I would never consent to a lame publicity stunt at a time when I already want to hide.

The public's appetite for frothy, flippant blondes has waned, but Paris Hilton still fascinates me.

Thanks a heap coyote ugly. This cactus-gram stings worse than your abandonment.

Tabloid photos capture people at their most self-conscious and disoriented; in real life, Paris Hilton is like an elegant paper crane.

In the past, I'll admit, I've enjoyed being compared to the protagonists in my screenplays.

I myself identify as a recovering Blockhead. You'd be surprised how many twenty- and thirty-something hipster chicks have the NKOTB skeleton in their closet, albeit artfully concealed by stacks of Ksubi skinny jeans and ironic Judas Priest T-shirts.

My boyfriend is Italian and from New Jersey, so naturally he was thrilled to meet Joe Pesci.