Monday, March 06, 2006

...And The Oscar goes to...who gives a crap.

**Please visit my super fabulous tenant, PANTHERGIRL!
I'm a long-time lurker at her place~she's hip, she's savvy, and she tells a helluva story. You can thank me later. Because you will want to.

Evidently brooches are the new 'man-bag'.
Is all I'm sayin'.

In the interest of time (of which I have little), I am re-posting last year's Oscar post.
Plus I didn't really watch much of it last night.

And now, the RE-POST:


I want you to imagine for a moment that you were at the Oscars, sitting
there with your date/spouse/mommy/daddy/kids/sibling/best friend/or horror-of-horrors alone...outwardly, you're cool and composed. Inwardly, though, you're a bundle of live nerves, all pinging at once. Your heart races, your palms are try to engage in casual conversation but your mind is screaming, "Will you JUST SHUT THE HELL UP?! I CAN'T TAKE THIS!"

Then the lights dim, there is a call for silence. The anticipation builds to a fever pitch as the show returns from commercial break. You desperately need a bathroom, but your category is next. You cross your legs and pray.

You mentally roll your eyes at the lame-ass jokes the presenters are stumbling wonder how those idiots ever got to be actors in the first place, since they can't even manage to memorize 4 lines of text (WHY O WHY couldn't they just let Robin Williams run the whole damn thing, anyway?!?).

And then........

The Oscar goes to....
...that jerk, that prima donna, that...NOT YOU.
You sit there stunned, in total disbelief, with your ever-so-carefully prepared speech notes crumpled in your hand. You applaud politely in case the cameras are on you, manage to smile, choke back the tears, and try not to vomit publicly.

Another year of disappointment. You begin to empathize with Susan Lucci.

Doing our part to alleviate a small portion of the intense pain you must be suffering, we at the The Daily Bitch offer you this opportunity to go ahead & read us that acceptance speech.
You don't want those hours & hours of work to go to waste, do you?

So put on your most humble, grateful face and speechifyin' voice and

We'll even go you one better than the Oscars...there is no blinking red light to signal "TIME'S UP!". No orchestra music will suddenly drown you out. The microphone will not go silent mid-sentence.
You can thank everyone you really want to thank.

*cue spotlight*
You're on, sweetheart.
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