To the Homeland

As the ultimate nod to Britney, in combination with my growing anti-establishment sentiments towards LA and all its blondeness, I dyed my hair dark brown yesterday. My new bad self is about to hop on a plane to London and my country of birth. I'll check back in a few days. Cheerio.

Not In My Magazine

I spent today researching hair products for the October issue's beauty spread. I started out jazzed, but ended up a little disheartened. Why? As I've mentioned before, beauty items we feature have to be natural or organic or spiritual. (Yes, you read correctly - we recently received a collection of colored face masks, one for each chakra. No comment.) Luckily, my favorite brands are into all that, so I didn't have trouble pulling up some great options. Unbeknownst to me, though, we've already promised a couple companies we'll feature their fugly products. Because everything in magazines has to look pretty together on the page, sometimes the cool kids don't win.

Look at this crazy stuff I found, made by Lush. Granted, it sounds a little like a condiment, but a vegan conditioner? Our readers would - no pun intended - eat that stuff up.

Or what about this? Talk about aesthetics! Philosophy puts out the industry's best packaging. They could bottle rain, write a witty poem with lower case letters about earth's nectar, and I'd pay thirty bucks. But - aside from the spongey sunscreen anomaly - their stuff is also high quality.

Neither of these products made the cut, though, because they don't fit in with the (bleh) look of the other choices. I'm pulling my hair out over here. Pun intended.

Sniff Sniff

I don't know how I got talked into this, but I tried Zicam today. If you haven't heard, it's a gel you pump up your nose (yum!) and it "actually shortens the cold!" We shall see.

Putting things up my nose is actually my worst nightmare. I'm not exactly sure where the fear is rooted, but it started at an early age. Recently, we found a list I made in kindergarten: "Thgs Tht R Bd: Mnstrs + Drgs" (I didn't really dig the verb yet). At D.A.R.E. in 5th grade, while everyone else laughed themselves to tears at the fake drug videos, I'd ask to eat my snack in the other room so I wouldn't throw up.

Peeps at the magazine can't say enough about this stuff and I actually have a friend from high school who shot a Zicam testimonial commercial, so I figured I could give it a whirl. Apparently, it's just zinc in a creepy goo that gets absorbed into the nasal membranes. Or something. Either way, there isn't any snorting involved - just a little squeeze - so that's how I got myself to do it. But don't think I'm not freaking out right now, because I am. The inside of my nose feels tingly and those old movies are flashing before my eyes (especially the one where the kid dies at the dinner table after snorting coke). I think I need to lie down. Sniff.

Bid Now!

Go here.

Um. What?

And people made fun of Kathy Griffin for auctioning a weekend at her house. Please. I would totally sleep on her couch in the Hills and we'd do each other's hair and probably get a pizza from Domino's and maybe the new Brownie Bites and then laugh about Clay Gaykin and then maybe cry about her divorce.

But Britney's egg salad sandwich? KFed's corndog? I admit that I spent 65 of my hard-earned dollars on her perfume and I admit that I defend her mothering skills with a rabid passion, and I admit that I, too, walk barefoot at gas stations...but this has crossed the (very thin) line of Spederline sanity I adhere by.

Kick It Up a Notch: DiorShow

When she's short on time, a girl needs but two beauty products to freshen up and look cute fast: a brush of lip gloss and a swipe of mascara. (I realize some folks would beg to differ, but I'm stayin' true to my New England roots.) This means you better find a stellar version of each to have at the ready.

For the past year, I've been addicted to DiorShow Mascara in black. It started when I noticed how kickin' my friend's eyelashes looked one night. She whipped the tube out and the rest is history. Once again found at Sephora, this stuff is awesome.

First off, the brush is thicker and fuller than most; this really makes a difference with how even and thorough the application is. Another bonus is the reduced need to move the brush back and forth to wipe off excess; just pulling it out takes care of it.

We all dread crazy, cakey, crusty spider eyes. Nightmare. This mascara makes it almost impossible for your lashes to turn clumpy; it applies a smooth, clean coat each and every time, vanishing the need to do those awkward finger touchups to remove any chunks.

I'm not sure what magic potion does this, but just one application (I never need more) and my lashes look incredibly long and lush. And if I curl them first, my eyes are seriously ready for fashion week.

A note of warning: DiorShow is not waterproof. Do not attend weddings and/or watch My Girl while wearing, unless you dig the whole dark clown look. I'm still on the lookout for a good waterproof mascara, so I'll keep you posted on that. But if you're looking to kick it up a notch while keeping it simple, this is the stuff for you.

The Supernatural

The combination of moving to LA and an impending 25th birthday in 6 short months - gulp - has created a new type of worry: scary football skin. I refuse to bake my face and then Botox it later, the popular choice out here, because I’m afraid of foreheads that can’t move. Since I communicate 87% by facial expressions, I’ve got to preserve what I have.

Here, the sun doesn’t go away even when you want it to. I will certainly miss those monsoon days in Boston when I could watch Made marathons and eat Nutella on toast guilt-free, but it's time for a new routine. I read a beauty column a few weeks ago that told me if I’m old enough to even think about wrinkles, then I should have started using anti-aging products yesterday. Oy.

And so, I began a search for the perfect sunscreen. I figure applying it will have to be like brushing my teeth or breathing, so I better enjoy the stuff.

My first attempt - found at Sephora, aka heaven - is made by Philosophy (a delicious company), comes in a satisfying little package called “The Supernatural”, and provides an SPF of 15. I’ve never experienced anything like it. A little squeeze produces a light peach puff, the color of that grainy toothpaste your dentist uses. It’s very soft and dry, and strangely springy, like liquid rubber; it's pretty much a Halloween mask in a tube. This effect, apparently, is due to a “high density silicone formula” that adds extra protection and covers up pores and fine lines. I always enjoy a two-for-one, and this little number can definitely be used as both foundation (the tint is flattering and subtle) and sunscreen.

An interesting product, but I’m not a convert just yet; the texture is a tad creepy and matte coverage (even though it’s very light) is not my first choice. I’ll finish the tube, but won't be sad to continue the hunt.

Yum No?

First of all, what is that picture? Why was it taken? To haunt me?

Whoever is in charge of handling Rachael Ray needs to be fired. Have they never heard of overexposure? Did they not see the trainwreck that was Ben Affleck's career? I don't know why, but I find myself discussing her more than a person probably should. For example, here's a conversation I had with my friend Matt today, when we should have been working:

Matt: "I hate Rachael Ray, but can't stop watching."

Me: "Oh, you can't stop once you start. Don't even try."

Matt: "She's just soooo...common."

Me: "Quite true."

Look at all the valuable time she's taking up in my life! But I still sort of love her? Her enthusiasm defies gravity and I can never quite figure out why she's wearing high-waisted black denim. It's like a little puzzle I try to solve each time I watch. I'm not sure if her giggle is infectious or noxious, but I most definitely lurve it when she says: "yum-OH!" It...can't be described. And you know what? She taught me how to make a mean porkchop, and my boyfriend thanks her for that.

Denied

US Weekly is reporting that at Sunday night's Teen Choices Awards, Jessica Simpson asked Britney Spears if she could kiss her pregnant belly. Britney's response? "Hell, no!" That's my girl.

Chocolate Sun: Part Deuce

I said I'd keep you posted on the fake tan so...here's what went down.

A super friendly gal greeted me at the little studio - "Amy!" (such enthusiasm when you're a potential promoter) - and after I signed a waiver (always reassuring) I was ushered to the back room.

The sprayer told me to keep my underwear on so I could see the results afterwards. So I had to get a tan line? Interesting. But I did have to strip off my bra, which was a little awk. Taking off my glasses helped somewhat. If I couldn't see myself, she couldn't either, right? Right.

Next, she turned on this crazy machine that looked/sounded like an industrial vacuum. She held the tiny bottle attached, filled with a brown - all organic! - solution and I began the strange little dance they teach. I put my hands over my head, or hung them like a scarecrow, or out like a zombie, and she methodically sprayed me. It was cold and sticky and smelled nothing like chocolate, but it moved pretty quickly. After she went twice over my bod (and face - ew) she "detailed" me, rubbing off the smudges and cleaning out my ears (double ew) with some wet papertowels and Qtips. Um.

Left alone for a final drying session, I couldn't help but sneak a glimpse at the new me. Yow. My eyes popped and my teeth were CHING! A tad much, but I wasn't worried; the color I saw was bronzer - the chemicals (or non-chemicals) that would dye my skin are clear and take about 10 hours to develop.

I wasn't sure how people would react, but apparently it looks realistic, because no one screamed and/or ran away and I actually got a couple compliments. Sitting in my office chair with the gummy bronzer sticking up my legs sucked, though, and I pretty much daydreamed about taking a shower all day. When the requisite 10 hours had passed, I gladly hopped in and scrubbed down. The whole thing was very Janet Leigh in Psycho, but I was just happy to get it off. I got out with my tan looking subtler, but still very much intact. Magic!

All in all, I'm pretty happy. I don't look like an Oompa Loompa, I got to try something new (and free) and I can't stop looking at my legs. If I ever get my hands on some disposable income, I just may swing by again.

Cruiseazy Dumped

After 14 years, Paramount Pictures has ended its relationship with Tom Cruise due, in part, to his "erratic behavior." Ha. Talk about a euphemism. That's like calling Scientology a "religion" or Suri a "baby".

Perhaps I've been a bit obsessed for the past year...and a half...with the goings-on of TomKat, but I honestly feel that all those hours of scouring anti-Scientology websites and creative plotting to free Katie have finally paid off. It's step one in the take down of Mr. Mapother.

Before Aaron Could Enjoy It...

Finally, friends. Brenda, Brandon, Dylan, Kelly, David, Donna, Steve and Andrea (how old was she?) all in one place, all back in my little TV screen where they belong. Sure, The Soap Network runs episodes, but I can't handle Passions commercials or Lisa Rinna promos; I don't want anything getting in the way of Luke Perry and me running down a beach in wet suits, hand in hand, away from Shannen Doherty.

You can bet today will be spent pre-ordering the first season of Beverly Hills, 90210 (it's not released till November 7 - argh) then kicking back, grabbing a lemonade at The Peach Pit, and dreaming of Dylan.

To Be or Not To Be: The Formal Short

While I was still living on the East Coast, the debate in my head over whether or not to purchase formal shorts was not a heated one. I'd think it over every couple days, changing my mind frequently depending on presented evidence. Jennifer Aniston on Letterman was definitely a point in favor of them, but then the girls at Go Fug Yourself would come up with some stellar example of poor usage (often involving Hilary Duff) and I'd be done again.

But now that I'm living in LA, I don't really feel like it's an option anymore; I feel like owning formal shorts is akin to owning underwear, and I'm a freak if I don't. But what if I run into the GFY girls while I'm out? I can't very well tell them I'm in lurve if I'm rocking a look they hate. That's like the mulleted, pleated-panter telling Stacy and Clinton, with a straight face, that he's their "biggest fan!" It just doesn't work. And what if when I finally buy them, the trend is suddenly over, and I'm left holding a pair of satin hot pants in sad confusion?

Please advise.

Crack For My Soul

Most of my memories from fifth and sixth grade involve me sitting on the brown velveteen couch in the back room of my house, eating Nutter Butters, and playing Super Mario Brothers 3 with my little brother. My mom never really supported the video game thing - we were the family who had "no tv!" days and a ban on sugar cereals - but was pleased with how well the NES babysat us. Instead of fighting, my brother and I would join forces against the evils of Bowser, and kick some serious elementary school ass. Warm memories indeed.

In college, I tried to recapture old times by purchasing a used system on eBay, but it just wasn't the same. It would turn wonky after an hour or a roommate would tell me a way to beat the whole thing in five minutes ("without having to play any levels!") and I'd get sort of depressed. But then.

I saved up all the fake monies from my credit card rewards and bought myself a Nintendo DS Lite. It's like a Gameboy except more awesome. Two screens - one of which is touch activated - and the picture is kickin; super bright with really vibrant colors and crazy graphics. It's like your old NES on crack.

The best part so far? Super Mario Brothers. Ka-chow! I plug myself in and instantly teleport back to 1993 - platform jumping, the block busting I know and love, and that old school music that still haunts my dreams. But this game has some new tricks up its sleeve for sure. Example? The Mini Mushroom that turns Mario into a super tiny jumping dynamo, allowing him to sneak into hidden places and bounce off enemies. Loves it. Now - if only I could round up some Nutter Butters...

Z List Celebrities Make My World Go 'Round

Last night, whilst waiting for our table at a hipster sushi joint in West Hollywood, who should walk past us, but Jason from Laguna Beach and The Hills "fame." And with him, a cloud of smoke and filth that would have made Pigpen proud.

I told the only other girl at dinner about my sighting - the dudes were clueless - and she laughed. "He was here the last time we came! Chain-smoking on the patio because he's too young to get a drink." Loves it.

I might also add he was with a busted chick, and looking pretty bummed about the whole situation. But are we surprised? It's all down hill (ha) after LC.

I'm a Pimp

Please read this, written by one of my favorite people and fellow pop-culture-nonsense-lover, Sharon Steel. I heart her. And she hearts Paris.

Chocolate Sun

Out of some unwarranted need to appear fearless, I volunteered myself to go under the spray of a fake tan company who wants our endorsement. They're called Chocolate Sun or something ludicrous like that, and apparently are completely organic. The chick who set up my appointment wrote me: "It's great. You will look wonderful. Really." What? But let's be honest here. As suspect as this all sounds, I'm really unable to say no to anything that's paid for not-by-me and comes along with the promise of a free lotion. If all goes well, I'll even get to write about my experience in the magazine. Unfortunately, because we don't ever put out negative reviews, if I turn into an Oompa Loompa I'll simply have to suffer in silence.

And so. Early next week I will arrive at a pre-determined location, strip down, and be assaulted with - all natural! - fumes. I'll keep you posted.

She Keeps the Tabloids Alive

The first half of my cross-country, hour-long phone call with my brother was spent discussing Lindsay Lohan's rack. He didn't know about the tank top pictures from yesterday and I didn't know about the "incredible shrinking" pictures from a ways back. I made the point that those are actually making a case against her having fake ones, because the real problem is when you lose weight and they don't shrink. Clearly amateurs in this line of detective work. We swapped links and snarky remarks, until I came upon the pictures above. Is my job holding me back from finding these things earlier?

Forget Sean Preston being taken away by Social Services - why isn't Linsday in a foster home? Chatting with Mom whilst naked. Coke chillin' on the table. A really heinous bandana. I feel sad in my heart when I think about her delightful British accent in The Parent Trap or even her innocent(ish) "Jingle Bells" dance in Mean Girls. But. I admit that mostly I'm just looking forward to what she could possibly do next.

Old Navy for Me

My old job had me constructing emails with phrases like "yearly revenue" and "breakthrough transsexual memoir". I got away from the bad place, though, and now words like "supersoft cotton", intricate beading", and "green gauze with an underlayer of netting" make up my work correspondences. Blissful sigh.

I spent today researching pieces from the EDUN (nude spelled backwards!) clothing line. Created by Bono (is there anything he won't do?) and his wife, the company is all about socially conscious business practices and sustaining employment in third world countries. Impressive, but don't think it makes me forget that each piece costs a bajillion dollars. They're all insanely gorgeous, beautifully made, and make me look like an organic goddess, but I went broke just trying them all on. So. I'll be over here, sitting with my fingers crossed, hoping for any and all charitable donations from the magazine to me.

Two Princes

This photo really caught my eye.



It reminds me of what my Scottish friend Louise used to tell us in college, much to the disbelief of all listening: In the UK, Prince Harry is the McHottie of the family, and Prince William is seen as a wimp/dork/fruit. We just couldn't believe it. But now.

Look at the skill of that grab! Not Harry's first rodeo by any means. And even though she probably can't feel anything (liquor, silicone) and even though she sort of looks like she's protesting, I really just think she's asking the camera to bugger off so they can get down in private. And then. There's William in the background, not even aware of the boobs in the room, holding a martini like a chick, and making the fruitiest face I've ever seen. Comedy gold.

P.S. There's been an update. But the important facts remain the same. Carry on.

Fantasy. Or Nightmare.

My new internship requires a deep love and appreciation for beauty products. Um, check. But they sort of have to be natural, organic beauty products. Of course, these earn my love as well. But. I have to admit I'm really no taskmaster when it comes to what I will and will not obsess over and buy. For instance. My most favorite perfume is Fantasy, "created" (I'm dubious about her contributions to this masterpiece) by none other than the world's bestest mom, Britney Spears. I seriously adore this stuff. It smells - all at the same time - like cupcakes and watermelon and flowers and white chocolate and cotton candy and all things good in the world. I want to eat my wrist off it smells so good. Another bonus is that it lasts on your skin and clothes all day, but not in a trampy, overpowering way. And it never gives me a headache - a common complaint I have with most perfumes. My only worry is wearing this stuff around the office. I will for sure get a compliment on it and what do I say then? Do I dare utter the name of the woman that makes environmentalists and do-gooders everywhere shudder? Nah. I lurve you Brit, but not that much.

Vitamin Water Don't Like No Fatties

As I quickly down my (second) Vitamin Water of the day, I try to envision what flavor our good friend, and American Idol Season One winner, Kelly Clarkson will promote. To start with, I'm not really sure how she got the endorsement. The only other celebrity who has sung my favorite beverage's praises was 50 Cent. His flavor was (I'm fairly certain it's not around anymore) called Formula 50 and pretty delicious. It was very grapey and gave you 50% of all sorts of things you didn't even know you needed. Admittedly, 50 Cent wasn't the first person that came to mind either when I thought about Vitamin Water, but apparently he really dug the stuff and asked for his own flavor. I don't think the peeps over at corporate VW wanted to worry about the repercussions of saying "no" to Fi'ty and thus, his Formula was born.

Kelly Clarkson though? What sort of power does she hold? She sings a mean Aretha, "Since You've Been Gone" was a pretty kickin' tune, and I enjoy her real girl image - but I'm just not convinced she has the power to sell product. Now, the sad thing about all this is the rumor that VW execs want her to drop some poundage before she is granted a flavor. I'm kind of torn on this. As I said, I appreciate the fact that she doesn't look like this, but I do agree that it probably wouldn't hurt her to take a yoga class or three. Either way, I'm highly anticipating the addition of Kelly Green Tea, or whatever it will be called, to my VW rotation.

Baby Suri?

Remember that incident surrounding Three Men and a Baby where everyone thought they could see the ghost of a boy who had died in the house the movie was filmed? And people would rewind and pause, rewind and pause, trying desperately to make it true? And then it turned out that the "ghost" was really just some foolish cardboard cutout of Ted Danson in a top hat? Okay. Well, I fear that there may be a similar thing going on here.



Above is one of the photos recently released, showing Katie peeking out the window, and a baby-like thing lying down on the bed. See the diaper? Ri-ight. People are all excited about this new development, but I'm pretty sure - quite positive actually - that "Katie" and "Suri" are simply made of cardboard, much like Mr. Danson in the aforementioned film, much like Michael Jordan in Home Alone. Don't get yourself all worked up over nothing, my celebrity obsessed friends. TomKat ain't gonna give it up that easy.

Mentha Lip Tint or How to Sneak Things Past Security

I was seriously disheartened yesterday when, on the way to the airport, I learned that lip glosses were being thrown out at security check. I had dutifully removed all lotions, shampoos and toothpastes from my travel bag, but figured a harmless tube of shine-enhancer would go unnoticed. The chick next to me on the shuttle told me I was wrong; chapsticks were allowed, but gooey glosses weren't. I looked down woefully at the C.O. Bigelow Mentha Lip Tint peeking out of my purse and put on my final application with a sigh. I still tucked it away in my purse just in case it could slip by, but I pretty much said my goodbyes. Holding my breath as I watched my bags pass under the x-rays, I did a mini fist pump to see my gloss pass through without discovery. This should come as no surprise to me, though, as I once got through security with a huge, serrated knife. My dad had given it to me as some sort of protection against rapists, but I just sort of always hid in my backpack, hoping it would go away. I didn't notice the thing was in there until the plane had taken off and I was looking for a book in my bag. I found the whole thing slightly hilarious, but mostly horrifying. Lip gloss is small potatoes for a girl like me.

I must admit that if this particular tube had been thrown away, I have two more stashed in other locations...but still. At seven fi'ty a pop (or two caramel macchiatos) I try to hold onto these things for as long as is humanly possible. Plus, this gloss is really pretty special. You can buy it in four different tints - very subtle but fresh colors - or basic clear, and the shine is incredible. Literally every time I put this stuff on I get a compliment. It's also extremely minty and touted for its abilities to give you fresh breath, which I'll back up as well. Plus, the tube is super cute. Only downside? Don't apply before driving with windows down. Sticky chaos.

Heidi Klum Should be Careful

I'm pretty sure that Elle McPherson is looking at this 24/7 and making fat, ugly Heidi Klum voodoo dolls. I have to admit I didn't really know that Elle McPherson held the real title of "The Body" until all these Victoria Secret commercials started popping up and straight guys everywhere began to protest. This piqued my interest and thus began a thorough, and quite informative, Internet research mission. Sites everywhere - including the illustrious www.showbizireland.com - recognized the Australian hottie as the undisputed "Body." I even found that pretty awesome image shown above. Heidi! What were you thinking? This is serious business! You could probably claim that something was lost in translation, as your current command of the English language forces Project Runway editors to spend countless hours dubbing over your monologues. But still. I have to say - on behalf of the real Body and injustices worldwide - I'm more than a little bit disappointed in you. Auf Wiedersehen, Klum.

Mr. Frosty

As someone who admittedly spends much of her free time watching TLC's What Not to Wear - American version only, preferably on DVR - I am quite familiar with the rules and regulations of their makeover formula. Carmindy, the makeup artist, is so obsessed with one of them, even my boyfriend can recite it from memory. "Just add a little white shimmer to the corners of your eyes and arch of the brow to brighten and open them up." I can hear it in my sleep. Usually I'm quick to welcome these tips into my life, but for some reason I never want to listen to what this chick has to say. She hasn't updated her look maybe ever, she's beholden to pancake foundation, and she can't quite accept the fact that she's not 22 anymore.

So, it took me too long to discover the product pictured above. Made by Benefit, Mr. Frosty is truly awesome. A little pricey perhaps - 18 bucks - but very much worth it. It's a cute little pencil, with a smooth and creamy application. You can apply just a little to the corners of your eyes to make them pop or be a little sassier and apply to your lids. (But please don't go crazy - you start to look like an alien after too many swipes.) When you're feeling sleepy and don't have any time for much else - pretty much everyday for me - you just smooth a little of this shimmer on and you're lookin' perky. I've read complaints that it doesn't stay on throughout the day, but I beg to differ. It's long lasting, fun to play with, and drops at least a couple years off your face. No wonder Carmindy loves it.

Jessica Simpson = Career Woman

I am wary of all clothes created by celebrities. You have to wonder what - if any - creative input they have to the whole process. I remember reading an interview with Mandy Moore, who has her own t-shirt line MBlem. When asked how much she contributes to the designs she responded with: "How much do you think? They're t-shirts." Ever since, I tend to turn a skeptical eye to the whole thing.

This is why I feel especially sad when I see Jessica Simpson whoring out her bags and shoes and such. Nobody wants these things. Have you ever, in your life, seen someone wearing Jessica Simpson jeans? I didn't think so. I wouldn't know a pair if they hit me in the face. This is clearly Joe Simpson's desperate attempt to turn Jess into the Nicky Hilton of the Simpson pair - a fashion designer! a career woman! - letting Ashlee take the throne as the Paris. How did Jessica turn into the ugly, unfortunate one? One, quick swipe of the scalpel and her dreams were dashed.

Matthew and Lance, Sittin' in a Tree

This is hilarious. Please read and then we'll discuss.

What happened to Matthew McConaughey? I have to admit that at one point in my life - probably around 1996, probably around A Time to Kill - he was on my Top Five list. He was only a few ranks away from my eternal love for Johnny Depp. This seems close to impossible now. Over the past ten years his hairline has receded into dangerous territories only Jude Law can conquer, his face has taken on a sheen worthy of a ProActiv endorsement, and most recently he's taken up solo beach yoga and cycling. In spandex. And now this creepy friendship with Lance Armstrong? Oh, Penelope Cruz. First you "slept" with Cruizeazy for three years and then "slept" with this dude. You poor thing.

Breaking News: Brown Hair is Supa Cool

Today on a certain celebrity news/entertainment program the hosts spent a good ten minutes discussing the new color of Ashlee Simpson's hair. They first showed a picture of her with the gothy black hair we loved to hate from last year. Then a close-up of her with the blonde hair of four months ago. Serious frowns and head shakes from the hosts. But their faces were promptly lit up again by the picture of Ash with - gasp! - brown hair. "It's so young, it's so hip, it's so...Jen Aniston...it's so..LA...RIGHT NOW." My roomie and I looked at each other with joy and gave a high five. Apparently, without really trying, mostly because we couldn't afford more highlights, we're very hip. And very Jen Aniston. Right. Now.

Where the Fug is Suri?

Tonight we all discussed where the fug Baby Suri is. I said I was torn. There's a 50% chance she doesn't exist and there's a 50% chance she has a disfiguring disorder. Everyone concurred. Or maybe she is simply the Scientologist's version of "Rosemary's Baby" and has horns, cloven hooves, and/or L. Ron Hubbard eyes. Tough to disguise in "Celebs: They're Just Like Us!" It's pretty clear that everyone who comes in close, personal contact with Tom Cruise is forced to sign a waiver promising they will forevermore speak nothing but well-chosen, scripted words about him in public. Therefore, it makes perfect sense that all the well-known Scientologists have stepped forward with their supposed "beautiful baby" sightings. For the past almost-year I have been following this story, and now that I'm actually living in LA I feel so close to figuring it all out. Yet so far away.