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by Michael Musto | email: musto@villagevoice.com

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Janice Dickinson's Glamorous Gay Gaffe

Posted by Michael Musto at 3:00 PM, May 12, 2008

Janice Dickinson stopped by Hiro Ballroom last night to mix with her target demographic, the gays. I greeted the irrepressible minx by the bathroom, where we chatted, naturally, about how great we both looked. When I told her my secret is Vitamin E oil, Janice said, "But Colacello's an Italian name. It must be OLIVE oil." As she pranced into the loo, I realized the kook had thought I was writer Bob Colacello the whole time! She re-emerged about 10 minutes later, by which time she'd seen the light (no doubt in addition to hundreds of gays peeing and doing coke). "I know you're not Bob Colacello!" Janice purred, graciously removing her pedicured foot from her lacquered mouth. A nice gesture—but AM I Bob Colacello? If the original supermodel says so, I'm starting to think it must be true.

comments

L'es-PEE-rit d'escalier.

Posted by: Ron Mwangaguhunga at May 12, 2008 3:12 PM

Colacello,
The point of mixing with Janice Dickinson is to STOP living in denial and get on with the Hiro Ballroom, free of Vitamin E oil. Please accept that you are Bob Colacello and you will be happy. But do tell Janice the Olive Oil she's been drinking is ColaVita.

Posted by: Tim at May 12, 2008 3:41 PM

Janice is fun, but she don't even know her OWN name. She keeps coming out with books of "new things I just remembered about famous people from 40 years ago."

Posted by: zelda jones at May 12, 2008 4:27 PM

She's what we call in this business a "hot mess."

Posted by: pudgers at May 12, 2008 5:15 PM

I know this sounds rather disingenious, coming from me after all, but Janice Dickinson is a complete vulgarian. Even an olive oil-gulping fool knows that you're YEARS younger than Colacello. I should know. Bob took me to my high school prom in 1919.

Posted by: The Late Tallulah Bankhead at May 13, 2008 11:15 AM

It could have been so much worse, Michael. She might have said, "But Adams is a vintage American name, it must be Olive Oyl." And then, as she waltzes in to the toy-toy to snort a few lines, you stand outside grimacing, "That bitch thinks I'm CINDY ADAMS." I mean, it could have happened that way, sister.

Posted by: Trixie Blowhard at May 13, 2008 2:02 PM

I WISH someone would mistake me for Cindy Adams! She wears expensive clothes.

Posted by: Musto at May 13, 2008 2:23 PM

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