Sundry sass as follows:
• Britney Spears' buds are now—almost close to officially—coming outta their Malibu caves and threatening to clobber me if I don't try to help put a stop to all this insane tabloid-terrorizing of the poor broad who can't tell the difference 'tween rehab and the barber shop. I say no way.
Sorry, but I will agree to leave that li'l doc visit to her seaside rehab last weekend alone—'cause that was inside the healing environ. But outside? Hell, it's all fair game.
Oh, and what's the message Ms. Es' myriad amigas want me to help pass along, other than the one to leave her the ef alone? That she's suffering from postpartum depression. Well, yeah, we've heard it before, and like I said before, Brooke Shields suffered the same and never went on such a self-destructive tour of the San Fernando Valley, now did she?
Of course, that's all very Tom Cruise of me to say. Like I know what the hell it's like to carry and deliver and raise and care for two kids.
Break a 12-step leg, girlfriend.
• Jai Rodriguez's Oscar do was filled with concoction-driven scuttlebutt all about how a certain Oscar-nominated woman (at this year's awards) is preparing to come outta the closet. Hmmm. Didn't we go through this with Oprah years ago? Result will be the same, I predict (i.e., she denied).
• Which young H'wood celebrity, married to a bitchin' broad, likes to take humongous dump sessions (think zoolike results) in the common bathroom of the Hollywood high-rise where he offices? Desk Nostril reports the stench is so offensive, people flee when they see him coming. Gosh, do you think we should call one of Charlie's Angels in and ferret the foul sitch out?
• Steve Carell sure did mean it when he said (as I reported Monday) He was all about being the Jake Gyllenhaal of the Oscars this year, meaning he was "honored" to have played gay in Little Miss Sunshine, just as did Gyllenhaal in Brokeback Mountain. But look, Carell's still going on, days after the fact, about how damn excited he was to meet Leo DiCaprio, and if that isn't so friggin' gay-esque, this fruit doesn't know what is.
• When asked how life was post-Marilyn Manson, Dita Von Teese's quick-as-Ellen's-makeup-routine was: "Great...so far, so good." Hey, I'd celebrate, too, sistah!"
• “There is going to be one,” was Best Costume Oscar-loser Patricia Field's emphatic response, when asked whether or not the big-screen version of Sex and the City (for which Field toiled, so fabulously, in the rags dept.) will actually happen.
• Not that it has anything to do with bupkes, but thought you all would like to know that, well, regarding, Justin Timberlake's infamous “Dick in the Box” routine on SNL...I'm told Brit's ex insisted a (female) grip attach that thing to his crotch. Didn't want to do it himself. Shall we tell Janet Jackson?
Sheryl Crow, makin' a break for it with a mystery man. Elton John's AIDS Foundation party at the Pacific Design Center around 10 peeyem. Sheryl, in a black strappy number and heels, was seen holding hands with a tall, dark-haired dude in a green jacket as she headed for the valet. New b-f, babe, or just a buddy? Dressed down at another dinner soiree was...
Scott Speedman, committing an accidental fashion faux pas at the Georg Jensen Cave diamond jewelry din-din. Hottie Scottie didn't know it was a fancy function and arrived on his motorcycle in a tee and jeans. Luckily, he had a black sweater in his bike's saddlebags and threw it on over his ensemble. Couture crisis averted! More casual clothes-wise was...
Lucy Liu, getting gifted with designer denim. The Elle magazine green room, backstage at the Independent Spirit Awards. Saturday in Santa Monica. Lucy, darling in a black and white dress, scored Serfontaine XFit jeans and was seen chatting with Josh Hartnett, who was sportin' scruff and spectacles. I prefer his Scarlett days, you?
Oh, and I should gab to ya that reports are still rolling in from myriad Oscar parties that went poppin' off Sunday night, with some continuing all the way into Monday morning. One such shindig would be the SoHo House get-down, held in a private Mount Olympus pad with über-steep steps that get tough to tackle after a few cocktails and such.