DECEMBER2007

CELEBRITY GOSSIP!!! CELEBRITY GOSSIP!!! CELEBRITY GOSSIP!!!!!

HOLLYWOOD PSYCHOTHERAPIST!!

PSYCHOTHERAPIST TO THE STARS!!!

CELEBRITY GOSSIP CENTRAL! THE PREMIER SITE FOR HOLLYWOOD CELEBRITY GOSSIP! GAY CELEBRITIES OUTED, DRUGS ADDLED STARLETS EXPOSED, PERVERTED STUDIO EXECS AND THEIR ORGIES OF UNBRIDLED, DRUG-ADDLED LOVE FESTS! HOLLYWOOD PSYCHOTHERAPIST DR. CARLA DELVECCHIO

HOLLYWOOD HEALER HARASSED!

I was hoping to take a little vacation this month, but I guess it's not going to work out that way. Maybe that's alright. After all, there's a gorgeous, tailored, waist-length, belted fur in the FENDI window on Rodeo that I simply must have and I'll need to book at least a dozen clients before I can acquire it. I intend to wear it to the GOLDEN GLOBES. Hopefully, in the meantime, it won't appear on the shoulders of some floozy at the CRITIC'S CHOICE AWARDS--(Don't they hold those in a rented community hall?)!

This afternoon, while I was enjoying a divine cherry port salmon at

DA VINCI with hubby Ostergarrd, my cellphone rang. It was Petal, my receptionist (and webmaster).

"Dr. Carla," she said, "Danny Filbert [I tweaked his last name slightly so I won't get sued] just called. He's having a psychiatric emergency and needs to see you. I told him he could have a four o'clock appointment. Is that cool?"

Well, it wasn't cool or even mildly temperate. I had a three o'clock hair appointment at Sassoon and they don't exactly thank you when you cancel at the last minute. But Danny Filbert is a very important person--the head of a major public relations firm that creates major movie campaigns. He had also mentioned during a recent session that he'd like to bring me along to the upcoming Cannes Film Festival, where I'd function as a psychiatric security blanket. And so, if Petal set his appointment during my hair time, Mr. Sassoon and his magical minions would just have to wait.

*************************************

Ostergarrd and I stepped out of Da Vinci Restaurant to walk the eleven blocks down Santa Monica Blvd. to our car (Ostergarrd refuses to pay a valet), Along the way, we approached a shabbily dressed black man holding a dirty rag and a spray bottle. He was bent over, polishing the hubcap of a sparkling emerald Bentley parked at the curb. Ostergarrd insisted that I give the poor fellow a few dollars and so I opened my purse and took out the only cash I had: a fifty dollar bill.

"Here you are, sir," I said, hoping to allay my gnawing guilt for slavery and urban sprawl and Pat Boone. "I hope this helps."

The man took it and smiled. "Why yes, thank you. I'm sure it will. Gas is getting rather expensive lately, isn't it?" He pulled a key from his pants pocket, got in the car and drove off.

Well, this was a portent of the miscommunication that was to follow, with my patient, DANNY FILBERT!! I should have recognized it as such and canceled his appointment, but no. I went to the office to help him wrestle with his demons...

HOLLYWOOD HIGHROLLER ON HOTSEAT!

DANNY FILBERT, gaunt and puffy eyed, shuffled in the door and set his Starbuck’s cappuccino on the arm of my newly upholstered sofa. With darting eyes and long, thin legs that fold under him like a card table, DANNY seems forever ready to spring up and run for the door.

“Dr. Carla,” he said, taking a sip of coffee, “I can’t stand it anymore. The WRITERS STRIKE has ruined my life. The work has dried up and I don’t know what to do. It’s time for me to change careers. I‘m tired of spending my life writing movie tag lines. I’ve been writing catchy phrases for two decades and now it’s time for a change.”

“Oh really?” I said. “And what kind of work would you rather be doing?”

“That’s the problem. I don’t know.”

Well, I tried to help him figure out what sort of work might be suitable, but finally gave up and pulled out the ink blots (the Roszak Test). “Let’s see what your subconscious has to say about it, alright, Danny?”

“Okay,” he said.

I showed him a card with a black splotch. “What do you see?” I asked.

He blinked. “The most heart wrenching film since ‘Titanic,’” he said.

“What?” I said.

“I see the most heart wrenching film since ‘Titanic.’”

How curious, I thought, and held up another card with a splotch. “And how about this one,” I said. “What comes to mind?”

“I see a man and a woman,” Danny said.

“Oh?” I said. “And what are they doing?”

“He’s running from his past and she’s trying to escape her future.”

How very strange, I thought, and held up another card.

“That’s obvious,” he said. “That’s the story of the darkest passion the world has ever known!”

I could see I was getting nowhere with this technique. Danny’s subconscious was not cooperating. “This is very disappointing,” I told him. “Not only are you spewing movie taglines, but you’re completely misinterpreting these ink blots.”

“What do you mean?” he said.

I held up one of the cards. “Look at this one, Danny,” I said. “This has nothing to do with a man running from his past. It’s obviously a smartly contoured Manolo Blahnic patent leather pump with exposed toe. What on earth were you thinking?”

“Huh?” he said, stupidly.

“And look at this blotch,” I said. “Any thinking, feeling human being can see it’s the divine baked Alaska they serve at La Cachette. And you were completely off-base with this other blotch. It practically screams out Gucci handbag with braided handles and gold buckle. What’s the matter with you?”

Danny’s sunken chest puffed up and he unfolded his legs. “Dr. Carla,” he said, “this is supposed to be a subjective interpretation. There’s no right or wrong.”

“That’s the trouble with people like you,” I said, wisely. “Your moral relativism is corroding the fabric of our nation.”

“Huh?” he said, blushing.

“I’m sorry to inform you of this, but there is indeed a right and a wrong. That’s why we have laws and commandments. Maybe your problem isn’t a career problem. Maybe you problem is moral. Have you considered that?”

Danny bolted up, spilling his cappuccino on my hand-tied peach alpaca rug. “You’re insane!” he said, for no reason. “Look! See that splotch on your carpet? What does that look like to you? I’d say it’s a client who’s had enough of this foolishness,” He marched toward the door. “I’ve had enough and I’m not taking it anymore!”

“Another tagline,” I commented, wisely.

What Danny said at this point I don’t think you’re permitted to print on the Internet, as it was rather vulgar, and so I will only offer this thought…

Danny, if you’re reading this I hope you can figure out your destiny without my help and I hope you can do it soon because…In Hollywood, No One Can Hear You Scream.

LOVESTRUCK INSIDER OUTED!

I was taking a vacation this week and collecting my wits, but I’m not enjoying it, thanks to MR. KIM. Since his therapy is court-ordered (he was convicted of wife battery), I was forced to drive down to my office this morning, plug in a Glade air freshener and wait for him to march through the door.

“Where is Petal today?” he barked, setting his briefcase on the floor.. “You fire her? She a good girl! You no fire!”

“My receptionist is on holiday.” I said. “What does it matter to you?” Mr. Kim is a barracuda in a blue suit and so I’m careful to speak to him in terms he understands. “Are you running my business now, is that it? Sit down, little man. Let’s worry about your problems today, not mine.”

“Problem?” he said. “Problem is disobedient writers! Very big problem for Mr. Kim!”

Mr. Kim’s grammar is straight out of a Tarzan movie, but I was able to gather that one of his LOW-BROW ACTION FLICKS was facing a roadblock because the writers he had hired wanted to produce quality work. Mr. Kim, however, is unstoppable. As a producer, he’d rewritten it himself.

“Here,” he said, pulling some rumpled sheets from his briefcase. “I rewrite scene all by myself. Is very professional! You and I read it out loud! You will see! Is very good!”

He handed me a copy and we read it aloud. And it was awful. Awful but oddly heartfelt. Here’s how it went…

MR KIM: I like-a you eyes! Eyes is so beautiful! I watch you for a long

time!

ME: Oh, how you make me blush!

MR. KIM: You no blush! Blush is for the shy girl. You full-a the passion!

Passionate girl!

ME: Oh please, please no! I must turn away!

MR. KIM: You no turn away! I kiss you now!

ME: Oh no, I must not! Please, please!

MR. KIM: You like a big he-man like me! You need a big he-man like me!

ME: I am so shy!

MR. KIM: You no shy. I hot for you! You hot for me! You hot tomato!

We make-a love!!

ME: Help, help! No! (They kiss) Oh boy, you make me so hot!

How you do that, big he-man?

MR. KIM: Is secret!

ME: I am your girl forever! Kiss me again!

MR. KIM: Later!

Well, it went on like this for ten minutes until it became obvious to me Mr. Kim was trying to tell me something. In his clumsy way, using this clumsy device, he was directing tender sentiments in my direction. What a surprise! I set down my script.

“Mr. Kim,” I said, “I understand what you’re trying to tell me and I’m very flattered, but your feelings for me are misguided. You must take these amorous feelings and bring them home to your wife. Go home and remove her handcuffs and show her all the tenderness in your heart. I can’t accept your affection.”

Mr. Kim grabbed the script from me. “What-a the hell you talking about?” he said. “I no love-a you! I write this for your receptionist, Petal! But she gone today! Petal is girl in script, not you, stupid old woman! Me kiss you?! Where is bathroom? I vomit now!”

I had obviously embarrassed Mr. Kim and he was, in his clumsy way, backtracking. “I’m sorry to embarrass you,” I said, patting his hand. “It’s painful to have your feelings exposed, I know. But this shows that you’re making progress in your therapy.”

“Bleech!” he said, wiping his tongue on the sofa.

“Now,” I said, “gather up all that passion you've got for me and take it home to your wife. Show her what a real man is made of.”

He stood up. “I go home and beat wife and pretend she is you!”

“Such a little darling!” I said, kissing him on top of his head. Mr. Kim may be a prickly pear, but he’s got an utterly cute sense of humor! A prickly pear with a heart of gold! Wrapped in an enigma! On a toasted sesame bun! Time for lunch!

SULTRY STARLET SEDATED!

MEGAN, the starlet, is making marvelous progress! I suspect this is because AnonyNurse now shows up for therapy on her behalf. AnonyNurse has been supervising MEGAN for the past six weeks, keeping her away from drugs and deadbeats, monitoring her every move and administering her medications. Not only does AnonyNurse show up at my office for MEGAN's therapy sessions, she attends MEGAN's voice and acting classes while MEGAN lies in bed, sedated.

AnonyNurse takes her job very seriously! "I'm exhausted, yeah!" she said, throwing her trim, taut self on my sofa. AnonyNurse had discarded her fatigues and green beret and was now wearing a cute taffeta skirt that had been pulled from MEGAN's closet. She was also wearing her hair in big, loose curls, like MEGAN's, and in the same color.

"MEGAN has been sleeping nonstop for a week and a half," said AnonyNurse. "And so I went to a screening last night at Paramount, in her place. I made some great connections, collected some business cards, yeah. I even lined up an audition for a horror flick. I hope it ain't some bimbo role! But then, you gotta hop on the merry-go-round somewhere, right? Yeah!" AnonyNurse winked.

I'm very proud of AnonyNurse! She's improving MEGAN's life, which is more than MEGAN ever did. This has been a character-building time, a time for healing, a time for fresh awakenings, for glorious epiphanies, for new corners turned, for blazing horizons that startle the eye and refresh the spirit and nurture the soul. A time for fulfillment. Yes, it's the Era of the Woman! A time of softness and fragrance and comfort! With a quilted pad! Yeah!

MEET MEGAN AT: MAY 2, MAY 13 AND NOVEMBER 3