Well my fellow fickle fashionistas, my week of high couture craziness was a smashing success. And by smashing, I mean my body smooshed up against the runway underneath a pile of paparazzi as Posh Spice aka Victoria Beckham made her grand entrance into the must-see Marc Jacobs show at the Armory. A fight broke out between two of the photographers (one being the ever-insane Steve Sands) right on top of little old me, so I just ducked and covered until security cleared them out... and when they were all gone, I popped back up and made a beeline for the British Queen Bee! I've always thought Mrs. Becks looked like an anorexic alien pig-nosed drag queen in pictures, but up close and personal, I must admit, she was quite pretty. And surprisingly sweet!

Victoria was tanned, taut, and wearing a super tight and sexy purple and silver vintage Herve Leger mini-dress. (Tsk-tsk, aren't they supposed to wear the designer's duds to the show?) "I love Marc Jacobs' clothes, but I love his accessories as well," she gushed to me. "I think he's quite talented. It's always a great show, and a fantastic atmosphere. It's very, very exciting." In the course of our interview, I think she said the word "exciting" seven or eight times, actually. It must be the only American word the foreign celeb knows. (Duh, I'm just kidding!)

Personally, I found my chat with Courtney Love to be much more "exciting." She was sitting with Marc Jacobs' boyfriend who was sporting a dead white mouse on his lapel, a corsage gift from Court. Very sweet. Kurt Cobain's widow wore a purple and yellow chiffon Marc Jacobs dress, was at least 40 lbs. lighter than the last time we met, and her long hair was wavy and flowing like a manic-depressive mermaid. When I semi-seriously complimented her (faux) locks, Ms. Love seemed genuinely happy, "Thank you! I did that bob, and had a kind of Anna Wintour-Julie Christie moment, and then -- can I name him? -- I'm not pissed at him, but I'm pissed at his colorist -- Chris McMillan sent his best colorists over and they broke off my hair. I looked like a rooster! And it had been like Sassoon perfect before. Harpers had just photographed me, and then it all broke off. I'm so mad at those girls!" Poor Courtney. By the way, I find that any woman - famous or otherwise - will always chat at length about her hair. It's like guys and sports.

For some strange reason, Courtney and I got along like peas and carrots. She would not let me leave! Every time I got up to go, she would screech, "Wait Miss! One more thing!" and then tell me some story about how her daughter Frances Bean hates the clothes she buys her, or how she loves this or that beauty product, or how "Drugstore Cowboy" is her favorite movie of all-time. And she said "Fuck" about twice as many times as Posh said "Exciting." Can you say "LOOPY"? But I gotta admit, I really liked her.

I'm not sure exactly why, but I often hit it off with crazy blondes, which is probably why interview with Jenna Jameson was so much fun, too. The weirdest thing about Jenna was how she kept referring to her figure as "womanly." She was in great spirits, but looking extremely thin -- even in her puffy-skirted black Marc Bouwer cocktail dress. Her hair was cut in a cute blond bob, and her tattoos were in full view despite her demure dress. She really needs to lay off the plastic surgery and Botox lip injections, though. Yikes.

"This year, fashion week is out of control," explained Jameson. "I arrived yesterday morning and I went to Nicholai because Nicky Hilton is my very good friend. It was insane, I didn't expect it. There were just so many photographers, I was overwhelmed." Overwhelmed by photographers? Really? Maybe she would have been more comfortable if she was in the nude making love like a porn star with her attractive blonde lady friend in front of the cameras. Just a thought.

In fact, I wish some publicists would arrange a date for Jenna and Carmen Electra. Since Carmen's no longer hanging out with her lesbian lover Joan Jett, I think she and the adult film star would make an adorable couple. Fellas, don't you agree? Ms. Electra was all over the place this fashion week, hitting up Jill Stuart, Luca Luca and Marc Jacobs all in one day. She's not exactly smart, but Carmen is very sincere -- and a hard little worker bee! "I have a new hosting gig for fashion week and I love it," she told me. "I'm learning as I go and spending hours in the tents, I'm not just breezing in and out. It's been completely different -- I usually go to shows where I'm literally only here for five minutes to see the collections, but now I get to try both sides. I get inspired just by people-watching and drinking champagne. It's great! I'm having fun and really happy. And I'm learning how to pronunciate a lot of new designer's names!" Good for you, sweetie. At least she wasn't walking the runway this season:

Finally, I think my biggest star-sighting of fashion week (as opposed to my smallest, Mary-Kate Olsen) was Janet Jackson. Ms. Jackson-If-You're-Nasty turned up unexpectedly in the front row at the Catherine Malandrino show. She's usually very shy, but this time, the littlest Jackson sister opened up to me, confessing that she's a "total shoe whore." It was strangely shocking to hear her say the word "whore." I mean, after Nipplegate I shouldn't be all that surprised, but her speaking voice is just so soft and delicate. Janet was very smiley, which made me smile too. Alas, I did not tell her about my dream of her brother Michael Jackson (I was showing him around my apartment...so odd) just days before. But I do think it was a sign... of what, I'm not quite sure.

While there are many more star-sightings and meetings I could tell you about -- for instance, I can't stand Mischa Barton and Tori Spelling isn't as ugly as you think -- I guess I'm fashionably exhausted. I will save my Nikki Sixx story for pillow talk with D.Money, my JC Chasez and Sheryl Crow stories for the ghettofagulous crew on the Christopher St. pier, and my Lisa Marie Presley story for my Elvis-fanatic childhood friend Vanessa. I'm good like that.

Ciao bellas!

Misty Love Jackson Jameson, aka "Potty Spice"