March of the Gingers

I recently took one of those 'Which Sex & the City Girl Are You?' quizzes that a former friend of mine posted on facebook, and after answering about a million random questions that had nothing to do with Sex & the City or my personality (What do you think Katy Perry's farts smell like?  My answer: cotton candy and chiclets.) it was determined that I'm Miranda, the cynical, career minded, least fashionable, unlucky in love girl who gets knocked up by her on again-off again boyfriend with one testicle.  Of course I am!  Who needs a quiz to tell me that?  Anyway, here I am with my alter ego outside the Today Show

where I was patiently waiting for Gillian Anderson, who probably hasn't had a peaceful bowel movement in months and was a lot less pleasant than at NY Comic-Con, where she happily posed for photos with fans willing to cough up $70 because being squeezed for money by someone whose work you admire isn't disillusioning at all!

Another ginger with a lot more soul is Connie Britton, who stole my heart in the first season of American Horror Story by giving birth to Satan's baby after having sex with a man in a gimp suit who silently wandered into her bedroom, assuming it was her husband.  C'mon!  We've all made THAT mistake!

So good in The Help (and so pointless in Crazy, Stupid Love, which should have been an hour and a half of Ryan Gosling naked with a soundtrack), Emma Stone was in town this week to promote The Amazing Spiderman 2, while somewhere in the VIP section of an afterhours club in the meatpacking district, Lindsay Lohan was sticking pins in a voodoo doll while mumbling "It should be me...it should be me" softly to herself.

Now if only Prince Harry were in town.....