I've been going at this wrong..

I always promised the powers of the Universe that if I won the big jackpot I would do good things. I would take care of my friends and family and give to charity. But, nothing's happened other than a few Power Ball hits worth $10 or $20 bucks here and there. So, I've decided what I really want to do if I get filthy rich is spend it all on being ridiculous on TV. Oh, yes..the first thing I'm going to do is move to the Hampton's and buy the biggest most ridiculous house I can find and decorate it with weird gothy dark expensive art and buy tiaras and throw coming out parties for underprivileged Chihuahuas. And anyone who's anyone will be there..including the Housewives of NYC.

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I will wear nothing but black designer leggings, expensive ballet flats, white silk T shirts topped with colorful designer kimonos that cost at least $10 grand each and I'll throw them away when I change them..or give them to my maid. I'll find some no account Count somewhere who's broke and pay him to marry me. Then I'll divorce him and keep the title. I'll learn to slam people with a backhanded compliment and smile, like.."Oh, Countess LuAnn, dahhhhhling, I do admire a woman who's not afraid to wear a freight train around her neck. You are so brave."

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I will also buy a magnificent brownstone..hell, I'll buy the whole building and knock out all the walls, significantly destroying the historical architecture to have the biggest dwelling in NYC, with several private elevators and I will invite Jill Zarin over and serve her deviled ham sandwiches and green kool aid out of Baccarat crystal and force her to watch tapes of Alex and Simon's toddlers doing Shakespeare in French. In fact, I will hire a private language teacher for their kids as a gift, so that those kids can speak a number of ridiculous languages for Jill's amusement. And if she even thinks about leaving early I will threaten to take out a full page ad in the NY Times coyly suggesting that Zarin Fabrics is a front for a child prostitution ring and her mother is head pimp.

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I will eat out 17 times a day leaving stacks of $100 dollar bills as tips and hire male models to hit on me and admire my fat ass and recently hoisted tits as that other Countess drools and Ramona is encouraged to dance on tabletops. I will find those old photos of me naked and pay Hefner to publish them and pretend they are recent and create a scandal that will knock Kelly on her dim bulb. And Sonja and I will discuss the merits of new money as I smile and tell her how much I admire the way she humps anything in pants and isn't ashamed of it, while my maid sprays her with Lysol.

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And when I die, I will not leave a dime because I will have spent every bit of it on ridiculous goofy tacky superfluous crap. Like Poodle Fashion Shows and runway walking schools for Siamese cats and art galleries for Vampires. And my show will be called "The Countess Of New Bucks Of NYC"...and they will all wish they were me but, only get bit parts. And I swear that's the truth. Bring it on Universe.