My, How the Tables Have Turned

Tara Reid enjoys life poolside in Santa Barbara, managing — at the same time — to keep all her hair attached to her scalp, not scream racist rants into a video camera, not be in rehab, and not be charged formally with a DUI. We can forgive the cigarette. Lookin’ good, Tar-bear!

Update: Sigh. Splash News is being all like “We’re running a business here, people.” Images pulled on request.

Late-Night Links

Dear Missus Saddam Hussein: A Britney Spears epistle. [The Gilded Moose]

Even I have to admit that Jessica Alba’s ass is incredible. [IDLYITW]

Tara Reid goes down…under. To Australia. I swear. Also, she had to buy her hair its own seat on the plane. [Celebrity Smack]

Mandy Moore and DJ AM are “in the early stages of dating,” which consists primarily of awkward photo ops. [The Blemish]

Brooke Burke pops out a kid, gives it a name better suited to a feminine hygiene product. [Celeb Warship]

Mr. Blackwell releases his worst dressed list for 2006. Brit and Paris tie for first. No, seriously. [Mollygood]

More witty repartee from Donald, Rosie and Barbara, for anyone still following this. [TMZ]

Britney Spears’ stylist: “Don’t blame me!” [Pop on the Pop]

Tara’s New Year’s Mess

Check out Tara Reid miscounting her way into the New Year.

Listen carefully kids.

Month of Makeovers

Whitney Houston, Britney Spears, and now…Tara Reid.

Remember a year ago when Tara Reid was showing up to events looking like this.

Now she looks like this.

I’m glad finally someone taught her how to brush/wash her hair and do her makeup. She used to be really smokin and I’m glad she finally embraced the fact that she is 30 and an adult. I’m guessing there was a team of people responsible for this…if so, they should win an award.

Link-tastic

Jared Leto has gone from attacking bloggers in the press to attacking them at MTV awards shows, with some Elijah Wood choking thrown in just, you know, so we’ll take him seriously from now on. [Pink is the New Blog]

Mariah Carey’s Hong Kong concert is canceled. Promoters say it was due to poor ticket sales and Carey’s “unreasonable demands.” Carey’s camp says the promoter didn’t pay. You be the judge. Or, you know, just go on with your life. [Celebrity Smack]

Sara Evans and her husband, Craigslist surfer extraordinaire Craig Schelske, settle their divorce details. Access Hollywood has the courtroom scene on video. [Access Hollywood]

Danny Bonaduce drops his pants on the Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson, airing this Friday. I link to this item only because a kindly CBS PR flack emailed me yesterday to make me aware of it, and certainly not because I have any idea who Craig Ferguson is or why he has a television show. Actually, the same is true of Danny Bonaduce. [Hollywood Gossip Whores]

Somehow — somehow — Tara Reid thinks that, if more movies went straight to download, as her most recent one did, more actors would have jobs. Christ. There aren’t enough italics for this. [BWE]

Saturday Afternoon Round-Up

• Sofia Coppola’s job requires her to watch her cousin get nasty. Weird.

• Christina Aguilera takes a cue from Pink, pees wherever.

• This week’s Lindsay Lohan crotch shot. I’m pretty sure she’s not wearing underwear, but at least she remembered to wear cheesy black nylons.

• There’s no specific item to link to here, but if you’re not reading The Gilded Moose at least once a week, you’re not really living. I can’t stress this point enough.

• Even David Letterman can’t salvage a Nicky Hilton interview.

• VH1 takes on the daunting task of counting down the Dumbest Celebrity Quotes. From our darling drunkie, Tara Reid: “I make Jessica Simpson look like a rock scientist.”

Update: I just rewatched that Nicky Hilton interview, and I’ve decided people are being too hard on her for it. She carries herself extremely well and with a great deal of class. Her composure and refusal to tag along with Letterman on his dirt-fishing expedition don’t make her boring, just a more tolerable human being than her sister. We hate Paris for being unnecessarily obnoxious and stirring up drama in front of a national audience, and now we’re going to diss Nicky for doing the exact opposite? I may lose my official gossip blogger card for this, but I call bullshit. No, she’s not particularly funny (at least not on purpose), but she’s never claimed to be. You’re alright in my book tonight, Nicky.

Us Weekly Soul-Baring May Not Have Been Sufficient Treatment for Tara Reid’s Alcoholism

Tara Reid doesn’t seem to get it.

Tara, sweetheart: The boobs are not the problem. The alcohol is the problem.

Via Radar:

Tara Reid clearly likes the idea of her hard-partying days being behind her, but she looked pretty shit-faced two weekends ago at a wedding in Santa Barbara.

A fellow attendee claims Reid…began her drunken antics at the rehearsal dinner. “She was the definition of a trainwreck, loudly heckling the family and friends of the bride and groom during their speeches,” says the source. Worse yet, Reid wasn’t even invited: “One of the groom’s buddies brought the Reid-tard as his date without telling anyone,” says the spy. “If I were the groom, I’d beat the crap out of the guy.”

The following night, Reid appeared to be “blackout drunk before the reception even started.” But everything had a happy ending. Sort of: “the wedding itself was actually dreamy because Tara spent the night outside in the lobby, crying her drunk face off.”

Hey, Courtney Love, maybe you should add Tara to your chanting list. She can come right after horses.

Tara Reid Thinks She Was at Some Point Perfect

Much to-do has been made this morning about the latest Us Weekly cover featuring Tara Reid and her shameless ploy for publicity plastic surgery nightmare. If you’d like some choice quotes from Tara regarding her botched boobies, you can read them here.

What I’d like to discuss today is the quote run on the cover: “I’ll never be perfect again.”

I love this. It’s quintessential Tara. The implication that she was, at any point, perfect, is insane to me. Where on the timeline of your career were you previously perfect, Tara? Did it coincide in any way with Taradise? With your ill-advised engagement to Carson Daly? With Josie and the Pussycats? I’m just wondering.

Morning Scoop: Tara Reid Not Really So Psyched on This "Web 2.0" Thing

• Ew! When I reported earlier that House of Carter‘s Aaron Carter got engaged to Playboy model Kari Ann Peniche, I was completely unaware that Peniche used to date Nick Carter, Aaron’s older brother. That is just so wrong.
• Tom Green (remember him? no?) shatters his tibia while skateboarding. He plans to air film of the surgery on his online talk show, Tom Green Live, which certainly won’t garner anywhere near the attention he received for his televised testicle surgery, or, you know, for his televised show.
• Where is the love? Justin Timberlake lashes out at the X17 cameramen, and, according to them, has since involved the police. Will someone please give that kid some more of the weed he’s cool enough to smoke now?
• Tara Reid’s new horror flick, Incubus, is not quite up to straight-to-video standards. Instead, they’re sending it straight to download. Tara’s not really aware of this news, because she’s still on lots of pain meds from her recent breast reduction. They’re going to break the news to her when she sobers up, like in a year or so.

Weekend Round-Up: Mark McGrath Just Wants to Sleep

• Lohan falls and fractures her left wrist at a Fashion Week party. She’s claiming that the host of the party, Milk Studios, wasn’t careful enough in preventing people from slipping, an egregious oversight they allowed by letting her drunk ass in.
• Pret-a-porter was a never a strong point at Fashion Week.
• Tara Reid gets a breast reduction, because, you know, that’s the problem.
• An uber-drunk Mark McGrath barges into the wrong Las Vegas hotel room, wonders where his hookers, music career went.
• Jordan Knight’s Wal-Mart record-signing extravaganza doesn’t have quite the turn-out he’d hoped for. Unless, you know, he’d hoped for a record-signing extravaganza with fewer than five attendees. In which case, rock on, dude.