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 ...

D.C. Celeb Report: Take I

People say celebrities don't play in D.C., but that's a bunch of Oscar Mayer baloney.

You don't have to go to Hollywood to cross paths with Rambo, G.I. Jane ... or Alexis Carrington. All you have to do is follow your glam-sniffin' nose (or get a few strategically placed publicists drunk at Cafe Milano).

• Read more of my crazy thoughts @ STYLE
  

Ya gotta hat it to 'em

D.C.'s hot mamas and daddies were at Capitol File mag's 1st anniversary party. Sexpot Alex Pareene -- who informs me that he is now 21-years-old -- was there as well.

No, I was not invited. Why? Because all my hats are Von Dutch, my ass is too fat and I work for the competition.

In other words ... my big head, big butt and big pen wouldn't have fit through the doors of National Portrait Gallery as easily as Fran Drescher's new hair did.