And the Award Goes To...

It's awards show season, and everyone's a-buzz! Starlets are donning their bouffiest gowns and hoping they don't accidentally shut their excessive trains in their limo doors or drop them in the toilet*! Leading men are trying desperately to set themselves apart in a sea of tuxedos with facial hair and...well actually, that may be it! And probably only Christian Bale anyway!

Sigh. I just don't get into awards shows. Half the time I haven't even seen the majority of the nominated films, and really? I don't care who wins. Like these overpaid actors and actresses playing make believe every day of their cushy lives need more attention or recognition. That's what addiction and Celebrity Rehab is for.

Seriously, though, it's cool when someone who's good at their job is recognized for it. I do like that Colin Firth and The King's Speech kicked Oscar ass last night (no, I didn't watch - that's what my friends and twitter are for!). Congratulations to all those involved in the making! (I mean that sans sarcasm. Also, Colin, may I call you Colin? If ever you need a new *cough* leading lady, call me!!)

Still. What about us everyday people? Where's my Oscar (I'd settle for the bologna of the same name)?? Why don't I get recognized and get to do it while wearing Vera (Wang, not Bradley...)??

I in no way think I could do what they do. If I could, I would. Trust me, I wouldn't be sitting at this deck 40 hours a week every week, damning my eyesight to hell with this glowing computer screen of vision impairment.

But I digress. Awards shows just don't do it for me. Yeah, the stars may clean up nice, and can walk in heels without falling on their faces, but I'd rather spend those few hours doing something I really enjoy.

Sleeping.


* I'm pretty sure the dresses are only that big to hide the catheters the actresses don expressly to avoid this soggy and unfortunate scenario.