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I’m not a starf**cker, generally speaking. As Us magazine takes pains to point out each week, they’re just like us: gas-pumping, coffee-buying, child-schlepping bipeds, wearing hats to hide bad hair days, wading their way through marital swampland, and probably freaking out about weird dermatological abnormalities that are hopefully not cancer.

On the occasions that I’ve met celebrities, usually to interview them for magazines or because I live in New York City and even stars need to wait endlessly on line at the DMV (that’s where I met the dude who plays Miranda’s Steve in Sex and the City, who was very perfectly nice and very short), I manage not to gush or fawn or praise their “oeuvre” because I find it a little weird and uncomfortable that I know way, way more about them as human beings than they do about me.  (more…)

In New York Magazine this week, the former Phoebe on Friends, reasserted herself as someone I totally respect. (Weirdly, I can’t find the piece online to link to–sorry.)

When my friends and I sit and drunkenly fantasize about My Formerly Hot Life (my book, due out August 17th) being made into a movie or a TV show, we run through the list of female actresses of the right age with comedic chops who could conceivably play the main character–a woman my age (43 on the 27th!). (more…)

Last night, on New Year’s eve, chock full of resolutions to stop eating so much sugar and to stop being so hard on myself, my husband and I went to see The Wrestler. It was terrific, and I had no idea just how a propos it would turn out to be. Click here to see the trailer. (more…)