Simon Cowell squeeze Mezhgan Hussainy flaunted her big ‘ol diamond. (Popeater)

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Check out our gallery below. Who has your favorite ring? Who did we miss?

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Jessica Alba
I know I’ll probably have some serious regrets about what’s about to transpire here—like the time I housed a vat of boxed brownie batter, washed it down with a fancy Pinot from the CVS wine cellar and passed out watching Soloflex informercials. Mom’s proud. Now back to Jessica. Aside from the Smurf infantry combat boots and repurposed Gap flannel (circa 1992), I don’t hate this look. I know, I know, but girlfriend shaved about 60 years off her age since we last saw her sporting a catatonic bouffant and Limoncello potato sack.

Jessica Biel
“My assistant is so getting canned. I specifically instructed that half-wit to fetch me a Valentino. Instead, I’m stuck wearing a homemade valentine from J.T.’s supervised craft time. A box of rumpled Kleenex Ultra Soft dip-dyed in cinnamon red hots? It’s an insult to my sinewy lady form.”

Jennifer Garner
“Don’t believe this smile for a second. I just came face to face with the wrath of Kirstie Alley’s chompers. I’ve never known that kind of fear, even when I was doing crazy ninja stunts on Alias. How was I to know she’d be lurking in the bushes, waiting to douse my leather and lace in A-1?”

Anne Hathaway
Say goodbye to Froot Loops, my friends. Without his rainbow-striped beak, Toucan Sam can’t follow his nose to the flavor of fruit, wherever it grows. Captain Crunch will get his, just you wait.

Emma Roberts
“Aunt Julia, how long do I have to hold it? I REALLY have to go!”

“Mini protégé, you will hold your pee-pee pose as long as I say so. Do you have any idea who I am? I am an actress. I can make you believe that I have a bladder the size of Guam because I’m that good. If I see even the slightest hint of Number 1 dribbling down your tween chicken thighs, you will be the death of me. You will hold it longer and smile BIGGER if you want to be a star like Aunt Julia. P.S. Don’t forget who chose that perfectly age-appropriate ensem you’re wearing that will have critics shouting ‘chic’ to the high-heavens. You’re welcome.”

Ashton Kutcher and Demi Moore
Ashton is so getting put in the makeout corner with Rumer tonight. How dare he detract attention from Demi’s prized pigeons as she proves once again that she’s an age-proof wonder. If those birds so much as flutter a wing, Bruce will make him so very sorry. At least mama dressed him like a big boy in a camel overcoat. He’s all grows up!

Katie Holmes
Katie has never struck me as the flasher type. But I presume sleeping in an alien pod beside Crazy Eyes Cruise every night would cause you to unravel right quick. If Robo-Wife were allowed to hike up that hem and lose the man trousers to expose a whisper of knee cap, this trench would be killa. Unfortch, that would violate the terms of her double-secret-probation-Scientology agreement. On the plus side, the surplus volume creates the perfect billboard to not-so-subtly stitch HELP! into the lining.

Melissa Rycroft
To your corneas, with love:

I cannot express how cruel and unkind
It was for me to make you go blind
Between the Pepto hue and day-glo veneers
I’m sure this very moment, you’ve dissolved into tears
For if Melissa Rycroft were a candy message heart,
She’d shriek: “YOU AND MY 15 MINUTES NEVER SHALL PART!”
Happy (belated) Valentine’s Day and cheers to Glaucoma!

xoxo,
Satan

Samantha Harris
Now that Mumbles has vacated her post as awkward backstage commentator of Dancing With The Stars (“You really sucked out there tonight, Kelley. How will you look yourself in the mirror tomorrow, you pitiful sloth of a dancer?”), she must be shopping on the budget of a T.G.I.Friday’s hostess. That would be my best explanation for her forever-too-small clearance couture. I can smell the cotton/spandex/elastane blend on that cowl neck tunic from the eastern seaboard. I wonder how many 8th graders she had to fight for the last XXS.

Kate Bosworth
And now Kate will perform the principal role from America, F*ck Yeah, the Ballet. Her costume is a made from a vintage flag once honorably used as a dog blanket for the 1987 Westminster Herding Champion. She traded a dreamcatcher, a half a bag of Ruffles and a ceramic flip flop magnet for it. Truly a one-of-a-kind.

Vanessa Paradis
In high school, one of my first jobs was working as a sales slave at Victoria’s Secret. I was fascinated by the never-ending world of flotation devices that promised to make my miniscule ta-tas mimic those of Jenna Jameson. I was also disturbed by the clueless boyfriends/husbands/pervs who practically ransacked the place, working up a sweaty brow and beer gut in search of crotchless lace bodysuits and pretty much anything see-through and trimmed with “fur”…kind of like what Johnny Depp’s lady is rocking here. On their own, I could potentially heart the sheerness of the top or the sneeze-inducing maribou trim, but for heaven sakes, put them together, bind your boobs and scatter packets of pansy seeds to and fro, and I’m back on an express train to crotchless nightmaresville.

Chloe Sevigny
Yay to Chloe for shedding her jellyfish costume from the Golden Globes and sprouting real legs in place of tentacles. But perhaps next time she can meet in the middle between Disney frothcake and The Dude.

Emily Blunt
“Maybe if I stand here and pose REALLY hard, looking extra British, nobody will notice that Benicio went all Russell Crowe on me because I beat him down the red carpet. I’m sorry his ego is too big for the both of us, but he really didn’t have to tear my dress to shreds. Now I look as lopsided as Tara Reid’s boobs.”

(Benicio’s poster): “I heard that. I’ll turn the whole thing into a ShamWow if you don’t shut your royal pie hole.”

Michelle Williams
In my world, Michelle falls into the same camp as Rachel Bilson. I want to carry them around in my pocket all day, airing them out now and then to flit about my shoulders, sprinkle my hair with fairy dust and rap the top 10 gossip headlines from the land of nymphs. But this seatbelt dress gives me pause. And if I see another Elvira Spears smokescreen hem, I might have to take up DNA cloning or watch The Bachelor to disinfect my brain.

Molly Dimick is a writer based in Chicago.

(Photos by WENN)

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I missed my best friend from high school’s bachelorette party because a certain daughter of a certain music icon was rushed to the hospital in an apparent drug overdose. When 911 is called for a celebrity, my boss calls me. That’s usually how it works.

My friend understood.

Weeks later at the wedding, when I wasn’t on the dance floor shaking my hips to the Black Eyed Peas with the bride, I was text messaging back and forth with a certain well-known father of eight.

My date – a guy friend – understood.

Later that night when our filets arrived, I looked around the table at my other friends with their husbands and pregnant bellies, and I realized something.

I was the only one who was still single, with the only ring on my finger being the one I got at the Lia Sophia event during Fall Fashion Week, right after I interviewed Paris Hilton.

I didn’t understand.

Before I explain my story, I want to go on the record and say this is not a “woe is me” pity party. In no way am I labeling myself the poor, pathetic single girl – because I’m not.

I’m just the single girl who’s a little behind in the department labeled “marriage, kids, house with a white picket fence.”

And I think I know why.

For the past six years, the main men in my life have been Brad Pitt, Tom Cruise and most recently, Tiger Woods. No, I’m not the sixteenth mistress, but it is my job to find out if others are out there.

I’m an entertainment journalist, which means I have a journalism degree with real writing, reporting and editing skills, honed at “real journalism jobs” like newspapers. Until one day, during one internship at a celebrity magazine, I fell as quickly into the wild world of Hollywood news as Alice did down the rabbit hole.

Suddenly I went from covering local knitting clubs to star-studded record release parties and movie premieres in New York City. I went from wearing Coach loafers at work to four-inch stilettos. My new world was exciting, fast-paced and earned me more than a few bragging rights with my friends.

There was one night where I was pressed up against one of the hottest, coolest young male pop stars in an overcrowded club on Halloween. I had nowhere to move, especially with the fairy wings on my back poking everybody around me. He had nowhere to move either, and if I had just leaned in a few inches, I could have easily kissed him. Instead, I playfully tapped him on the head with my silver glittery wand, which evoked a smile so large I was the one who was under a spell. But then his angry blonde then-girlfriend pushed him along, glared angrily at me and cursed loudly at him within earshot, quickly interrupting my fantasy – but giving me a juicy story to write the next morning about the couple’s public spat.

There was another night I ended up elbow to elbow at a bar with the male half of one of Hollywood’s biggest power couples. After a source of mine had sent me a text message detailing the star’s whereabouts, I set out to see if his other half was with him. To my advantage, she stayed home, and I quickly learned why. He and I bonded over how difficult it was to get a drink and how difficult women could be at times. Yes, believe it or not, even one of Hollywood’s biggest A-listers sometimes has relationship problems and trouble getting a bartender’s attention. I let him vent and had another great story on my hands, wondering how a celebrity that well-known didn’t know better than to tell his life story to a bunch of drunk people in a bar. His publicist should have taught him better.

And there was the time I drank beers, slurped oyster shooters and watched football with a recently divorced former boy-bander poolside in a tropical destination while his girlfriend sulked in her room because he wasn’t paying enough attention to her. That time I was the one getting relationship advice from the celebrity; not a bad gig, I have to admit. There’s nothing not to like about my job, but trust me, just like with everything in life, there are downsides and things that get compromised along the way.

While each of these men’s leading ladies were conveniently M.I.A., so was my boyfriend of five years.

Oh, did I forget to mention I had a boyfriend while I was bopping from red carpet events to all-expense paid vacations to late-night V.I.P. after-hours parties? A boyfriend that I dreamed of marriage and kids with someday. A boyfriend that looked like Bradley Cooper, no less.

So why did I leave him home all the time? And why, more importantly, am I not still with him?

I lie in bed each night that brings me closer and closer to my 30th birthday wondering the same thing.

The easiest explanation I’ve come up with is this: My job and the lifestyle that goes along with it isn’t conducive to many romantic nights at home on the couch with a boyfriend and Tasti D Lite.

Plus, my ex-boyfriend was the beer-drinking, football-watching type; not a star-struck, clubbing wannabe, except for the time I introduced the lifelong Dallas Cowboys fan to his idol, Tony Romo.

He was thankful for my career choices that night.

But maybe if I worked less and if I partied less, my reality would be different now. My job has its minuses like anyone else’s job, but it sure beats writing about the United Nations or Iraq – not that I’m disinterested in those topics, but covering stories like that on a daily basis would depress me so much I’d have to negotiate a career-long supply of Paxil into my contract. Plus I’ve worked my way up the celebrity gossip ladder to a handsome salary and more-than-generous expense account, and someone has to pay my bills. Last time I checked there was no line of Sugar Daddies at my door.

So I’ve vowed to keep doing what I’m doing but to tone it down more than a few notches. I’ve decided to do more of my work in the office during normal hours and to choose yoga or catching up on DVR’d episodes of Millionaire Matchmaker instead of cocktail parties and movie premieres.

The reality is I have enough sources that I can still do my job without constantly being around celebrities, and more importantly, without being obsessed with them. And the only way I can be in a healthy, balanced relationship is if I stop revolving my life around them.

The truth about Hollywood’s rich and famous is they wake up in the morning and brush their teeth, just like you and I – well, some may not, judging from the odor when you get close enough.

But that’s my point: they have bad breath sometimes, they make mistakes and they have moments of vulnerability.

A while back during an interview with a female television star, who had recently divorced her husband after she discovered he cheated, the beautiful, strong, seemingly put-together girl began crying.

But she didn’t get up and go to the ladies’ room or run to her publicist or type away on her Blackberry. She gracefully took the tissue I had fished out of my bag, thanked me for taking the initiative to turn my tape recorder off, and she simply talked.

She talked about how hurt she felt, how betrayed she felt and how alone she felt. She talked about what she could have done differently in her marriage and her fear that she’ll never find love again or she’ll never find the strength and courage to move past the experience.

I listened, I shared and I empathized, having just lost the love of my life. This woman was ten times wealthier than I was, five times prettier than me, and yet she felt a hundred times lonelier.

It goes to show that even though we idolize, adore and even worship celebrities, they are people, too.

Still to this day, when I see that particular starlet at an event – events that end before 8 p.m., that is — she greets me with a big smile and a hug and genuinely wants to know if I’m OK and if I’m dating anyone new.

Next time we cross paths, I’ll tell her, yes, I actually am OK, but no I’m not dating anyone.

Then I’ll tell her I’m not worried. I’m just a little behind — but I’ll definitely catch up.

By Bella Violet

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Just take a look at the plot details and then try to tell me these aren’t exactly the same movie. Flirting with a handsome stranger on vacation + mysterious stranger turns out to be some sort of killer = hijinks ensue. The films also employ the same “pity this single woman because she is single and alone” device (Thank god these desperate single ladies find men! Also did you know they are single?) and make the same joke about women being unable to handle guns.

Judge for yourself.

Killers trailer:

Knight and Day trailer:

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I really loved the movie. I was never able to get into the book (though I tried several times) because I’m just not fond of Anne Rice’s writing style. However, the movie was completely captivating. I was initially skeptical when I heard that Brad Pitt and Tom Cruise were cast as vampires because I just couldn’t picture it.

In the end I more than ate my words because Brad was a perfect and charming Louis while Tom was incredible as the monstrous Lestat. I’ve seen this movie about five or six times and I never get tired of it.

I think Interview With the Vampire would make a wonderful Halloween night movie if you’re looking for something to watch. I’ve got plans to watch The Rocky Horror Picture Show because Tim Curry playing a transvestite is a great way to celebrate October 31st, but when that’s over I think I’ll pop my Interview With the Vampire DVD in and enjoy Halloween with Brad Pitt!

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In other Tom and Brad news, Tom sent Brad and Angelina a note:

Congratulations! You’re doing a fine job following in my footsteps!

I hope Scientology isn’t catching.

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Anyway, you can see the results for yourself at USA Today.

Thanks bamz9love for the heads up!

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