I happen to be quite fond of staying out late and sleeping the day away.

I have a lot of Twitter rules. I never swear on Twitter, and if anybody's inappropriate, I block them. I have young followers.

How come I love having an episode of deja vu? It's akin to an out-of-body experience, I would think. It sits with me, happily, begging me to delve into my memory to find its match point.

I have been known to go to the grocery store and just buy pepperoni. There's just something fantastic about salty, fatty meats.

My first modeling job in Paris, the photographer said, 'Tue es belle,' which means, 'you are pretty,' and I thought he said, 'Tu es poubelle,' which means, 'you are the trash can.' I burst into tears. He was not happy about that.

Why do I always choose the shopping cart with the squeaky wheel? Is it my bad luck, or are all the carts dysfunctional?

I will openly admit that I've never really followed hockey. Given my New England upbringing, I have always adhered to the Celtics, Patriots, Red Sox, Bruins mantra of professional sports fandom, but hockey was definitely the lowest sport on the totem pole - even when the Bruins won the Stanley Cup.