Once upon a time, I used to look forward to summer vacation as a time to rest, reflect, read and retire my "rabbit" in favor of easy-breezy hook-ups with Hamptons boys and faux-hawked foreign hotties. Nowadays, the boys of summer all seem to suck, and by suck I mean suck ass. (Well, aside from that 19-year-old Swedish indie rock star I got busy with back in May.) In non-indie rock star news, is it just me, or does John Mayer look like a butch lesbian-meets-John "Cougar" Mellencamp in these new Gap ads?
By the way, I hear Mayer had a "wild night" recently with a lipstick lesbo and he asked her to make it hurt so good... but I have been sworn to secrecy NOT to extrapolate upon what I mean by that. Use your imagination. Now don't get me wrong, I don't think Johnny Boy's all bad. I mean, he's a toker, and that counts for something in my book. But, I also know for a fact that his pre-Jessica Simpson body was no Wonderland. Mayer had the good manners to lift up his shirt in front of me and grab his bulging gut with two hands one night at Underbar in the Union Square W back in the summer of '02. As if that wasn't gross enough, he then turned to my friend and said, "You can stop acting like you don't know who I am." Um, who says that? Ew.
Anyway, another one of my favorite celebrity "friends of Mary Jane" is Entourage star Adrian Grenier. I've had a crush on every-hipster-chick's-wet-dreamboy since I first caught him alongside his ex-girlfriend Melissa Joan Hart (WTF?) in "Simply Irresistible" on HBO many moons ago. A year or so after that -- when he was still pretty much an unknown -- a co-worker who claimed she was friends with him promised to hook us up on a blind date. Never happened. I finally met "Vincent Chase" in person at an Entourage season premiere party during the summer of '04. I'll never forget how this idiot female reporter from The National Enquirer asked him how many women he had slept with... to which my favorite Honey Brother replied," More than one, less than one hundred." Clever and cute, melikey. I have juicier "Vince" stories than that, but you'll have to wait for the book and/or movie...wink-wink, nudge-nudge, puff-puff.
Speaking of movies, did you hear that Chris Noth just signed on to co-star in the big screen version of Sex in the City? Now, all us girls have our own "Mr. Big", at least in our heads we do. I know I have one -- except I call mine Mr. Burns. (Not the Simpsons character per se... though strangely similar, with a Smithers in tow and all.) But I digress. This one time, at the Bob Dylan "No End in Sight" documentary premiere (summer '05), Mr. Big Mouth and I got into a heated war of words. I had previously noted him noticing me during the movie's intermission (it was over four hours long, yo), so I thought for sure he'd be immediately charmed by my Carrie Bradshaw-meets-Samantha Jones-with-a-dash-of-Charlotte York-esque demeanor when I interviewed him.
Alas, when the publicist introduced us, Big Noth barked, "What do you wanna know? The color of my socks?" Now, my ex Socio-Patrick and I had just gotten in a fight on the way from the premiere to the afterparty, so I was already in a pissy mood. Instead of getting flustered, I snapped, "No, actually, I want to know what you thought of the damn movie!" To which he shot back, "Turn off your tape recorder and maybe I'll tell you!" And I sighed, "Fiiiiine." Then we had an increasingly flirty conversation where he told me I was pretty, asked my nationality and then walked me around the party, introducing me to all the bigwigs he knew. At the end of the night he gave me his card and said to come by The Cutting Room (he co-owns it) soon. No one really goes to that bar anymore, although I did participate in a "Air-e-oke" (air guitar-meets-karaoke) contest and see the lesbian cover band Lez Zeppelin there this past year.
Coincidentally, I also first met former Rockstar: Supernova wannabe R.Star at that same Bob Dylan movie event. The only thing lamer than his songwriting ("Losing Your Memory"? More like losing my lunch.) was his ego. Indeed, inflated self-worth is a major turn off in a guy, famous or not. It's like, I can almost deal with a narcissistic gay man, but the straight ones are such a craptastic crew. Take for example my former friends Boy Wonder and The Slug, both of who I ran into at the Agas & Tamar Urban Zen Party last week in the West Village. I understand that Debra Messing and Donna Karan are a priority, but they could have at least said "hello" to me and my gal pal Gayle Woodward. Hmmm, now that I think about it, Sluggy may be married but it's unlikely that he's straight. At least my date to the Daft Punk show Phil O. was humble and hetero...
Over and outed,
Misty R.Star (kidding)