How’s that post-Grammy hangover, PopWatchers? I’ll tell you what, as much fun as I had sitting in a tiny room and typing my uncensored thoughts into a small black box for all the world to see last night, it wasn’t until I got the hell out of the Staples Center and into the cool dark L.A. evening that my party fun time truly began.
You see, I had a once in a lifetime chance yesterday to hang out with a Grammy winner; to experience the rush and thrill of riding around the City of Angels in a big black SUV, secure in the knowledge that you are the best of the best, a cherished pearl in the music industry oyster; to feel the warmth and love of your colleagues as you attend fabulous soirées and rub elbows with the powerful, the beautiful, and the jealous; to pour yourself into bed at dawn, the golden idol nestled in the crook of your extraordinary arm, visions of future successes dancing in your well-coiffed head.
Yes, my Grammy night was to be extraordinary, PopWatchers. But there’s just one problem: My date didn’t win. He ran up against the unstoppable train that was "Jesus Take the Wheel," and, as a very wise man once told me: Nobody f—-s with the Jesus.
Wait. Maybe I should back up a little.
addCredit(“Dierks Bentley: Frazer Harrison/Getty Images”)
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