Drink? What drink? Someone better tell Mischa she's not on the left coast anymore. New York is so not Hollywood, and desperate attention-seeking behavior is frowned upon, to say the least.
Mischa's been hitting the gym to get rid of all that coke bloat now that she's got a steady TV gig again. She's become a regular at an Equinox down in SoHo, but she's not winning any popularity contests with her bimbo act: She pretends to not know what she's doing so she can have her own personal trainer the entire time she's there. She's also obsessed with staring at herself in the mirror or any other shiny surface. Sad, bloated little hag actually thinks she looks anything but sad, bloated or haggard.
And it's no wonder, considering she hasn't been able to keep off the sauce. A couple of weeks ago Mischa was at Cooper Square, where bystanders saw her "hiding her drink under the table so no one would see it, she looked like such a mess and was stumbling around the hotel." How long will it be before Mischa drinks herself out of a job?