While the cast of Cafe Society is nervously crossing their fingers and hoping that nobody else asks about or makes any jokes about Woody Allen’s alleged gross ways, the cast of Money Monster is apparently having a great time at Cannes. Or maybe they’re just happy that the worst thing they have to deal with are sort-of “Meh” reviews. Yesterday, Julia Roberts and George Clooney were caught giggling their asses off at the Money Monster photocall, and today they were doing the same thing at the premiere.
Whatever airline Julia flew to France on clearly lost her bag containing all her fucks, because didn’t have a single one. She was cackling and clinging onto Clooney for stability like she had just hit up the deux-pour-un champagne happy hour at the hotel. About halfway up the red carpet, she kicked off her heels and walked the rest of it barefoot. I guess what I’m trying to say is, Julia knows how to do Cannes right. Even though Julia and George make the cutest couple on the red carpet, she wasn’t actually his date. That honor goes to Amal Clooney, of course, who wore what looks like a dead-ringer for the most expensive gown in the bridesmaid section of David’s Bridal.
I don’t know what George and Amal are looking at, but based on Amal’s ‘restrained horror’ face, I’m going to assume it’s the moment Julia whipped off her shoes. “How frightfully horrible. George, tell that woman to put her footwear back on before I report her to the proper authorities and she’s escorted off the property.”
Here’s more from the Money Monster premiere. I’ve also included some pictures of Susan Sarandon, who isn’t in the movie, but looks really good. According to me, at least. Piers Morgan, on the other hand, is probably on the ground unconscious after clutching his pearls so hard he cut off the circulation to his head.
The Glamour 2014 Women of the Year event was held last night in New York (hopefully it didn’t interfere with Cosmo’s Excellence in Pleasuring Your Man Awards), and one of said women being honored was Lupita Nyong’o, because – duh – she’s great. And to celebrate being crowned Best Woman or whatever, she rolled up to the event – chill as fuck – wearing a pair of formal bike shorts. Lupita don’t give a hot damn about a fancy gown! Lupita dresses for comfort!
As I mentioned yesterday, wearing clothes is hard, and sometimes you just want to keep it casual and let your down-low bits do their thing. Sometimes that means saying “Fuck Spanx!” and wearing a dress like a deflated hot air balloon, and other times that means pulling on a pair of shorts. I always wear shorts under my shorter skirts, for two reasons: so I can sit with my legs open when I start to get tired, and to ensure that no one catches a glimpse of my bits when I do so. Obviously Lupita feels the same way. But she knew that being honored with a Glammy calls for wearing something a little more formal than a pair of cut-off leggings, so she churched up a pair of white shorts with some rhinestones and beads. Leave it to that flawless bitch to be able to sit with her legs open and look classy as hell while doing it! Lupita truly is the woman of the year.
Here’s more of Lupita looking like a futuristic bike messenger bride at the Glammys last night, and more women at the Women of the Year event, including Jodie Foster, pussy lobbyist Amy Schumer, and the human definition of WERK IT HUNTY, Laverne Cox.
Raise a glass of whatever power lesbians are drinking noadways (Clamato and vodka?) to Jodie Foster who got married to her girlfriend of almost a year, photographer and actress Alexandra Hedison, over the weekend. I know I should keep up with the goings on of Jodie Foster’s vagine, but I can never keep up with the goings on of Jodie Foster’s vagine. Jodie had a 20 year-long relationship with her partner, righteous soul sister and co-mom to her two kids Cydney Bernard but that supposedly ended when she got caught with her mouth on the cookie jar of another woman named Cindy Mort. But now Jodie’s doing the holy matrimony coochie bump with Alexandra Hedison who dated Ellen DeGeneres for three years. Hollywood really is just one big swap party and since Alexandra went from Ellen to Jodie, Rosie O’Donnell is looking at that hot piece while licking her chops and thinking to herself, “All mine in two years.”
E! has all the thrilling details:
I can exclusively reveal that the Oscar winner and her photographer girlfriend of almost a year got married this past weekend.
A rep for Foster confirms the happy news.
As E! News first reported, the two started dating sometime last summer.
“It’s pretty serious,” a source told us in September. “They’re totally in love.”
Jodie and her new wife haven’t even been together for a year, but I don’t blame her for getting married so fast. I’m gayer than a squirt of strawberry-scented lube on a purple glitter dildo and even I wanted to marry Alexandra when she was on The L Word.
E! doesn’t have anymore details like what Jodie wore (a power suit, she wore a power suit) or who went to her wedding. But if her best friend forever Mel Gibson was there, I’m sure everybody got the warms in their hearts when he raised his glass and said, “Congrats to my favorite dyke!”
Somewhere in between asking for a wolf whistle, name dropping Honey Boo Boo and declaring that she’s a single gayelle, I thought Jodie Foster also officially announced her retirement from doing acting stuff. I should’ve asked Detective La Toya, Robert Langdon and the Scooby Doo Gang to decipher her speech before I came to that conclusion, because she didn’t retire from doing acting stuff. After Jodie Foster gave the most amazing coming out speech since one of my friends came out to his mom by saying, “Yes, mom, I like dick, so stop asking,” she went backstage to the press room and let bitches know that she didn’t announce her retirement from acting.
“I could never stop acting. You’d have to drag me behind, like, a team of horses. No, I’m not retiring from acting. And, you know, I’d like to be directing tomorrow . . . I’m actually more into it than I have ever been. [My point was] that people change. Change is important. And, you know, hopefully I’ll be doing different things than I did when I was three years old and six years old and ten years old and 20 years old . . . My work is evolving.”
Jodie also said that the rest of her speech “speaks for itself.” Okay, if that’s the case, then Jodie’s speech is telling me that she dropped acid and chased it with cat tranquilizers before she went on stage, because she looked like she was tripping while falling down a never-ending K-hole. But I’m glad Jodie cleared that up. Jodie is still a lesbian, still gave a magical and wondrous speech, and there’s a chance she’ll star in a remake of Nell. Chicka, chickabee. (Fun Fact: Every single one of Honey Boo Boo’s family members got their nickname from a Nell phrase.)
Jodie Foster has been the FourSquare Mayor of the Glass Closet for what feels like centuries and she’s sort of dropped hints here and there about how she likes to slurp on lady clit, but at the Golden Globes tonight she fully came out as a card-carrying member of Home Depot. I think. Jodie got the Cecil B. DeMille Award at the Golden Globes and during her rambling speech she name dropped Honey Boo Boo, introduced the dude who co-parents her kids, retired from acting and then she let the coochie out of the bag. I didn’t know if I was the one on shrooms or if Jodie Foster was the one on shrooms? Or both!
Jodie went on about how she came out to her friends and family a million years ago, but that was before hos declared “YUP, I’M GAY!” on the cover of People Magazine, so she never told the public. And then she name checked Honey Boo Boo. via Towleroad
“I already did my coming out about a thousand years ago, back in the stone age. In those very quaint days when a fragile young girl would open up to trusted friends, and family, coworkers and then gradually, proudly, to everyone who knew her. To everyone she actually met. But now, apparently I’m told, that every celebrity is expected to honor the details of their private life with a press conference, a fragrance and a primetime reality show. You guys might be surprised, but I’m not Honey Boo Boo child.”
Do I laugh? Do I cry? Do I let out a “DUH?!” Do I praise St. Rojo Caliente for Jodie finally declaring her love of snatch? I don’t know what to do, because I don’t know what was going on in that speech. I’ll just do what Mel Gibson did:
Yes, that’s Mel’s “Wait, I worked with a lesbian?” face.
But seriously, that is how you come out. You come out in a rambling, magical and weird coming out speech where you namedrop Honey Boo Boo. Congrats to Jodie and congrats to Honey Boo Boo!
Jodie Foster is sort of like the unofficial Captain Save-A-Ho of Hollywood, because she seems to always come to the defense of floundering hos everyone is shitting on. Jodie defended Mel Gibson’s shitty ass when everyone hated on him for being an anti-Semitic, blow job-needing ass boil marinating in dirty jacuzzi water. And now Jodie is pulling out her shank and defending Kristen Stewart who starred with her in The Panic Room.
In Jodie Foster’s piece for The Daily Beast, she starts off by writing that if she was a young actress today, she would’ve immediately checked out of the Hollywood game to keep the media from knocking pussies out of her mouth with their cameras. I put it much more eloquently than Jodie did, but that’s basically what she said. Jodie says that the media lifts up young celebrities only to later tear them down and punch their souls into dust. Jodie goes on to write that she met a 10-year-old Kristen Stewart on the set of The Panic Room and grew to love her. Jodie once told Kristen Stewart’s mom to try to talk her out of doing the acting thing, but her mom said that it’s what she wanted.
Jodie then writes some ultra dramatic shit about how KStew was probably an innocent white-haired child who freely danced around at the beach and now she’s a hard shell of bad bitch who is constantly getting attacked by the paparazzi. In other words, Jodie’s been hitting the bong KStew got her for her birthday:
There’s this image I have of a perfect moment. It comes to me as a square format 8mm home movie with ’70s oversaturated reds and blues, no sound, just a scratchy loop … there’s a little white-haired girl twirling in the surf. She’s singing at the top of her lungs, jumping and spinning around in the cold water, all salty, sandy, full of joy and confidence. She’s unconscious of the camera, of course, in her own world. The camera shakes a little. Perhaps her mom’s laughing behind the lens. Could a child be more loved than in this moment? She’s perfect. She is absolutely perfect.
Cut to: Today … A beautiful young woman strides down the sidewalk alone, head down, hands drawn into fists. She’s walking fast, darting around huge men with black cameras thrusting at her mouth and chest. “Kristen, how do you feel?” “Smile Kris!” “Hey, hey, did you get her?” “I got her. I got her!” The young woman doesn’t cry. Fuck no. She doesn’t look up. She’s learned. She keeps her head down, her shades on, fists in her pockets. Don’t speak. Don’t look. Don’t cry.
My mother had a saying that she doled out after every small injustice, every heartbreak, every moment of abject suffering. “This too shall pass.” God, I hated that phrase. It always seemed so banal and out of touch, like she was telling me my pain was irrelevant. Now it just seems quaint, but oddly true … Eventually this all passes. The public horrors of today eventually blow away. And, yes, you are changed by the awful wake of reckoning they leave behind. You trust less. You calculate your steps. You survive. Hopefully in the process you don’t lose your ability to throw your arms in the air again and spin in wild abandon. That is the ultimate F.U. and—finally—the most beautiful survival tool of all. Don’t let them take that away from you.
THE DRAMA! Get a grip, Jodie.
Jodie’s piece is really well-written and you can get it all here if you want it, but what she basically says is that the media sucks, hos need to chill, Kristen Stewart’s life is hard, the beach is fun and everyone should respect the “privacy please” sign hanging on a famous actor’s front door. I get it. But Jodie forget to write a little open note to KStew: the next time you want a married dude to lick your punane, take it inside. Now those are words to live by.
And some of you probably didn’t even read any of the words above, because you’re still getting over the fact that it was Kristen Stewart in The Panic Room and not one of the Culkin boys.