Usually my feelings toward Jennifer Aniston go between complete indifference and minor interest. The former 97% of the time and the latter when Friends reruns are on and I’m feeling nostalgic about 1995’s Must See TV schedule. Today I’m filled with so much ugly, misplaced anger that I’m pretty sure if I looked in a mirror, a mash up of Chris Brown’s face and Nancy Grace’s nostrils would be staring back at me. Two days ago I was in California. Granted, it’s not the sun and fun of Cabo where Jen is vacationing for the bajillionth time with her friends, but I came home to the Midwest temperatures below zero, so I’m having a hard time mustering up any enthusiasm for those in a warmer climate. For my say something nice: Jen looks good, decidedly not pregnant, I’m not getting any shades of jealousy or anger over the Holy Brood That Must Not Be Named and she looks a lot less like a wax statue of herself than usual.
Also pictured are Jennifer’s fiancé Justin Theroux, BFF Courteney Cox who looks a little less Lady Elaine Fairchilde in the face thanks to the blurriness that comes with a telephoto lens and Howard Stern wearing an ensemble out of the Harpo Marx beachwear collection.