As y'all may have realized by now, I have this queer (as in weird) habit of dreaming about celebrities. So, I decided it might be helpful to check out a screening of The Good Night, Jake Paltrow's directorial debut starring sister Gwyneth. The lead actor in the film (some Brit) is having lucid dreams about Penelope Cruz, which is totally understandable. I have a little thing for her myself. I've only met her once, at last year's National Board of Review Awards. She's really petite and beautiful in person, but not cookie cutter -- she's got that interesting, crooked little smile -- and she's totally sweet and humble. Girl crush, alert alert! Now that Selma Hayek's off the market, perhaps I have a shot. I would even consider sharing her with on-the-DL BF Orlando Bloom, too. (Little known Misty fact #214: I interviewed Orli B. before he was famous. I pitched him to my editors who were doubtful, but my celebrity 6th sense was correct!)

This week, my old buddy Westerna was in town on business. She's like all important 'n shit in Washington, DC. Over dinner at the Spotted Pig, she told me her own little known famous fact: Hillary Clinton is the only first lady ever to be "painted in pants." Painted in pants! I love that phrase. I want it to be Hill's campaign slogan. Westerna also attended a UN function for President Bush while she was in NYC, and claims that Ozzy Osbourne and wife Sharon crashed the party stammering, "We're not here for bloody Bush, we're here for Elton!"
Apparently Elton John was having his own charity soiree on the 3rd floor at the Waldorf that night. KD Lang and Petra Nemcova made the scene, among other famous bois and girls.

Heading back downtown, I bumped into Jesse Bradford in the village a few days ago. Mr. Swimfan himself was with some petite brunette -- though not the same petite brunette that my buddy Scrat used to date. Turns out Jesse and Scrat have a certain female hairstylist to the stars (Christina Aguilera's extensions never looked better!) in common. I went out to dinner with the former couple once and dang, was the Clockstopper (Remember that crappy kiddie movie? I don't blame you) ever cocky. He thinks he's all tough because The Warriors is his favorite cult film. Really, you wrote a term paper about it at Columbia? Way to put that Ivy League degree to work! Scrat could totally kick his ass and then some.

In other douchebag news, John Mayer claims he doesn't remember being an ass to my friend Bossy. One of her friends bumped into him recently and told him off for his rudeness. It was five years ago, but as you know, biznatches never forget. Who the funk is this new Minka/Minky/Milky chick he's dating anyway? I guess I'm supposed to be in the know and what not, but I ain't never heard of her. Oh wait. Friday Night Lights. I hear that's a good show. Whatever.

Speaking of (former) unknowns, I finally viewed High School Musical hussy Vanessa Hudgens's baby beaver-n-boobs shot. I'm a bit afraid the Feds are gonna arrest me for having kiddie porn on my computer now... and if they do, I'm totally taking Socio Patrick down with me!  Some how, some way, some day...of course I jogged right into him the other afternoon, on his goddamn birthday too. What are the odds? Seriously, I was like a gift from God to him that afternoon (and in general). At least he claims he deleted my nudie shots. I'm sure he's got a few stashed away for safe keeping, though. Probably the most scandalous ones too. Ugh. If only I was more like the virginal Brooke Hogan, this never would have happened! I saw the She-Hulk hanging around Soho last week, which made me wonder: Is anyone shopping a She-Ra script around? Methinks Miss Hogan would be a fantastic casting choice.

Finally, I once believed it was my milkshake that brought all the boys to the yard, but ever since I started wearing Vulva parfum, I've had to beat the bastards off with a stick! S-Pack and I visited the Vibration Station last week, The Chief took me to a Genesis concert the night before (True confession: I heart Phil Collins!), The Smurf attempted to make nice via a certain social networking site (not happening), The Turd tried to make nice over IM (heck no), while the Boytoy and Billy Clubs attempted to locate my whereabouts as I remained *mistyriosly* aloof. What can I say? My heart -- and my panties -- still belong to D. Money. Oh, and the three hottie amigos (Pablo, Louis y Guillermo) I met last night. Just kidding! If only I were slutty enough to engage in a menage-a-quatre. Hmmm, how do you say that in Spanish?

Adios,

Mistylita Rios