Call me a fag hag all you want, but oddly enough, I watched the Oscars with 4 straight guys and Kate. Much of the evening was spent debating which actresses Darren would sleep with. “Lauren Bacall? Yeah. I’d do her.”
“I wouldn’t.” Protested Jason. “But I’d fuck Elizabeth Taylor.”
This was not the high class Oscar viewing I was hoping for. In anticipation of the straights, I stocked the fridge with beer, made fabulous snacks and turned my living room into a candle-lit home theater. I even printed out Oscar ballots. Seriously, the Oscar Ceremony is the Superbowl of my year, the perfect symbiosis of film and fashion.
So here are my thoughts: First of all, what the hell was Charlize thinking? My god, she looked like a train wreck. Literally.
And Phillip Seymour Hoffman, whom I adore, looked like shit. Thank god he’s now an Oscar winner, because that crumpled mess can’t rely on his dashing looks. You know who can?
George Fine-ass Clooney.
I’d be remiss if I failed to mention that Big Chris won the Oscar predictions, guessing 13 on the winners. Bizarrely, as the one who’d not only seen the most films, but cared more than anyone else on earth, I came in last with 7.
It was fun, though, watching the Oscars with my crazy-ass friends. We spilled wine, we broke plates, we howled at Jon Stewart. We even predicted which Oscar night trivia would end up at Tuesday’s Pub Quiz. I’m guessing, “Which Hollywood starlet looked like an extra from the prom scene in Back to the Future?”
Uh, Reese Witherspaz. No brainer…