• Is Lindsay Lohan having the worst week of her life? Probably. Papa Lohan — ever the purveyor of sage wisdom — claims that baby's house was burglarized! LAPD officers are on the scene right now, according to TMZ. Hopefully, she won't try to pin it on a bodega worker named Mohamed. Stay tuned, everyone. [TMZ]
  
  
• Lady Gags got booed in England for showing up to a set late and then having to circumcise her show after running out of time. Speaking of circumcision, PENIS OR GTFO, Gags. [The Sun]
  
  
• Page Six decides to pile on Michael Wolff's supposedly awful site traffic. I'm sorry, but with headlines like I LOVE TO KILL THE NEWS, yeah. He'll take what he can get. [Page Six]
  
  
• Postcards To Yo' Momma: Charles Dickens used to get ladies by writing letters to deh muddahs. In other news, (A) my favorite Page Six items are now the "historical gossip" ones and (B) I just stick with chocolate-covered strawberries. And thus, moms love me. If I were to write a girlfriend's mom a letter she'd be like seriously WTF and then tell her daughter to find a hedge funder or something, because This one, he writes letters? Meshuggah. He could've been a lawyer, too. A shonda. And look what he writes about Jews! [Page Six]
  
  
• Heh. Katie Holmes served as the inspiration or something for Scientology's creepy new uniforms. Also, Katie Holmes probably hates Scientology, because it's just another beard for craziness in her life she has to suffer in order to get her contract paid out. [Showbiz Spy]
  
  
• Jeremy Piven hasn't eaten fish in a bunch of months, and is now a new man or something now that he's living an un-mercury-poisoned life. Notably, Broadway is looking much healthier too now that it hasn't had much Jeremy Piven in however many months. [NYP]
  
  
• Random for an R & M item, but: girls in Maxim's Hometown Hotties contest - which is exactly what it sounds like - say that it's fixed! There's some kind of resolution to this story, but Maxim's PR person realizes what a ridiculous gossip item this is, and takes the time to crack a joke to R & M: "We did use the same electronic voting machines as Ohio did in the 2004 election. So we fully expect George W. Bush will be our next Hometown Hottie winner." [R & M]
  
  
• George Hamilton keeps lookin' good by using stem cell injections of his own fat on his face. Meanwhile, George Hamilton! Love him. Does anybody remember "George and Alana," Hamilton's talk show he once had with his ex-wife Alana Stewart? It was really good! [R & M]
  
  
• Gah! Fuckin' bedbugs! They're now terrorizing Bubba Clinton and staff in his Harlem offices. It got so bad that they had to leave work for a few days. [R & M]
  
  
• Oh, those wacky Coen Bros. They made Amy Landecker wear a pubic "wig" for the upcoming A Serious Man because it's set in 1967. [NYP]
  
  
• Not exactly 90th percentile SAT stuff, but: Was Jill Zarin chatting up a dean at Brown to get her daughter past admissions there? Probably. [Page Six]
  
  
• Sad: Jason Preston still isn't over his breakup with Marc Jacobs. He reached out to Courtney Love over Twitter because he's sad that Jacobs is marrying his boyfriend, Lorenzo Martone, this weekend in Massachusetts. But: why are you reaching out to Courtney Love for help? There are bad terrible awful ways you can act about ex-lovers, and then there's reaching out to Courtney Love. Don't do that. Just: don't. Go listen to some Paul Simon or something instead. [Page Six]
  
  
• Anna Paquin isn't afraid to get nekkid on vampire fetishist show True Blood. So it goes! Meanwhile, talk about burying the lede, Page Six: Nylon's still having magazine parties? [Page Six]
  
  
• Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt are going to spend $45M on, let's see here, a...'FRENCH LOVE NEST' reports Showbiz Spy. And here I thought they were going to write PYREX BONG. [Showbiz Spy]
  
  
• Aw. Where does Susan Boyle take her buckets of duckets and spend them on vacation? Home. She went to take a break in Scotland. Happy things, people. [Showbiz Spy]
  
  
• Oh, this is wonderful: David Cross used a picture of the father of his girlfriend, Amber Tamblyn, as his author's bio photo on the jacket of his upcoming book. Furthermore! He wrote, on his bio: "He is currently fucking Amber Tamblyn." Forthcoming, but true. David Cross: loved by parents, I guess? [D-Listed]
  
  
• Was LeAnn Rimes involved in a hit-and-run? She was questioned by cops on Thursday night about one. [US]
  
  
• Will Natalie Portman and Mila Kunis have raging ecstasy-induced sex in an upcoming possible film project? They could just pick up funding for this film by placing tzedakah boxes around the country at various male-oriented Jewish youth group meetings. Watch. They'd have a $20M budget in about three weeks. [WWTDD]

• Anderson Cooper's great-great-grandfather, Cornelius Vanderbilt, held as a slave cousin now owns the plantation where Michelle Obama's great-great-grandfather, Jim Robinson once worked. Cooper's cousin has invited Obama to visit her ancestor's grave. (CORRECTION: CNN said Obama's ancestor did not work for Vanderbilt. [R&M]
• Apparently trusting her awful, awful romantic instincts, Jennifer Aniston decided to resume hooking up with John Mayer, on both coasts. And apparently in an airplane. [National Enquirer]
• Following his instincts to sacrifice even a hot, gainfully-employed Italian boyfriend to his perpetual bonfire of narcissistic drama, Marc Jacobs ogled his rentboy ex Jason Preston, who has a new man. Or at least that what's the Post's tipster wants us to believe. [P6]
• Eight months after rehab for, uh, depression, Kirsten Dunst was photographed trashed in a Los Angeles bar called the "Rubbish Bin." She should have asked Tom Arnold for a good sponsor when she had the chance! [Sun]
• Lauren Bush, niece of George W., on Obama: "He seems like a strong leader." In W magazine, no less. [P6]
• Tina Fey said she won't keep impersonating Sarah Palin if John McCain wins the election. In that case, "I'm done... And by 'I'm done' I mean I'm leaving Earth." [Daily News]
• Gerard Depardieu's 37-year-old son died suddenly of pneumonia while filming a movie in Romania. [Mail]

Tonight at 11pm Jason Preston (marc jacobs ex) is throwing a HUGE party with make up artist Jasen Kaplan. Aubrey o'day from danity kane is the surprise performance.

12 pack from I love money is working the door and the whole real world cast for the new show will be there as well.

Lindsay Lohan will be stopping by after visting her gf at her other party.

The party is at 55 W21st street between 5th nd 6th. Make sure to say Jason Preston at the door.

Hah, the former hooker and Marc Jacobs-dater sure throws one hell of a party! And we mean "hell" quite literally, as this sounds like the exact confluence of reality show stars and tabloid fodder that marks the end of days described in Revelations 2.0. Someone go and give us a party/apocalypse report. Even if you don't get past the door, at least you'll have met "12 pack from i love money."

If that doesn't quite float your boat, the aforementioned Samantha Ronson is deejaying on the roof of the Empire Hotel tonight, celebrating some sort of new vodkee. Her ladyfriend Lindsay Lohan is totes sched'd to stop by. Two parties in one night for Lindsay Lohan! I dunno, sounds pretty tiring!!!!#Q$@# [tumble]

Orrrrr if you are a gay Mormon who doesn't drink and you want a slightly more wholesome and teetotaling outing, you can go watch teen soap Gossip Girl being filmed on the Lower East Side. They're at "the annex on orchard (btwn riv and stanton)" according to a tipster, and they'll be there til 11. Go ogle Chace and/or throw copies of Letters To a Young Actor at him.

Happy hunting!

• Staffer in Louis Vuitton press office, Paris: "He's here right now."
• Manager, Marc Jacobs Palais Royal boutique, Paris: "He was not in the Paris store this weekend, but sometimes it happens when he is in town... I don't know about his private life."
• Salesperson, Marc Jacobs store on Bleecker Street, New York:"We have no reports or anything like that... I am sure they would have sent something out. But one of my friends told me about the marriage. I have no idea if it's true or not."
• Davé Cheung of Marc's regular chinois restaurant Davé: "I don't know about this... We cannot get married in France yet—here, we have not yet passed such a law. In Spain, yes. In San Francisco, yes. But not Paris. To get married here is impossible—unless it is to a lady. They can have a celebration but not a legal marriage."

Next time ask his yoga instructor! Or, you know, his rentboy.

[Fashion Week Daily via Cityfile]

• Marc Jacobs is maybe getting married! To the upmarket man, Lorenzo Matrone, in Paris. Will former rentboy and perpetual Jacobs ex Jason Preston attend Y/N??! [Gay Socialites]
• Harvey Weinstein allowed his name to be taken off the Emmy nomination for Project Runway, a major moneymaker his company produces. For this selfless gesture, he is considered a real mensch. [P6]
• Another embarrassing Eliot Spitzer item in the Post, this time claiming someone on the street heckled his "Attorney General" t-shirt. Yesterday he was being snickered at in his gym. He's either getting out more or pissing off the Post. [P6]
• Heather Mills' publicist, who apparently does not read much in the way of press, has discovered that Heather Mills is "impossible." God, even the Times covered that story, and they're not much for vicious celebrity news. [Us]
• Shanna Moakler threw a drink on Kim Kardashian and called her a whore for flirting with her ex-husband back before they broke up. Which sounds damatic, but they both have reality shows, so this is how they make smalltalk. [P6]
• Poor Alex Rodriguez was harrassed by beautiful women at a rooftop bar and had to leave. But he was there with "two male buddies," so he was kind of asking for it. [P6]
• After saying Britney Spears is not a "puppet," the singer's record collaborator Keri Hilson adds that Spears "never mouths off" and "takes direction very well." So not a puppet in strictly the literal sense, then. [Showbiz Spy]

This all starts roughly in early 2006, and continues through to today.
Jason Preston

• A former "rent-boy," Preston famously tatooed the Marc Jacobs logo on his arm.
• The pair kept breaking up.
• And getting back together.
• Then getting engaged.
• Then breaking up again (for good?).
• Meanwhile, they were having dirty, dirty threesomes with...
• 
  Erik Rhodes
  
• Emerging in Jacobs' life early this year, he is kind of dumb, but likes to fuck. He does porn! And used to be a hooker too!
• But, oh no, he is sad.
• Rhodes is kicked to the curb at some point, probably because he left to play Moose Mason in an Archie On Ice show or something. Enter:
• 
  Austin A.
  
• A mysterious fellow, he had lots of MySpace anger.
• He was able to define "Boy Toy" for the rest of us idiots.
• And he almost got in a fight with poor, rejected Jason.
• Somewhere along the line he seems to have disappeared, making room for this new fellow.
• 
  Phew! That is a lot. And I am sure there is much, much more.

  Image via Bauer-Griffin.

The previous day my roommate took me to Leatherman (NSFW), a fetish leather store in the West Village, to pick out a harness. After selecting one, I was ordered to "Strip!" by a tall, heavyset, bald man with incredibly powerful body odor. "This is not the time to be shy," he said as he fitted my harness by placing black chrome snaps at various intersections of leather and metal. I'm surrounded by glass cases filled with assorted, oddly-shaped metallic objects for which I have absolutely no clue of their purpose. I don't ask.

With a harness selected, I needed something for the lower part of my body. My sales bear asked me, "œAre you a zipper-back or zipper-front kind of guy?" I think the look in my face said enough, and he moved on to neoprene shorts, which I tried on and admittedly looked quite atrocious in.

"I'll just wear jeans."

At 1:30 AM my roommate calls and instructs me to be at Roseland Ballroom in 15 minutes. I suit up, wearing just my new harness, jeans, and a coat, and take a few shots of JD for the road. There is no line when I arrive and we head to the downstairs coat check, which is rebranded "œclothes check" and is a massive operation. I scan the crowd, already seeing several people I know. The dress is pretty homogenous, either harnesses or no shirt at all, jeans or jock straps, and in many cases the only coverage was boots and a cock ring (I wonder where these people are keeping their clothes check tickets). The crowd is a mixture of people who seem to be very into "the lifestyle" and others who seem to be in it for the once-yearly novelty.

With our clothes stowed away, we head upstairs and immediately run into our first "sex show." There is a crowd of people standing around a gated-off area, and inside, two fit men tied up on a pool table. One is on his back and receiving a hand job, while the other is sitting up on his knees. Behind him, a large muscular man is greasing up the blunt end of a pool cue. The cue was inserted into the ass of one of the bound men, while the other was fitted with a condom. After being sodomized by the pool cue, the guy is guided down, ass first, onto the condom-clad dick of the other. They started fucking and we decided to walk around; it was like watching porn but we couldn't fast forward through the boring parts.

In the center of the venue is the dance floor, which is insanely crowded and we don't even dare going inside. There is an odd paradox watching these tough-looking, muscular men in fetish gear dancing to club music and remixed pop songs. On our way past the dance floor my roommate points out gay porn legend cum musician Colton Ford, who is large and very handsome in person.

We head upstairs, where things are supposed to be even more interesting. There is another sex show starting up here on a large, elevated, square stage. I recognize the first performer as famous French narcissist François Sagat (NSFW). He is shirtless and looking ripped, although much shorter than I'd imagined. He is joined by a very large, muscular black man. They wrestle around for a few minutes before the black guy opens his pants, removes his penis and starts pissing on François. First on his chest, then in his mouth, and then he turns the water gun upwards and pisses in his own mouth. This honestly doesn't do it for me, and yet I can't stop watching. They both stand up and the crowd applauds. François jumps off the stage to exit, and I quickly duck out of his way for fear of getting bumped into by this urine-soaked frenchman.

The piss show made me realize it is time to use the restroom! I head downstairs and went to the huge array of urinals. I notice newly-single Jason Preston at the urinal across from me, who looks short, sober, and extremely conservative in his t-shirt and jeans. The bathroom scene is surprisingly unremarkable, I was expecting more lewdness.

Back upstairs, we head into a large tent set up in a corner, where I trip over someone and realize a third of the people in this tent are on their knees. There are several groups of people in here, each encircling a guy getting blown. You quickly notice the two species of people: those who are shamelessly indulging in the sexual activities, and those who are shamelessly watching. A staff person walks through carrying a tray like a casino cocktail waitress, and the tray is filled with various types of free condoms and lube packets. I notice two guys fucking in one of the corners. At this point I've drank enough not to be embarrassed that I'm being a total voyeur, but when someone grabs my crotch I decide it's time to exit this tent and continue on exploring. On my way out, a guy approaches me, "Can I suck you?" I politely decline and head out.

I rejoin my friends and we decide to tour the "dark room," which is actually more of a hallway that leads to an unused exit. Near the entrance there are some drag queens sitting at a table yelling "Get your condoms and lube!" We go in, and notice some people getting blow jobs and others copulating against the walls of the hallway. It is dark, very dark. The further back you go the darker it gets. It is kind of a let-down because by the time you get to where anything interesting is possibly happening in the furthest part, it is nearly pitch black. You can hear moans, but see nothing. As we turn around and are exiting, someone accidentally hits the light switch and the vulgar truth of the dark hallway is exposed.

It is nearly 6 AM now and the bars have stopped serving alcohol, but the party is showing no signs of letting up. The downstairs pool table scene has been replaced with a bunch of women (yes, biological females) with tits out and strap-ons. My friends are lost now, and since everyone looks the same I know I'll never find them. I head back upstairs for one last round and there is another sex show at the square stage. Three young guys are on the stage, two are bound with ropes and the third is walking around with a leather whip. The one with the whip is very hot, but they all look bored, and I again wish I could fast-forward. The hot one is wearing pants, and makes another guy go down on him, but you can't really see anything and I lose patience and walk away. At $125 per admission (which does not include drinks and is so New York), I'm here to get my money's worth.

One last time I peek into the tent. There is a lot of oral sex and good amount of fucking going on now. I fend off people trying to unfasten my jeans as a handsome guy named Chris, a thin, athletic latino, approaches me and asks me if he can blow me "for awhile." Chris is shirtless and exposed. I'm flattered, but being of the '˜shameless voyeur' species and not the '˜shameless indulger', I decline and tell him it's time for me to go home and get some sleep. We exit the tent together and discuss our first time black party experiences.

I collect my clothes and recognize the attendant as a model-about-town named Justin. He tells me I'm cute and I thank him politely, realizing that he has "dated" almost every one of my friends at some point.

I leave Roseland completely sober and enter the daylight. And even though it is 8:30 AM now, the party behind me is still raging and — somehow — I feel like I'm leaving early.

Why anyone would enter a Facebook relationship is a mystery of human nature. Sure, there's some joy in the beginning, when your names pop up in the mini-feed with a small heart, alerting all your friends (and more importantly, random acquaintances) that you are capable of love, and of being loved by someone else, preferably someone who photographs well. And what joy those first few weeks are, what with old friends inquiring publicly on your wall about your love life.

That feeling wears off after a few weeks. Soon enough, that person becomes just another outclick on your profile. And you start to wonder, "do the people quietly stalking me care about me, or just care about judging my relationship?" No longer "interested in random play," you start to think about all the late night searches you've been excluded from, and all the awkward sex with strangers you've missed out on.

You start going out less, you're tagged in fewer pictures together. Sure, that Saturday night you stayed in and ordered Chinese food and watched Garden State was all right. But sometimes you miss hanging out with your friends and poking other people. You start to wonder if your Facebook profile is defined by your relationship status, if your relationship has taken over your life. Things start getting complicated, but you can't say that. Sure love is complicated, but there's no reason for everyone to know that your love is complicated.

Eventually, you're just miserable. You've heard every story and know every Facebook interest. That little heart has long dropped from your mini-feed. The joy is gone. It's time to break up. And then it's time to Facebook break up. A broken heart appears beside your name. And you're ashamed. Maybe you never were capable of love, capable of the sacrifices that being in a Facebook relationship demands. And then you're on your own. Single. Interested in dating or whatever you can get.

[image via Manhattan Offender]

Ryan, what's up, this is Jason Preston calling. Umm, I'm calling on behalf of, I guess the column or whatever in Gawker.com, I guess you sent something in saying you saw me on the street today with a whole bunch of shit.

First of all, I just had my gym bag, that's all I had, a little, small, little Louis Vuitton gym bag.

And number two, my boots, they are $2,0000 fucking [unintelligible brand] boots, brah.

And three, as in the words of Lil' Kim, you should get your facts straight or Shut Up, Bitch, because you don't know what the fuck you're talking about.

Preston later said someone had just handed him my cell phone number and told him I was the tipster, and that I should "ignore the text message," which is probably even better but has yet to arrive.

• Marc Jacobs' threesome-friendly boyfriend Jason Preston is chivalrous and brave, if not literally ass-kicking. He saw a guy throw a drink on a girl, in a club, and told the dude to apologize. Unfortunately, the guy then whaled on Preston. Still, Bryanboy will be so totally proud. [P6]
• Owen Wilson maybe hooking up with Jennifer Aniston shows how two people can somehow look crazy, desperate and hot at the same time. [Star]
• Wilson jumped across a pool in front of 150 people in Miami, and went crazy when a hired photographer took a picture. He made the photographer delete the picture, because he's too insane to realize that 10 other guests probably already have the video on their cell phones. [P6]
• Britney Spears' dad has been sifting through the singer's financial wreckage, along with his lawyer, and it looks like former Britney hanger-on Sam Lutfi is going to take the fall for some of her problems. A source told the Post: "Her business affairs were in disarray because Sam [Lutfi] had isolated Britney, and it's going to be a very tedious task of going through everything." [P6]
• Reporters, photographers so busy stalking disgraced Gov. Eliot Spitzer they miss movie superstar Tom Hanks walking right by. [P6]
• Actress Keira Knightley sings three tracks on her new soundtrack and is all, "a sound emerged that wasn't too disagreeable." You're supposed to be all, "you were GREAT!" [Perez]
• Janet Jackson is too sick to show up for Saturday Night Live, even though it could save her weak album sales.
• Entertainment TV host Pat O'Brien is out of rehab, positively gorging on junk food and his network just isn't talking about him so don't ask. [TMZ]
• Rapey Girls Gone Wild founder Joe Francis is now free to go wild outside of jail. [P6]
• Sean Penn was seen at the Oscars looking thrilled with his blonde supermodel date, but now he's been spotted with a "mid-twenties brunette... wearing tight jeans with tall boots" at the St. Francis hotel in San Francisco. Also, "his car looked like the 'Bat Mobile.'" [OK!]
• How sensitive is singer John Mayer? He keeps Xanax on his person at all times. [P6]