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It's hardly surprising that Tara Reid sought the tender, inhibition-neutralizing embrace of alcohol following the botched everything-job that left her lopsided and with a new set of ridges. But in noting Radar's report of her recent, blitzed antics at a formal wedding in Santa Barbara—apparently things started out badly when the pre-reception cocktail hour failed to provide the cherry Jell-O shots she loves so much, with things tailspinning from there—we were left with a lingering sense of déjà booze. Then it hit us: A recent PrivacyWatch spotting of Reid at the Santa Barbara Four Seasons had detailed at least one part of her coastal meltdown already. By way of offering the most exhaustively complete version of the shitfaced events as possible, we bring to you an encore performance of the reader submission we refer to as "Tara Reid Plastered On Mimosas Desperately Wanting To Be Noticed in the Lobby of The Santa Barbara Four Seasons."

Picture it...The Four Seasons Biltmore in Santa Barbara...mid-afternoon Sunday brunch (which btw is $65...yeah, we were shocked too)...we walk into the main dining room and I think to myself, "damn...that skank looks like Tara Reid." And it was; she was sitting at a table in the front quadrant of the room and positioned so that no matter when you walked in you could see her. Pucci-like do-rag on her head, tight jeans and some sort of Flash Dance-esque top (I must say she did look quite fit and appeared to be sober). We were then seated right behind her.

And now for the good stuff...in the middle of brunch she gets up and starts pacing around the restaurant on her sidekick. She wasn't talking loud enough for anyone to hear, but she was walking back and forth over the entire front half of the restaurant; sometimes she stopped by other people's tables to continue her conversation. The sad part was that no one stopped her for an autograph or recognized her...the longer she talked and walked, the more she gesticulated to get people to notice here — some angry "do what I say" motions, pointing at nothing and I did see her stomp at least 4 times. This went on for at least 10-15 minutes. Seriously. Her brunch companion (male, sandy hair, looked a little like Michael Douglas but probably only in his late 30s/40s) just sat there with his head on his hand and watched. I must try and get down there more often.