I never really knew much about Joss Stone, except that she was a talented singer with outlandish fashion choices. Now, I’m in love. 

I arrive at the Hollywood Roosevelt for Joss’ private get-together to kick off her 2007 U.S. tour at the same time as the singer. As we ride the elevator up to the Wallop.com Lounge (i.e., the hotel’s penthouse), I notice a light pink wrap around Joss’ foot. “I sprained my ankle in Uganda, because I’m a silly bitch,” she says with her airy British accent. Turns out, Joss was recently doing charity work in Africa, and while there, she had a spill. Bad luck aside, she fell in love with a few of the local children and now sponsors them. “It’s just silly how cute they are,” she says. It’s silly how nice this 20-year-old is. 

In my blogging career, I have become accustomed to interviewing starlets who sometimes act, well, bitchy. Joss is the polar opposite. While most young stars would use their celebrity to attract A-listers at a tour kickoff event, Joss decided that since she doesn’t know too many people in L.A., she’d keep the affair private with a handful of close friends and a tinier handful of press. 

The people at Wallop.com, a social networking site that differentiates itself from MySpace in that you have to be invited to join, has sponsored Joss’ little party and even made a pink fan page to match the star’s hair. Tonight, it’s actually pink with blue undertones and purple highlights.

Aside from her colorful hair, Joss’ Marciano dress is tame compared to her past fashion statements. (Who can forget those hot pink tights during fashion week last year?) I ask the singer how she deals with showing up on so many worst-dressed lists. “I cry,” she says, deadpan. “I cry some more. I have tried to kill myself.” WTF?!

Luckily, Joss just has a dark sense of humor. “I’m joking!” she laughs after seeing my worried expression. “I don’t care. I’m a singer. I’m not a model. If I were a model, then that would be a problem.”

After flicking off her flip-flops for a round of photos, Joss heads to the third level of the penthouse to relax on the rooftop under the stars and the hotel’s iconic sign. I stop at the second level and sit on the bed where Clarke Gable used to sleep. This place obviously has some serious starry history—Prince recently resided here during his Roosevelt performance spree—and the penthouse is ridiculously awesome with its silver, black and white mod furnishings. I’d love to crash right here and now, but it’s time to pop over to Opera for a friend’s birthday. I hear Haylie Duff’s already inside! So, I say goodbye to Joss and wish her luck on her San Diego performance Saturday night. If only every celebrity I partied with could be such a pleasure.