My favorite thing last night was when Angelina Jolie struck that stupid pose with her leg out, and when the writers of The Descendants came on stage, the one guy posed just like her. heeeee!
Do you have any idea how hard it is to take a picture of your own leg?
Oh look. I found a picture of it. I didn't even have to photograph my own leg. That was for your viewing pleasure, though.
I watched the Oscars at a party my friend Marty Martin had.
I know. I had my phone with me and the lights were low. Here is my ...friend breaking Marty's wine opener.
We got there late, because I (sit down) made brownies, and they wouldn't cook. I kept sticking spade toothpicks in there and it kept sticking. (I just linked you to the ball I had for Edsel after he got neutered. Who cracked her own self up with "Don't get testy, party pictures are here"?)
But see? Not only did I MAKE brownies, but people ATE them. Do you think Dot Dot Dot Friend thinks I'm domestic? It's only about the fourth or fifth time he's ever come over and there I was with an oven mitt on. Oh, what a tangled web we weave...
Here is Marty Martin, trying to fix the wine opener that Dot Dot Dot Friend broke. I really don't think he broke it. I mean, it's the highfalutinest, fanciest wine opener you've ever seen, and it kind of fell apart, but Marty said it always does that. Anyway now Dot Dot Dot feels terrible about it.
Also, Marty Martin was drunk. Did I mention that? He called me when we were already in the car. "WHERE ARE YOU? YOU COMING TO THE PARTY?" I was all, "Yeah, we're right at your street. My brownies wouldn't cook. Why? Do you need ice or something?"
"NO! I'M ALREADY DRUNK!"
And with that he hung up.
I have known MM for a couple years now, and have never seen him drunk. It was quite a sight.
Here he is with his adorable dog Spiro. Note that Spiro seems tired of his drunk ass, also.
You don't have to tell me how dreadful these pictures are. I should've brought the real camera. So we could have captured Marty Goes to Rehab with sparkling precision.
I thought Penelope Cruz was the prettiest one last night,
(I took this photo with my iPhone) and I liked what's-her-name. The Swan. The young girl. Oh, hell. Red dress, beautiful necklace. NATALIE PORTMAN! Geez. She looked good.
How many of you were just up there in that paragraph yelling at me, "NATALIE PORTMAN!"?
I adore Tina Fey, but what the hell was she wearing, with that peplum action? Did she have a saber under there? An extra-value meal? What the hell?
She has a lovely figure, says June, who turned 87 last month. Why doesn't she show it off?
And I am glad The Artist won. Did I not say it should win? Did not June speak? June has speaken. And although Meryl Streep was EXCELLENT in the Margaret Thatcher movie (and perhaps it'd have been nice of her to thank Margaret Thatcher in her speech), I was rooting for The Help lady, whatever her name is. Viola. Right? Viola and Octavia are being some names you hear every day.
So that was my Oscar report. In a post-report, Marty is feeling crappy but made it to work, and DDD Friend wrote me to ask where he could get a fancy wine opener for Marty, and I am still in the brown robe from the photo at top. All is glamorous in my world.
