jenny and if they have a future together. “Well, she’s no Carmen Elektra, but she’ll do for now.” That’s kind of his little joke – Jim likes to pretend he’s really dating Carmen. I don’t get it, but whatever – that’s Jim.

In the short time since we arrived, Jenny seemed to have disappeared – she does that often – and Jim started to get frantic. He started yelling for her in the middle of this big party, a totally chill scene ruined by Jim‘s shrieks. Someone near the buffet pointed to the broom closet. And like a scene out of some movie, Jim flings open the door to find Jenny and the young latino valet speaking in tongues. And by that I mean they are frenching. But you probably already got that.

Jim grabs the young kid (turns out it was Rob Schneider … eeew!) and flings him out of the closet like a mother pulling a burning car of her infant, and picks up Jenny and carries her over his head yelling the whole time in this high-pitched screach and took her over to the buffet, cleared the whole thing with one arm, then climbed on top of her and started making out while holding her arms down.

God I hate hanging out with these two sometimes.

Everyone stood there for a good 15 seconds in absolute silence – not a breath was taken. “Shit, this is gunna be in the tabloids tomorrow …!” was all I could think. And then it hit me. I started clapping, slowly at first, but then building up momentum and as I clapped harder and faster, more and more people joined in and pretty soon the whole crowd was cheering and laughing. “Wow, did you see that? They’re soooo good together!” I said as I nudged the gossip reporter next to me from In Touch. “Yeah,” she said, unsure of what was happening, “I saw that.”

As we got back to the car two hours later, I climbed in the back seat and Jim got into the driver’s seat. Jim looked over at Jenny, who was still kind of half-buzzed after all those sweaty nipples and asked, “Who wants to go to IHOP?” as he honked Jenny‘s breasts and winked at me.

Did I already tell you? God I hate hanging out with these two sometimes.

I admit it, Adam - I gave her the wrong phone number to call into your show because frankly I knew what kind of emotional land mines were ahead of her (the entertainment industry can be so cruel – believe me!), and I had just spent two hours showing her how to put on mascara correctly (Maria Shriver tried to teach her, but really … ), and I didn’t want to spend two more of my hours reapplying after you made her cry. But I guess a father bird can only keep his little chick safe for so long before they have to fly alone into the big scary world. She kept calling the number I gave her (a delicious teriyaki joint down the street – Ann needs some meat on those bones of hers) and asking for you, but they kept putting her on hold.

And I hope you feel even worse after reading this entry in Ann’s super secret diary that I took and copied when she wasn’t looking:

Thursday, July 6, 2006
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got up, took my pills, adam’s apple getting smaller. speaking of adams, i’m going to be on the radio tomorrow. can’t wait! still trying the ‘ann is a bitch’ routine – i hope people get it soon. seems like it’s not really making the splash i hoped. little nervous, but it’s adam corolla and he’s pretty cool – i’m sure he gets it. he’s also kind of hunky in that fred flintstone kinda way. or is that barney rubble? hmm … i wonder if all the cavemen were that sexy back then? well, now that my dick is gone (hooray!!!), i guess my man-on-man thoughts are officially heterosexual - take that mom! take that dad! anywhoo … today i donated some old clothes to the homeless shelter down the street next to that great teriyaki place and then volunteered to pre-chew food for the elderly at Our Lady of Old Misery for a couple hours until I bit my tongue and it wouldn’t stop bleeding – turns out i accidentally chewed mrs harrington’s blood thinner pills!!! eeek! i hope they don’t make my adams apple get bigger again! LOL brad‘s coming over and we’re going to ihop then we’re off to Buena Vista to talk about hosting a new children’s show. i hear nicole richie is up for the part too, but brad said she’s probably going into rehab again (codename: caribbean vacation) so she’ll be out of the running. good. she’s almost as pretty as me. as i. LOL what’s the grammar rule there??? anywhoozle, fingers crossed! best friends forever! you’re the only one I can trust, diary! ps – sorry so sloppy! i poked myself in the eye with the mascara pen (again!!!). must have been a man who invented it! LOL
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So bravo, Mister Adam Corolla. If your job was to make Ann cry and buy her a one-way ticket to BulemiaLand for the weekend, I can only say “job well done.” I ask you … what did she ever do to you – or to anyone else, for that matter? Good day, sir. I said good day!

It’s not her fault, really. Her parents did the best they could with what they had to work with. All the private nannies, the tutors, the swiss boarding school (PH calls it a BOREDing school), the plastic surgery to try to correct her Dougherty Syndrome (one eye lower than the other, named after the foundation Shannon Dougherty started to combat this silent but deadly career killer) … nothing seemed to make PH any smarter.

So there we are, two best friends, lying in bed eating popcorn and sharing a tear over Pretty Woman (PH really gets it … more than anyone will never know!!!) and I made a joke about PH‘s new meds and how now I’m going to call her PH Balanced. She laughed really hard and vodka came out her nose, and I don’t even think she got the science reference. Oh well. That’s what best friends are for – to love and hug and tease! Proof: I’ve included a picture from a time when PH played a little joke on ME, going out in public with my name on her shirt! I love that she wore those hideous UGG boots she bought on eBay and used the wrong form of “your”. I think she did that on purpose because she knows I’m “grammar fragile.” Maybe secretly, deep deep deep (like really really deep) down, she’s smarter than we all could ever imagine.

PS – Check out her glasses – she TOTALLY ripped off that style from me. Grr. I snuck light syrup in place of the heavy syrup on her pancakes when she wasn’t looking so she’ll have to try extra hard to gain weight. Shit. Now I might not get the cruise. And speaking of Cruise … he just got back from the Carribean with some Rusty Limberger … Limebag … I dunno. Apparently this dude can’t keep it up and needs little pills to help. How he get his dick to take them I’ll never know. But Cruise said he’d fill me in as soon as they got back. I haven’t heard from him. I hope he’s okay! Every time I call I worry that Katie is gunna pick up. And that wouldn’t be good for anybody. Cruise is afraid she’ll find out the truth about the baby and disappear, like in some movie or something. I’d pay $8 to watch that.