It's over! Awards season, that is. I went to some parties and made some serious faux paux. That's fancy French for "public f-k ups." Like did you know that Brits don't really like Sting that much? The cool Brits anyway. Not sure why. But I will never talk about liking Sting with British people ever again. I mean, if they bring it up first, then fine. Otherwise, my lips are sealed. Because it was total foot-in-mouth.
I also asked one famous person how their spouse was. Being nice. Like one does. The answer: we're divorcing. Fun times.
Ryan Phillippe is cool. He's talented and handsome. He's always nice to me. He made the ultra-suave move of shaking my hand across a table: "It's been a long time," he says. To which I reply some gibberish: "yeah-um-us-an-then-love-seeing-your-work-um-cool" with the kicker being that I gave him the decidedly uncool two-thumbs-up. WTF? Two thumbs up? What am I, his grandmother? His Aunt Bessie from Nova Scotia? Who does that? I'll tell you who: me. Fart paw.
