Tease a Crowd

Looks like the somethin' keeps comin' between Dubya and the First Gal, as she's spending less and less time around her hub-unit's hangs. And will our fave Mousekeeters have a cozy little reunion in Sin City? C'est possible. Plus, how Jaime P. spent her raunchy B-day there this past weekend!

It's official! As we broke to you fresh from deep inside Camp Stork a little more than a month ago, Nicole Richie is, indeed, expecting. The mom- and inmate-to-be announced to ABC News' Diane Sawyer that she is four months preggers with b-f Joel Madden's baby. Looks like our fave greaseball source knew what the ef he was talkin' about back in June when he spilled the baby beans, eh?

Congrats, you two crazy kids! And just think how unique Nic's offspring will be...after all, how many babies can say they spent time behind bars before being born? Isn't that the way to be in these days?

Before we get to trashy-ass happenings in Sin City (like Hollywood itself isn’t full enough of original sin, but whatev), must report on—as much as it pains me so—how very many folks I heard from after that naughty Oprah item I ran last week. Ya know, the one where a past guest of the show complained about how icy he found my cherished Ms. O?

Yet another famous person (think comebacks and bad hair, or no hair at all, and you’ll be close on just who this peeper happens to be) has sent word to me on how unreal it was appearing on the Big O’s gabfest: “The only time she talks to her guests is while shooting,” sniffed the boob-tube worker bee. In other words, Ms. W offers no chat time before or after the taping—whatso-friggin’-ever. “So bizarre,” added the O-witness.

Additionally, something I find très amusing is this technical gizmo grandstanding: Before O enters any room on her Chicago sets, red lights flash like crazy—blink boink blink boink—to announce Her Televised Majesty is about to enter and you'd better snap to if you know what the ef’s good for ya. Too fun. Reminds me of that other queen, the one over in London. Not Liz, of course—I mean Madge. (But then again, I don’t even think Missus Ritchie would pull a lighting routine like that, but I guess ya never know...)

And as long as we’re on gals we all live for, let’s check in on that adorable Laura Bush, shall we? Now, I just gotta say I have a soft spot for the First Gal because she:

1. Has had to put up with Chief Schmuck for, like, eons now, and 

2. Had the good sense—so my White House sources tell me (and, yes, I do have moles at 1600 Pennsylvania)—to remove herself from Bush’s company, as of late. Background: As I’ve said for months now, L.B. has been spending more and more time away from the White House, due to Bush’s resurrected drinking habits. The Hay-Adams is just one place Ms. B likes to hang away from official home.

But now, I'm hearing from down Tejas way that Laura-love is also avoiding their beloved Crawford ranch, as long as Dubya’s there.

“[The president] has been in residence three times over the past several months, and surprise, surprise, Mrs. Prez has not been with him on any of the visits,” sniffs Desk Horsey. This is most unusual, too, as, according to Desk H, Ms. Bush “adores the quiet life at the compound and usually the kiddos make an appearance as well.” But apparently not with the guy who’s anything but soft-spoken these days. L.B., you just biding your time till that party of yours gets another Republican in the Oval Office?

Girlfriend, I say cut your damn losses now. It’s your life. You don’t get another one, unless you’re Shirley MacLaine, or, apparently, Lindsay Lohan.

Oh, and as long as we’re on gals who keep on giving way past their expiration dates, let’s check on your fave (and mine, too!) fallen femme, Britney Spears!

So, yeah. We talked last week about how Ms. Es is set to host—and supposedly perform—at the Vegas opening of LAX at the Luxor hotel. The grand opening goes down Fri., Aug. 31, which is Labor Day weekend. And guess who just so happens to be performing in Vegas that very same weekend, Saturday and Sunday, to be exact?

No, not Kevin Federline. That would be ripe-ass rich. Nope, we’re talkin’ about Brit’s original semimuscled accoutrement, Justin Timberlake, who’s doing two concerts at Mandalay Bay that very same weekend, too fun for the too-close-for-comfort tum! Brit and Justin in the same city at the same time...does anyone else smell a reunion?

Although it seems Justin is so over Brit and so under Jessica Biel these days, he just might show up at B.S.’s club opening Friday night. Why? Well, former Mousekeeter and bud Christina Aguilera is an investor, so she’ll probably be there. And Justin just might come to support her new nightlife venture (and see just how far Britney has fallen since their golden days together). After all, these two pop stars did tour together, right?

And we’d be willing to bet the Malibu beach house that Brit-Brit will go see her former flame perform, since she’s already in town. Ms. Biel, be on the lookout for a ratty-haired girl with no underwear and a small Yorkie trying to sneak into Justin’s dressing room to personally deliver some Taco Bell.

More sinful enclave news: Sounds like the above tumultuous to-do should be just about as tacky and to die for as Jaime Pressly’s 30th B-day bash, which went down at the Pussycat Dolls Lounge at Pure on Saturday night, doesn’t it? Guests at the '80s-themed party were dressed in ree-dick getups, including the birthday babe herself. Now, Jaime popped out a baby recently, but that didn’t stop her from showing off her tummy in a tube top. (She’s almost lost all that baby weight, by the by.) J.P. donned, too, a slashed mini and ripped fishnets...Britney would have totally fit in at this fete, trust.

Jaime handpicked Hell-Ay hair band Metal Skool to play at her party, and we wonder if she might have regretted it afterward. The boys in the band were really raunchy on stage, promising to “rock Jaime Pressly’s nuts off” and joking about her girly parts. They even asked Pressly over to the microphone and inquired if she enjoyed orally pleasuring guys, although it wasn’t put to the My Name Is Earl broad nearly this nicely.

Jaime answered in the affirmative. Sexism at its best! I wanna know why the hell J.P.’s hubby, Eric Cubiche, wasn’t called up onstage and asked, so very publicly, if he enjoys giving the gals pleasure, huh?

Just wanted everybody to know that the burnin’ hotel wars are just as incendiary down in San Diego as they are up here in Hell-Ay. Who knew? The U.S. Grant, recently reopened, is terribly posh, very fancy-schmancy. But the Ivy, just opened downtown (near the Grant), is gunnin’, so I hear, for the really big celeb moolah: Becks & Co. Now that the so-shy couple’s a West Coast set ’n’ all. Hoochies from Jessica Alba to André 3000 are already converts.

The Ivy, which comes with butlers for every room, hits Posh-esque pay dirt up on the cocktail roof: The serving lasses are damn near freezing in see-through gauze that’s pushed up way past their butt-cheeks. I’m like, a pooftah, ya know, and I damn near got a woody up on that penthouse level, and all I had was a Diet Coke. Whoa, horny hon-pies!

(Say hi for me once you arrive, Posh-babe.)