First of all, let me just say that me gusta Jennifer Aniston. Also, me gusta Churros y Chocolate. A lot of people give me crap for liking Jennifer Aniston and you wanna know what I tell those people? I tell them that their mothers are whores. That typically quites them down. Anyfriends, Jen (that’s what I call her) was just trying to enjoy a little rest and relaxation while in Mexico when she spotted a paparazzi dude that was probably hiding behind a Churro stand or a banana boat and what’s the first thing she does? She covers her vagina. Good move. It’s a good lesson to all the young celebrity girls out there. If you discover someone trying to take your picture, it doesn’t matter if you have clothes on or not, just cup your vagina like it’s leaking oil and you’ll be fine.

Jen then grabbed her own camera to pull the old, “I’ll take a picture of you, how do you like it” trick to the paps. However, she then sat back down after she realized those pictures would get her a dime.

Why couldn’t I have been at the “Propr” clothing launch in NYC this week with Jennifer Aniston and Courtney Cox, suckers!? It would have been my best shot at following them around the whole night yelling, “Are the Friends really friends?” along with my other personal favorite, “Is there going to be a Friends reunion.” I don’t care that these jokes date back to the year 2000, they’re still brilliant in my book.

As a sidenote, that wine glass that Cox is holding is pretty much filled to the rim (with Brim). I’d like to say that this makes me like her about 97% better than I did before seeing this. I love a drunk, allegedly. I also allegedly like a drunk.

Jennifer Aniston was looking all hot and junk whilst walking her fine ass all around New York City over the weekend. Figures, she was out in public while I wasn’t there. That’s so how mine and Jen’s relationship is.

People say that Jennifer Aniston is going to die alone and I don’t agree. I’ll totally marry her for a variety of reasons. First, she’s hot. Second, she’s rich. Actually let me swap those. First, she’s rich. Second, she’s hot. Third, she’s in insane shape for being like 52. I mean, at the end of the day, those are really the only qualities you need in a successful relationship. I’m sure she’s mad-cow-disease crazy, but I’m fine with that because the hotness and the money cancels that right out. As long as she doesn’t mind waking up with me every morning asking if the Friends are really friends, then I think this is going to work out for the both of us. I’ll be beginning my major facial reconstruction surgery on Tuesday.

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Wow. Who’s this chick with the bag? Is she Jennifer Aniston’s assistant? Friend? On call Debbie Downer? Either way someone needs to tell her that if she’s trying to prevent photographers from getting pictures of Jennifer Aniston’s face she’s gonna need to move her bag about 3 feet north of where it currently is. Perhaps Jennifer Aniston told her to make sure no one take any pictures of her space about 1 foot south of her rack. I mean, the possibilities are endless….or there’s only two possibilities. It’s hard to even follow what I’m talking about at this point.

Jennifer Aniston was sporting her black wifebeater pokies while heading out to Barney’s for a little shopping. I wonder if any of the paparazzi ask her if the Friends are really friends? I would totally still ask that. I don’t care that the show has been off the air for years. It’s still a solid question.

Jennifer Aniston was caught at London’s Heathrow airport yesterday and didn’t look too psyched that her picture was being taken….although her left boob did as it is technically smiling for the camera. Look close.

Ok, so there isn’t really a good Jennifer Aniston story with this picture, but it’s a great segway for me to tell my quick and equally boring story of bumping into David Schwimmer on Saturday night at the Waverly Inn in NYC.

My friend Maria was in the Big Orange to visit her favorite blogger so we decided to really celebrity-tourist-trap it up and check out Ye Waverly Inn. F it. I’m fine with admitting we went. We were both looking forward to overpriced drinks, a long wait to be seated, and we were also playing our favorite game “If ________ (insert celebrity name) walked in here tonight would you go to jail over them.” What a hoot that was. I admitted that I would go to jail if the Olsen sluts showed up, or Tyra Banks, or anyone from The Hills. Anyway, the Waverly Inn is about the size of my apartment and we were at the bar having a drink when David Schwimmer showed up. As he walked by me it took EVERYTHING in my willpower to not yell out “Are the Friends really friends?” I always said if I ever ran into anyone from Friends I would yell that to them. That’s runny right? However, my friends, I am sad to announce that I did not yell that out. I blame the lack of vodka in my system as I was only on drink number 1. I feel like I failed you. I’m ashamed.

Anyway, to wrap up, my sister text messaged me and instructed me to ask him where Marcel was, followed by a text message from my brother-in-law requesting that I tell David Schwimmer that, and I quote, “he is just a pussy who was just standing in the right line at the right time.” While these were all great suggestions I did not do any of them. Clearly I was the pussy who was in the right line at the right time and didn’t take advantage of the situation. Oh well. Long live celebrity stalking.

David Schwimmer was a lot shorter and skinnier in person than I would have thought. He was with some chick in a dress and some dude who had some cowboy bandanna around his neck. It was all odd. The waiters kept sending them over bottles all night long. Meanwhile, we paid about $77,000 on our drinks. Thanks for nothing Ross.