Dear Mommy Dearest…is your name Debbie Rowe?

I hate writing mean posts but this Debbie Rowe character has struck a wrong chord with me….
Well, before I get into her story, let me tell you about my day cause it was a classic. This morning, I had to go to hell aka, Family Court. I hate to call it that, but so much evil goes on there, that I can only think of that name for it. HELL. So, anyway, I show up looking all professional sans the pink converse sneakers I’ve been living in all summer, and my clothes freshly pressed and all, and I get chewed out by the judge’s law secretary in a manner that no court personnel has ever chewed me out. I mean, talk about persona non grata. That was me today with this woman and why? What did I do? Well, I had the temerity to have had my client disobey the court’s WRIT OF HABEAS CORPUS. Long story.
But the law secretary goes absolutely postal in the conference and insinuated that once she got us before the judge that the judge is basically going to hang me by the ankles for my transgression (and she is speaking to me at the very top of her lungs, by the way) and girrrrlll, lemme tell you something: I nearly crapped myself in my brand new Brooks Brother’s pants!
But I had to pretend I wasn’t scared, cause, I mean, if I am scared what is my client supposed to do? You know? So anyway, this woman continues to wax ballistic in the most untoward fashion over this fricking WRIT, that after some time I wondered, “wait a minute, who was constructively abandoned by their husband for 2.5 years? Was it my client? Or is it this out of control shrew sitting before me? And what does she want me to do? Writ or no writ, the baby ain’t in the building!!!! So calm down and let’s go to plan B!!!”
So, anyway, obviously, I am not completely nuts and so I kept my mouth shut because actually and factually, my client did receive a WRIT and so she should have brought the baby and so obviously, it was better for me to just shut up and say meekly after the law secretary’s vitriolic tirade, “yes, of course, Madame, but I would like to speak with hizoner, if you don’t mind. Would be okay if we took the issue before hizoner?” To which she paused and said in a huff, “fine.”
And that was it. And her Honor was so ladylike, reasonable and respectful and she totally, totally sided with me. I mean, the baby ain’t here, folks. The baby ain’t in the building! What do you want me to do? And so her Honor basically said, “you know what, counselor? I accept your explanation of why the baby isn’t here…..” blah, blah, blah, you know? And that was the end of it.
And so right after I left the courthouse, I found myself craving Indian food in the most profound way. So I hopped on the Number 4 train to Lex and 28th and had the biggest plate of rice, shak ponir (wrong spelling?) and chick peas you can imagine. And as I was sitting there on the second floor next to the window facing Lex, I saw the deli across the street was named, “Little Michael.” And I started to think of the Jacksons and Debbie Rowe.
What kind of thing was that for Debbie to tell her friend Rebecca White by email? Did you read the Post today? Either Rebecca is lying, or the Post is lying, or Debbie is Mommy Dearest. It was like, ew. Says the post:

Human incubator Debbie Rowe sneered, “Hell no” she doesn’t want the two kids she bore for Michael Jackson — then coldly added, “Does it look good for me to ask for them? Absolutely,” according to explosive e-mails that surfaced yesterday.

And I just thought to myself, first of all, she is persona non grata to me from here on in. But also, I thought, this is a woman who needs a WRIT. I don’t exactly know what kind of WRIT? But they need to WRIT her. Big time.