Between lighting up the screen on a certain A-list show on a certain C-list network, and strolling the red carpet in eccentric couture, I like to hunch with one hand on a bony hip, below which the word 'bitch' is strategically placed. Sure, it's Cosmo and not a certain well-past its prime fashion bible, but a girl's gotta start somewhere. Unless that girl hitches her travelling pants to a certain devilish, Prada-wearing editrix and rides it til the wheels fall off. Not that I'm jealous. Certainly not.
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