Wednesday, December 10

Your Best Shot

Okay, okay, so maybe it’s not Paige’s best shot, from a purely aesthetic standpoint, but still . . . it’s a goodie.

My kitty-cats, I have managed to get my paws on a copy of Miss Andrews’ mug shot! Are you ready for her close-up?

Rumor has it that Daddy bought her the bestest lawyer on the payroll—not surprising. And I’m hearing that despite being caught red-handed, girl has worked out a rather cushy plea. In fact, it’s back to Zephyr, where group therapy is tempered by grilled Mahi-Mahi, and detox is softened by daily detours to the sauna, the massage studio, and the outdoor pool.

All together now: poor, poor Paige.

Wonder how she’s gonna do with her take two? At least Regan Stanford won’t be around to play best-frenemies this time . . .

location: blog central
sugar and spice
reading: Perez Hilton, my hero

Sunday, December 7

Love Is in the Air

Or, more like pheremones, I s’pose.

Like, I know it was the Hollywood Ball and everyone was all glammed up and gorj and etc., but people, puh-leeze!

Contain yourselves.

Amongst those who were spotted having, um, a ball:

  • Spence and Jer, previously of Spence-and-Jer, locking lips in—ew—the coatroom. What’s up with that, guys? Not very graceful, Miss Kelly. Not to mention, what would TyTy think?
  • Somebody (or should I say, “bodies,” plural) steaming up the windows of a stretch limo idling curbside outside of the ball. Bonus points to whomever can send me a positive ID.
  • Trish Harlowe and Jordan Haddon getting grabby on the dance floor. Talk about dirty dancing. I thought we were going to have to hose those two off!

Of course, none of that amounts to anything when you consider our own miss Paige Andrews, ushered off in handcuffs at the eve’s end. That’s a whole different kind of “heat,” ya know?

Location: blog central
Hangover status: Code Yellow
Reading: my own e-notes from the social event of the season