When we first met Chelsea Handler, she was dating the president of E! (didn’t know that? How else do you think she got her show?) Things ended between them and she was single for a minute, and then rumors of her dating rapper 50 Cent started popping up. That was unexpected, but kind of made some odd sense. Now the reports coming out of Sundance are saying that Chelsea was seen all over New York hotel and restaurant guru Andre Balazs.

Andre and Chelsea were seen making out at a Florence and the Machine show, as well as a couple of other parties. The two are reportedly heading back to Los Angeles together today.

Eh, I’m on Team 50. This Andre dude seems real sophisticated and baller-like, but Chelsea seems a little too wild for him. I felt like 50 could give her the loving that she needs while not giving a fuck what she says on her TV show or in the press. That seems like the ideal man for a lady like her.

If you’re old enough to make the choice to read this site, then you probably have some fun little tales about waking up.  For example, some of mine include waking up to a friend snuggling me and trying to convince me to drink some malt liquor and watch some gay porn with him and waking up in a hospital bed by being prodded by a 12-year-old schizophrenic. Everyone has a different tactic, I suppose. And celebrities are no different.

The magical thing about celebrity though is that ability to reach so many people.  Like if my malt liquor-loving friend was famous, he could get probably get gay porn stars to just do a scene in his living room, and that schizophrenic girl could just TwitPic some of those pictures she colored.  It’s the universality, you guys, are you getting that yet?

All right, let’s go ahead and get to analyzing the greeting styles of a few of my favorite celebrities:

Livin’ just fine, Mike.  Settle down on the screaming though, bro.

That’s really sweet, MC, but I feel like you just did a little bump of something, so go ahead and take all that enthusiasm to the church.

Aw, you’ll always smell like spaz and super fun mediocrity to me, Mark Hoppus.  You just keep doing you.

And here’s where you guys come in:

You’ll never guess which celebrity couple Bill Clinton was caught hanging with. [The Superficial]

Orlando Bloom photographed with new baby! [Celebitchy]

Keith Olbermann loses job at MSNBC, but gains a whole lot more. [TMZ]

Matthew McConaughey should go shirtless everywhere. Oh wait. [TooFab]

Will we be seeing Jennifer Aniston boobs on the big screen? [Amy Grindhouse]

Oh Snookers. You try, you try, and you try again. And this time, girlfriend, it was so close. Really. It was thisclose. But the big honking Blackberry, the ankle booties that make your legs look like large, voluptuous hams, and the big brass hoop earrings that scream ‘AQUA NET!’ and ‘EIGHTIES ROLLER SKATING RINK TRASH’ kind of put the kibosh on classing it up. Points for the hair, and points for the dress, but the rest kind of brought your C+ average down to a D-, girl. Sorry.

I’ll give you guys three hints:

1. He’s got an older brother who is rumored as big a douchebag as the younger sibling is, and they have the same color hair.

2. My best friend used to be in love with the older brother’s boy band, and her younger sister used to pine for the younger, runtier, rat-looking one. (OK, that’s a trick question – they both rather looked like rats.)

3. The singer/actor appeared in big film hits such as Popstar, 7th Heaven, and Fat Albert.

Have your guesses? Tally them up and then jump in to find out who it is.

(more…)

Sad day today, everyone. Jack LaLanne, if you don’t know him, was the original Richard Simmons. Or if he wasn’t the original Richard Simmons, he was the earliest Richard Simmons that I know of because cripes, I’m only twenty-seven years old. There could have been a male exercise guru in the twenties or thirties, but guys, I just don’t know.

LaLanne, who was famous for being super fit and into juicers (also, remember those old commercials from The Black and White Era of television featuring facial exercises?), passed away last night at the ripe age of 96 years old. LaLanne died from complications of pneumonia, and at that age, ladies and gentlemen, that’s enough to do anyone in, really.

Jack was survived by his wife of fifty-one years, Elaine (Elaine LaLanne, I know, crazy right?) and his children, who were present throughout both his illness and subsequent death.

Apparently there’s much to be said about living healthy and taking good care of yourself. I decided seven months ago to quit smoking, and by virtue, stop killing myself, right? I’m not going to credit that to old pal Jack here, but I will say that hey – maybe I’ll live to ninety-five now, too. Unless I’m in a situation like The Notebook and I fall mad in love with someone that my life is fucked without, or, you know, or I end up having sex with Adrien Brody. Then we’ll have to change plans, but for now? I’m going to go the Lalanne route, you mark my words.  Except for that juicer part.  I’m not really a fan of juices.

RIP old friend.