This image was lost some time after publication.

An operative who attended last night's Oscar viewing party and fundraiser at The Abbey sends in this report, where television's Ghost Whisperer demonstrated an aloofness and general lack of Oscars spirit that set hundreds of Gay Whisperers' tongues wagging, while Joe "I Will Trade You This Fine Girls Gone Wild T-Shirt For a Lifetime Of Shame And Humiliation" Francis impressively demonstrated how he he can find eager female (at least they looked female) companionship anywhere—even at WeHo's premiere sausage factory:

somehow i got invited to go to the SBE oscar party at the abbey last night, "hosted" by jennifer love hewitt. anyway, was in a cordoned off section of the tent, and her "handler" (unfashionable overweight woman with a clipboard) made sure the plebes did not approach her. literally the second they announced best picture, she was ushered out of the event - her entourage surrounded her and she held her head down and put her hand over her face in a "don't look at me in the eyes"-type gesture to the 1000+ black-tie attendees who paid a shitload of money to go to the event (which raised money for APLA).

even though all the other "luminaries" (lance bass and joe francis, for example) meandered into the bar portion of the abbey after the oscars and mingled until 2am, disappeared the moment her obligation was over. it really says something when JOE FRANCIS outclasses jennifer love hewitt. maybe she had another event to go to, maybe she was sick, whatever — everyone noticed how bizarre it was. also, quite bizarre to see women throw themselves at joe francis... in a gay bar. other than, just the usual famous-for-weho crowd, the jai rodriguezes and lance basses of the world, the gays who aren't famous enough to get into the elton john party. no reichen in sight.

Frankly, we have no idea what could have gotten into Love Hewitt, who once doled out mashed potatoes with a smile at the L.A. Mission without the need for any unfashionably overweight, clipboard-wielding handlers. Perhaps her sunny and charitable disposition had been steadily eroded by the monstrously overlong telecast; alternately, the evening might have gotten off to the wrong start when, as she was being escorted towards her VVIP section, a tipsy Francis leaned over to the admirably beracked actress and generously offered to build an entire DVD around her physical attributes, "You know—once they cancel the ghost-talking thing and you want to pick up an easy paycheck between gigs."