When we hit last night's Entertainment Weekly Must List party at Buddha Bar, we expected to see the likes of Christina Aguilera (and did we!), Neil Patrick Harris, Nelly Furtado, Vanessa Carlton, and Oxana Baiul. (Actually, we had no idea what the hell Oxana was doing there. Or anywhere, for that matter.) But we never imagined we'd have the pleasure of meeting one of the famed TMZ.com paparazzi — their dedication which brings us endless footage of Paris Hilton crashing her car, Paris Hilton singing to her own music, and Paris Hilton hating on Lindsay Lohan with Brandon Davis. So meet Willem DeVries, who's much better suited to be in front of the camera instead of behind.

And who else did we have the pleasure of meeting? That'd be Rush & Molloy's brand new intern: Columbia-educated Debbie Newman (pictured here with her friend Lee, who may or may not be stalking us), who told us she just started the gig this week. She was there getting the field experience every new gossip needs — and because R&M minions Jo Piazza and Chris Rovzar took all the "Kayne West at Cipriani" RSVPs.

MollyGood does EW: The Gaspacho Edition [Mollygood]

When the former vice president asks for your presence at the Museum of Natural History to celebrate his book's release, you go — if only to excuse yourself from hanging out with a bunch of Internerds. So last night we hit up Al Gore's An Inconvenient Truth book party, where publisher Rodale had gathered a who's who list of industry powerhouses. None of which we recognized or cared to talk to, but we're certain they were among us.

Without a single bottle of bubbly available, we settled on white wine as we listened to Gore, standing beneath the precariously positioned giant blue whale, wax environmental for 10 minutes. No mention of inventing the Internet, which automatically bumped his speech up to a B- at least. Though his closing comments – "It's a spiritual crisis [...] I'm an optimist because I believe that we are capable of rising to solve this crisis and making a better world" – almost let us forgive the beads of sweat rolling off his face when we shook hands and chatted with him afterward.

Since we weren't about to waste our precious moments with Mr. VP showering him with praise – especially when we hadn't seen the movie nor read the book – we cut right to the chase: Was he sad to see Katie Couric leave the Today show? "I'm just glad she got a promotion!" he boomed. Okay, okay, we did discuss more than Ms. Couric's lower-half, but when Keith Olbermann finally freed himself from Gore's grip – "he paved a path to introduce himself," Keith lamented – we knew we had some questions for TV's most esteemed Counter-Downer.

The rest of our evening, after the jump.

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When the sun kissed gods of Miami grace New York City with their presence, and we're invited, we hardly decline. And because the opportunity to skip dozens of people in line still thrills us, we trekked up to Marquee last night to celebrate the special New York issue of Ocean Drive.

Admittedly, we were there half as press and half as party goers, but we made every attempt to contact the hosts of the party. The host list which read like a who's who of SoHo House, promised such socialites and scenesters as Patrick McMullan, Tinsely Mortimer, Jonathan Cheban, and Michael Musto. Oh, and we were told Maer Roshan would be there too.

Yet, when we arrived at the Ocean Drive party section of the club, there wasn't even a PR person to be found. And while we're definite fans of Michael Musto, he played the role of "stand in the corner and don't talk to people host." No Tins, no Patrick … not even Peter Davis made an appearance.

We did, however, find Hilary Duff sitting in another corner, surrounded by friends and of course her sister Hailey, and being blocked by her bodyguard. Who was allowed to smoke inside. When we tried to talk to her, she looked at us, looked at her bouncer, and we were quickly shooed away by the very, very large man. And despite the help of Ben Widdicombe, we were unable to locate a Maer Roshan or a single Radar-lite among the sea of clubbers.

Somewhat disappointing — we were promised the Tins, we got the Duffs — but nothing a few mojitos and random hotties from Denmark couldn't cure.

Watching Atoosa Rubenstein* among her Seventeen minions is a bit like watching Carmela Soprano traipse between her roles as devoted mother and mob boss spouse: She's personable, sweet, and genuinely interested — but isn't afraid to call you a bitch.

We joined Atoosa and her Seventeenies for their staff moving party at the Library Hotel's rooftop lounge Bookmarks yesterday evening as they said goodbye to their rusty old digs on Eighth Avenue and welcomed in the new glass tower on West 57th. Because when The 'Toos invites you into her inner sanctum of lip gloss and body image issues to imbibe on Cathie Black's her own dime, you damn well better RSVP.

We didn't take an official count, but it looked like the entire masthead showed up to crowd around Atoosa's feet as she delivered folklore from the days CosmoGIRL!. When she wasn't calculating her next move post-Miss Seventeen, Atoosa could be found professing her (publicly reciprocated) love for Women Wear Daily's Jeff Bercovici – "He's hot! And straight!" A moment passes. "He's so hot!" – and struggling to remember what the term is for taking a "drag" on a joint. (Survey says: a "hit.")

Then there was the matter of clearing up (via BlackBerry, natch) a rumor inquiry from a certain tabloid gossipist that Atoosa met with corporate cousin Harper's Bazaar to interview for the the job, bringing along mock ups of the mag for added emphasis on why she should get the gig. The rumors are "categorically false," says 'Toos.

We're told some staffers get today off (that is, free to meet deadlines outside the office) since movers need 'em cleared out to haul their red pencils and beauty closet paraphenalia over to the new Hearst Tower. But they'll be back in full force Monday, easing into their new quarters on the 17th floor for yet another edit meeting on body hair.

Additional evidence that Atoosa doesn't run the magazine herself, after the jump.

* In the interest of full disclosure, we count Atoosa Rubenstein as one of our poorly populated group of friends, or at least among the group of people we say nice things about sometimes. That doesn't mean, however, we let her fly free from our magic wand of crass commentary.

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Jim Kelly knows how to party. You saw the beer in his bathtub at his fete for Andrew Sullivan, yah? Now repurpose those antics for Time magazine's 100 Most Influential People party at Jazz at Lincoln Center (at, ahem, the Time Warner Center) and throw in actual A-listers instead of Peter Kaplan and his Observers (though we'd much rather hang with those types) and you've got media personalities – usually so eager to fawn over themselves – crowding around Jennifer Lopez to watch her blink.

We were there for the free bubbly, but people watching being our favorite sport, it would've been rude for us not to show off.

• The affable Stephen Colbert revealed he had no idea C-Span demanded his White House Correspondents Dinner speech be pulled off YouTube. "I've got a two week break," he told us. "My assistant is collecting all the newspaper articles."

• Vanity Fair coverboy Anderson Cooper shaking hands with Regis Philbin, and, we imagine, making no mention of mama Gloria Vanderbilt's alien feet in the VF photospread.

• Bill O'Reilly brushing up on his expressions of deep thought while chatting with Mort Zuckerman. Shortly thereafter, O'Reilly professed to us he doesn't read "those Internet things" so no, he doesn't follow our meta coverage of him.

• A glam Jennifer Lopez and her surprisingly unfrightening husband Marc Anthony acting puzzlingly social. We showed up immediately after these two, trailed them on the red carpet and rode the elevator upstairs with 'em. Her giggle lets her off the hook for those conspicuous grey hairs.

• Harvey Weinstein running around looking for Will Smith. Not once did we see Harvey touch a silver tray of hor d'oeuvres.

• Will Smith shaking hands with anybody who approached, but not letting them walk away before introducing his brother. He told us he was most excited to meet Nancy Cox (he's all giddy about flu pandemics, given his filming of 2007's bio-thriller I Am Legend). He also mentioned the only time he gets pissed when people sing "na na na na na-na-na-na" from "Gettin' Jiggy Wit It" was at black tie events. We didn't spot Jada Pinkett Smith, so we assume she was off making wickedly bad music with Wicked Wisdom.

• Martha Stewart was very appreciative when we brought up Blueprint. Very appreciative. Did we mention the very part of her appreciation?

• Arianna Huffington, doing what Arianna Huffington does best: giggling with enthusiasm.

• Ann Coulter mulled about acting as liason between good and evil.

• The rest of the rest: Queen Rania, looking royal. George Lucas, looking important. Lauren Bush and David Lauren, looking like they're ready for Hamptons season to kick off.

We're sure there was more to be seen at the actual dinner (like Condoleeza Rice denying she's making a presidential run), but we had to split to watch David Blaine succeed in making an ass out of himself.

We were brave. We were valiant. And we musta been crazy. With Tom Cruise flitting around New York yesterday, we had no choice but to leave our square footage and track the crazy all the way to Times Square. But we didn't just wade our way through the crowds and push up against 4 Times Square like your average stalker. Nah, we finagled our way upstairs into the TRL studio for the culmination of Day Two of the Mission: Impossible 3 publicity marathon, complete with live Kanye West performance.

Sure, our efforts may have been misguided: Cruise never entered the studio, as he did yesterday, and instead boarded a firetruck (then a helicopter and a subway train) to parade around town before hitting his 7pm premiere at the Ziegfeld Theater, meaning we were locked upstairs while Kanye told to audience to pretend to love his movie soundtrack single, "Impossible," and Nelly Furtado debuted a video that all but assured us she'd abandoned her style for Timbaland team-ups that will sell records.

But our mission, which we chose to accept (if only because we gave it to ourselves), was not entirely a failure. En route to the second floor studio – where High School Week promised plenty of tweens still naive enough to believe Cruise's true love for Katie Holmes – we were accosted (okay, approached) by a Scientology flack promoting their latest Dianetics film. It's free!, shouted the postercard. It's running every 15 minutes! Bring friends!

While we didn't make it to their West 46th Street location, we did make it back to Jossip HQ to scan the card for your perusing enjoyment. After the jump, our collection of Scientology swag begins.

(We also caught a screening of M:I:3, and while there was plenty of blowing stuff up, we'll never be able to see Tom Cruise as a sex symbol again.)

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When we heard Dita Von Teese was resurrecting her burlesque performance at Happy Valley, we popped in for a peek. After all, during her last performance, she brought an oversized martini glass on stage that she did more than sip from. This time around? She rocked out on a carousel horse. Though her striptease was a short-lived gimmick by any standards, it gave us a chance to check in with devoted husband Marilyn Manson.

Since we don't listen to his music or know much about him beside his real name, we didn't have too many obvious conversation topics. So we turned to subject matter nearly every American can relate to: TomKat and Brangelina.

What, we asked, was his posiiton on Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie hiding out in Namibia while they await the birth of their spawn? "Well, I'm friends with Brad and Angelina, so I don't really feel comfortable talking about them." That's all well and good, though Kimberly Stewart is friends with Paris Hilton and somehow manages to blab endlessly. So we flipped over to Tom Cruise and Katie Kate Holmes where, once again, Marilyn dodged our questions: "I feel awkward talking about them." How come?, we wondered. Had Scientologists in aviator shades already gotten to him? Had the Mission: Impossible 3 budget included a stipend to silence fellow celebs? "No," he answered with a laugh. But perhaps they offered some complimentary MAC foundation.

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Against our better judgment, we headed to Tribeca Monday night for our own version of a film festival kickoff: the 2(x)ist launch party at the Steven Amadee Gallery. If it were to be like any other underwear launch we'd attended before, we knew there'd be: lots of bubbly, lots of models getting touched and felt by cotton, and a free pair of whatever they were celebrating that night. In the end, we were treated to just one out of three: there was no champagne and no undies for guests. But there were models, including that one guy from Manhunt.

Let's just say it wasn't so much an underwear launch (though apparently they did debut their new "SOY" collection) as an unveiling of a new ad campaign — and an opportunity for Janice Dickinson (the world's first supermodel, folks) to have her reality TV cameras (for Oxygen's The Janice Dickinson Modeling Agency, which premieres in June) trail her around. But when Janice starts making love to a mirror (horizontal, thankfully, so she couldn't snort anything off it) and nearly topples it over, you know the party is just getting started. Or is, you know, over.

So what's makes a shitty party even shittier? When the one tangible thing you're supposed to be celebrating is, by all accounts (and we spoke with nearly two people, who concurred), bete noire. The new ad campaign, designed by Robert Sturman, doesn't even deserve to see the walls of a phone booth in Chelsea.

Having run a two-week feature on Bonnie Fuller's book The Joys Of Much Too Much (plus 27 other words) that just hit store shelves, we consider ourselves experts on the joys of much too much. In fact, one half of Jossip's editor team even read the book. All of it. And took notes. Lots of them.

So when yesterday evening rolled around, we knew we'd have to hit up Core Club for Bonnie's official book party. Frankly, she owes us, and we intended to collect.

First, let's just get the celebrity factor out of the way: As expected, there weren't any starlets prancing to the bathroom. Well, unless you count an overly engaged Joe Dolce, David Pecker suspiciously lugging around a duffle bag, and Cargo exile Ariel Foxman running around to many a dark corner (looking for a job? "On his knees?" asked one) as celeb sightings. (Around here, actually, we do.) But what can you expect of a party celebrating the woman who regularly trashes the A- thru C-list? Surely Jessica Simpson has someone else's ass to lick at the Mercer.

Bonnie, we've gotta say, looked ravishing in Versace — a feat we admire even more after learning she spent the past week autographing hundreds of copies of her book for the gift bags. (We checked with her assistant Taryn, who assures us it's Bonnie's sig, and not some overworked flack's, that's on all of them.)

When we finally took our turn on the Fuller Ferris Wheel, we had but one question we wanted answered before our exit: Was New York magazine correct is placing Brangelina's baby photos at the top of the paparazzi totem poll, above even TomKat's?

"Abso-fucking-lutely." (Naturally, we're paraphrasing. Everybody knows Bonnie doesn't swear.)

Related: All The Joys Of Much Too Much coverage