Genie hits a bottle, baby

The sporadically updated "City Kelly" blog scoops the Reliable Source (again). Just sayin' ... Anyway, here is a pic of Christina Aguilera and her hubby (taken here in D.C. Saturday night).

Christina Aguilera: Drunk as a skunk

What a Girl Wants? Booze. What a girl needs? To be locked up like a genie in a bottle, baby.

You know I really hate to dish out all the "Dirrty" details about people, but come on! If you are too trashed to walk, don't show up at my playground -- even if you are Christina Aguilera.

Saturday night, after enjoying some fantabulously delicious P.I.N.K. -- a new, snazzy caffeine and guarana-infused vodka -- at the Dodge Mansion in Georgetown, "Ms. Couture" and I headed to Dupont to see our friends at Dragonfly.

A few text messages and a bottle of champagne later, I found myself at Play Lounge ... next to Christina Aguilera.

Now, I know I didn't see her earlier that night at the P.I.N.K. party. And she probably wasn't there since she'd been performing in Baltimore at the 1st Mariner Arena all evening. But she sure was seesawing around like she'd been there, chugged that. That being a bottle of P.I.N.K. vodka ...

Miss Thang couldn't talk clearly enough to say "take me drunk, I'm home." And she couldn't walk any better than a kid who'd just been hit in the head with a kickball. In fact, she was stumbling around like she'd just hopped off a wild merry-go-round. Luckily, she brought along her crutch, er, I mean, husband, Jordan Bratman.

The duo didn't stay very long ... and it was probably a good thing. I mean, not even I can get that hopscotched up in an hour.

Tag, baby. You're it.

Read more of my stuff @ STYLE magazine ...

Oxygen mask, please!

One of my favorite partners in party crime, Mr. Van Wylder, thought I needed to be grounded.

"KAC! It's time to stop FLYing and come back to Earth, where the real people live," he said just a few hours after stepping off the jet.



"Real people? You mean beer drinkers? Ergh!" That did sound like punishment.

I really didn't wanna leave the mile-high protection of Plastic Land, but I got my camo on, pulled on some boots (pedi protection!) and took off on the D.C. Dive Bar Tour: Destination - Chief Ike's Mambo Room.



As I cleaned off the old, crusty bar stool with one of my emergency Wet-Nap towelettes and ordered a drink, I really did feel as if I'd jumped outta 1st class sans parachute and landed right, smack-dab in a urine-soaked puke pit run by the devil.



Thank God for Napoleon -- within screaming distance of Chief Ikes. The bartenders there nursed us back to our reality (OK, well, me).



They people are really nice at Napoleon. They clean their basement - and stock it with champagne!



So unless you're big and strong like a Gold Cup Navy Seal parajumper (they drink beer, I've seen them do it), you might wanna skip that Ike-y icky Adams Morgan hub.



Apparently, it's where the anti-posh have landed.



Chief Ike's Mambo Room: Not for germophobes outta Purell, docs lacking latex, pilots sans O2 masks or plastic girls in Prada. And nothing like a pow pow!

Paris Hilton: Ready to ring-in 2007 ...

Enquiring minds want to know ... is Paris Hilton engaged again?



And if so ... who's the unlucky man?



Oh, that would be 21-year-old Stavros Niarchos III, grandson of Stavros Niarchos, the rival of Aristotle Onassis ... and great-grandson of socialite Gloria Guinness.

Beyonce: Wiggin' out?

What the hell is going on with Beyonce's head? Huh>!?! Is Beyonce's head, uh, falling apart? Fix that head, gurl!