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Dear Diary, I am like soooo pissed! I know you don't read the paper, because you don't have eyes, but some crazy popper-rotsee (sp?) took a picture of me, driving in my car, minding my own business, with my baby TASTEFULLY sitting on my lap as I sped away down the Specific Coast Highway. Now the press is having a feel day with it! They are calling me the worst mother since my own. I don't think they realize how difficult it is to be a mother, trying to lose all that weight.

Whew! Sorry to unload on you like this, but I want at least one person (you are like a best friend!) to know the truth.

I had just come out of the Malibu Starbucks with my non-fat Caramel Mocha Ding Dong (I get that everyday, yum!) and then I see all these camera guys crowded around my trunk, so I am thinking, oh my God, they are going to break into my trunk and take my baby out. So I did what any good, worried mother would do. I hid in the bathroom and smoked. Then it hit me. I needed to get my baby out of arm's way! So I put on my makeup, ran out of there and grabbed my baby.

Then I got in my car and screamed at the pauper-rachtsee (that is Mexican for photography, BTW). I pealed out of there! My bodyguard, the one I just hired, was in the passenger's seat doing nothing the whole time. So I told him to grab the wheel as I tried to hold my steaming hot coffee at least a foot above my baby's head while I hid my cigarettes. (I'm trying to quit, so I try to hide them from myself! CLEVER.)

Now everyone is mad at me, and I am the top story, even above the death of Loretta Scott Key, the singer of our national anthem.

I can't believe that I am public enemy No. 1 when there are not only killers out there, but murderers too as well. Really, is it so wrong to drive with a baby in your lap, windows down, along a road bound by a ravine that descends 200 feet into the ocean, in a car chase? It's not like I was about to crash. And besides, aren't babies' bones made of rubber anyway? I'm just saying.

BTW, Kevin and I got divorced again last night.

Britney

Stevie Wonder and Tiger Woods are in a restaurant having
dinner
Woods turns to Wonder and says, "How's the singing career going?"

Stevie Wonder replies, "Not too bad. How's the golf?"

Woods replies, "Not too bad, I've had some problems with my swing, but I think I've got that going right now."

Stevie says, "I always find that when my swing goes wrong, I need to stop playing for a while and not think about it. Then, the next time I play, it seems to be all right."

Tiger says, "You play golf?"

Wonder says, "Oh, yes, I've been playing for years."

Woods says, "But you're blind! How can you play golf if you can't see?"

Wonder replies, "I get my caddy to stand in the middle of
the fairway and call to me. I list en for the sound of his voice and play the ball toward him. Then, when I get to where the ball lands, the caddy moves to the green or farther down the fairway and again I play the ball toward his voice."

"But how do you putt?" asks Woods.

"Well," says Stevie, "I get my caddy to lean down in front
of the hole and call to me with his head on the ground,and I just play the ball toward his voice."

Woods asks, "What's your handicap?"

Stevie says, "Well, I'm a scratch golfer."

Woods, incredulous, says to Stevie, "We've got to play a
round sometime."

Wonder replies, "Well, people don't take me seriously, so I only play for money, and never play for less than $10,000 a hole."

Woods thinks about it and says, "OK, I'm for that, when
would you like to play?"

Stevie says, "Pick a night."