Which of Cam Diaz's famous exes isn't faring too well in the gal department? Lindsay Lohan feels the pain of feeling no pain, and how's the possibility of marriage for Ellen and Portia lookin'? You'll just have to wait, babes! Sapphic love's delish, doncha know?

Just 'cause you’re treated like a VIP by all the trendy T-town clubs, it doesn’t mean all the gals and guys inside will gaze upon you as if you're royalty. Case in point: Gerard Butler and his bud were at the Tropicana Bar at the ritzy-butt Roosevelt Hotel in H'wood, enjoying a stud’s night out. Dude was dressed to the sorta-eights in black pants, ratty shoes more apropos for beers 'n' bowling and a fitted white Tee that would’ve been too pectoral-gazing even for Simon Cowell. G.B. also donned a scruffy five-o'clock job, a seriously messy mop of hair and bounced around the room, feelin' just a wee bit too pain-free. What a dreamboat, eh? Still pretty doable, though. 'Least he didn’t have that face he had in Phantom of the Opera, tho maybe a mask woulda helped cover up some of that blasted bedhead.

Ger-babe’s anticlassy antics continued when it appeared he was attempting to pick up two lovely ladies in the lounge. Sure, the guy’s a celeb, but his off-screen demeanor certainly has nothing on his onscreen persona. G.B. tried out some tried-and-trite classic pickup lines such as, “you must be an angel because you fell from heaven.” So say the pregagging gals present. Gosh, do some straight women actually like that stuff? I mean, isn’t that just the prick polar opposite (same diff, though) from the ol’, "OK, come over here and do me, bitch"? Just a thought. You het gals must let me in on that one.

Gerard did, however, make the women laugh uproariously. And no, not because they were hysterically swooning over the 300 thesp, but rather, because they were tragically embarrassed for him. Gerry laughed along, too, obviously not in on the joke at his expense—not to mention, the dude’s Scottish brogue was so thick it made it hard to understand half of what he was saying, besides the lame flirt parts. That’s simply tragic. You gotta work damn hard to make a sexy Scottish accent lose its appeal, especially with cocktail-consuming chicks dying to be hit on by anything remotely famous.

Gerard’s friend, tho, was every bit the witty hunk Ger-hon wasn’t, and the ladies would’ve gladly left in his company had Butler not eventually picked up on the girls’ interest in his less famous bud and left, taking his crushed pal along to sulk. We gotta wonder how G landed Cameron Diaz with an arsenal of antigame like that. Was it just the bod? Women are so shallow.

You may want to sit down for this one, 'cause it’s bound to be the surprise of the century. If you aren't wearing a hat, go put one on and hold onto it, 'cause it’s about to be blown off! Lindsay Lohan is rumored to be off the wagon. Well, technically she was never really on the wagon—more like hanging onto the side, sneaking off (like to Chicago) whenever no one was looking. Oh, who are we kidding? Someone’s always looking...and always snapping photos, too.

At the time of this writing (since we figure the number will rise like fresh bread, sorry Passover pals), our freckled friend has been out on the town—on both coasts—hitting the clubs with roommate and bestie Samantha Ronson. And Oprah's girlie-powered town is the latest scheduled sistah stop.

How close are these two kittens? Well, LiLo’s been following SamRo to all her DJ gigs like a needy, nocturnal pooch, and she’s even christened herself “Lindsay Ronson” on her supposed Facebook profile. Maybe Beyoncé and Jay-Z aren’t the only celebs effing with the media right now? I wonder what in the ef S.R. is thinking, letting Linds stay out until all hours when she claims she’s looking out for her gal-pal’s best interests. I guess we all know who wears the leggings in that relaysh.

But don’t take our word for it, or the word of every photo with L2 lookin’ all sorts of wrecked, or the word of every spywitness who claims to have seen the starlet slurping cocktails like they were Poland Spring. Let’s hear it from the horse’s mouth’s Facebook status: “Don’t believe the hype. I’m taking my sobriety seriously." It was posted at 4:30 a.m.! Who wouldn’t believe the claims of a recovering addict? In the middle of the night, no less.

Someone seriously needs to step up and act as conservator over L's estate. It’s slowly but surely working (temporarily, at least) for dear Ms. Spears; chances are it should do the trick for Linds. How else is she supposed to hit rock-bottom when she’s always landing on a comfy cushion of cash? Her asking price may have stumbled (her going rate for upcoming flick Florence is a paltry by comparison $75 thou), but LiLo’s anything but bankrupt. She’ll never run out of enabling friends all too happy to ride her clubbing coattails and her credit cards. And even if she never stars in a hit movie again, she’ll always have her boobs to expose on magazine covers, securing a paycheck until infinity.

We wouldn’t trust Michael or Dina to be the banker during a game of Monopoly, and we sure as hell wouldn’t hand whatever Mean Girls moolah is left to either of them. I bet 11-year-old Cody is the sanest Lohan in the bunch. He can be conservator, and Lindsay'll get her allowance in candy. Just make sure it isn't Pixy Stix—she might confuse it with another powdered substance and spend it all in one place.