Wednesday night was crazy, ya'll. After helping me pick the twins up from school, J-man declared that he had had it with the boring suburban scene and was ready for action. Next thing I knew, we were on a plane headed for Cali. J (what he declared as his new blog handle, yo) was on the phone with Clooney, Jay-Z, Diddy, J-Lo, Jennifer Aniston, and Brangelina (he has a crush on Shiloh), whom he called his "peeps", getting a party together. As soon as we got off the plane, we were in a limo to the Hyde Lounge. Before I fully realized what was going on, J roped off a corner of the Hyde for his V.I.P. party and the alcohol was flowing like Niagara. Brangelina showed up; he was chugging beers left and right and she was scowling at J because J was going on and on about Shiloh this and Shiloh that and it's bad enough when a teenager goes after your little girl but when a Cristal-swilling toddler is ogling your sweet princess, well, break out the shotgun. Then Diddy came in but he left because J was upstaging him. J-Lo got offended when J kept patting her butt and Jay-Z just looked bored. Then Clooney walked in with Paris Hilton, acting like he owned the place and gave Jennifer Aniston attitude. Well, J wasn't having any of it. Before I could make it through my second Cosmo, Clooney had J by the collar of his Lightning McQueen shirt and had jammed his face into the bar, forehead first. J was trying to kick him in the balls, Clooney let go, and J swung around, punched him in the stomach, and kneed him in the nuts. I was out of my chair, trying to push J and Clooney apart and Paris jumped over and scratched her nails down J's nose. I was pissed. I grabbed a handful of her hair, yanked her head back, and punched her in the boobs. Before she could react, J pushed me out of the club and the whole place erupted. Fights broke out and the cops were crawling all over the place. We barely got out before they dragged J off in handcuffs. By the time we got home I was worn out and J was back to asking for apple juice and Diego and whining about his firetruck. How can I prove all this was true? See for yourself.
Well, OK. Maybe none of it is true. But didn't that story sound better than Hey! My kid forehead-planted himself in the neighbor's driveway! Where's the Neosporin?