BLIND ITEM: Sicko

So: which, ahem, Dangerous Player called in sick for field hockey practice this afternoon, leaving the rest of the team to forbear?

Not to worry, ma-petite-jockette, certain underclassmen were more than happy to pick up the slack. But then, you must have suspected as much.

And Mooreover, which henchskank/blitchbot/[insert your own euphemism HERE] was moore than happy to take stick in hand? The playa in question was overheard in the girls’ locker room regaling her teammates with stories of just what it was that had kept her fearsome leader otherwise occupied.

Hint: okay, yeah, it was an illness. Of a rather . . . delicate nature.

C'mon, girl—haven't you ever heard the expression, "no glove, no love?" These things are preventable, folks!

Yeesh.

And now I’m feeling sick.

Bad Girl Gone Good Girl Gone Bad

Did you follow that, folks? No foolin’: Everybody’s favorite model of rehab-chic, Regan Stanford, was, some might speculate, back in her cups at last night’s gala.

I mean, girl was certainly into something.

For someone who claims to drink strictly virgin, she sure did get sloppy. My sources tell me that Jeremy Brown propped her up and defended her to Vice Rector Andrews, who was all kinds of pearl-clutchy and etc. Something about a bad reaction to medication.

Uh huh. Sure. Whatever you need to tell yourself, Reegs.

Whatever.

But as long as we’re on the subject of prescription pills? Caitlyn Pierce? Needs to cash in her one-way ticket to the Valley of the Dolls. It’s not cute anymore, sweetie. And whatever you’re on? Is starting to make you bloat-y.

Blech.

location: blog central
energy source: Vitamin Water, spiked. For the happy-medium mellow.
reading: Defamer

BLIND ITEM: Fresh Meat

Really girlies? Really really?

You thought that despite being . . . er . . . generationally challenged, you’d be able to sneak in under the radar and insert yourself into today’s social planning committee meeting?

Two words for you, my darlings (well, really just the one of you. The brazen one, filled to the brim with bad-ideaitis):

Not. Even.

I don’t care what sort of master-jock your brother is, who your father manages, generally, and which junior-class wanna-bes you keep time with.

Not. Even.

(And if you don’t know exactly whom I’m referring to? You deserve to be held back, too.)

BLIND ITEM: Who’s Soiree Now

Which head-turning Mean Girl was making death-ray eyes at CaliforniaChic last night during an impromptu A-lister bash at Kenzo Takahashi’s newest restaurant?

Well, if it wasn’t everyone’s favorite Princess Grace, and it wasn’t our budding Fashionista, that only leaves . . .

Never you mind, dearies; I’m sure you can all guess.

Suffice it to say, girlfriend spent the better half of the evening looking like she’d accidentally sucked-down a rancid double-tall soy latte.

Watch your back, Reegs. Your new frenemy isn’t happy unless she’s the one making headlines. She gets front page billing . . . geddit?

Social Graceless

Well, my pretty kitties, most of you have probably already heard about the Main Line’s new Little Miss, AKA Regan Stanford. By all accounts, she’s “CaliforniaChic,” (read “boho”), "vegan” (read: “’rexic”), and, apparently, fresh out of rehab. She made her debut at the Kelly cocktail party last night, though apparently she behaved herself and stuck strictly to the mocktinis.

The jury’s still out on what Bradford’s resident GoldenGirl has to say about this West-Coast import, but regardless of where Regan ultimately settles on the social register, it looks like she’s already made one conquest:

Jeremy Brown.

Oh, yes.

Not back from his do-goodly mission even a week, my sources tell me he was spotted chasing after New Girl as she fled the Kelly carriage house—good and flustered.

Well, Jeremy always did give good fluster, right?

Looks like this fallen LA-Angel knows how to get a party started—sober or not.

In other news: Getting it on in the servant’s quarters, Dalton? With the hired help? How very . . . equal opportunity of you.

location: kitty-kat’s kwarters, AKA blog central (my imported fainting couch, just in case I happen upon any real dirt)
status: shaking off the catnip hangover
reading: DListed