I recently returned from a splendid vacation on the Redneck Riviera to find my house in complete disarray. I have to admit that the shock of it has been almost more than one perfectly pedicured mother can take.  I understand that trauma, like the one I’ve experienced, can alter one’s entire reality and that the nightmares brought on by this kind of violation can last a lifetime. 

There was no phone call from a friend or the private investigator that I pay the big bucks, no warning at all - I just walked in and found the heartbreaking mess of being dumped.  Then, right in the middle of trying to come to terms with what had happened, I also learned (through the grapevine) that I had lost my job.  It’s a good thing I was raised by a southern mother who taught me two very important lessons:  to say what I’m really thinking with my eyes, not my tongue and that two Vicodin and a dirty martini can make you feel better about practically anything. 

In case all of this isn’t Lifetime enough for you, I also learned that the man who dumped me, the man I thought was a doctor, is actually a lawyer and is being considered to take Paula Abdul’s place on American Idol.  For God’s sake, how much am I supposed to be able to handle at once.

So, STEVIE (as your extensive entourage of unchecked fans like to call you), I hope you and Sandra are very happy and Good Luck on AI, Dawg.

** All correspondence to The Steve Blevins Fan Club now goes through Bob Eckstein.