As many of you know, I 86’d George Clooney a couple of months ago in favor of new hotness, Eduardo Verástegui, who brought out my inner Dirty Old Lady. In which I revel.
It’s Saturday night, and I’ve spent the last several hours visiting my mother in the hospital (she’s doing fine, by the way. Flirting with the young single male help. She’s 90 and disappointed that they won’t flirt back), and talking to the Wineaux Guy.