Ok, so, against our better judgement, we're watching the Oscars. Not necessarily because we want to. More because we got sucked in.
Most years we watch religiously with a nominees ballot and a toonie on the line. Not tonight. Tonight, there will be channel surfing. Tonight, there will be intermittent laundry. Tonight, there will be the option of going to bed whenever the eff we want.
However, there will also be minute-by-minute commentary from your Oscar expert - me.
OK. Here we go.
It's about 6:00, and the stupid red carpet has already been going for hours. It's not even red. It's pink.
Ok, here's Mila what's'ername. From Black Swan. More importantly, from That 70s Show. What happened to her squeaky voice? She's so scratchy and sexy now.
Oh, Helen Miren. She's gorgeous. I love her. I hope I look that good when I'm 113 years old.
Donald Trump?! What the Hell is he doing there? Money. Because he has a lot of money. What a dink. I hope he lost a bunch of his dough in the recession. He could stand to.
OK, it's 8:00! Time for the show to start!
What?! There's still another half an hour?! Of course there is. F-ck.
James Franco is talking to the interviewer. What a douche elbow. How is he hosting? He can barely form a coherent sentence. Decent actor I guess, but that doesn't excuse it.
Christian Bale. What the eff. I always forget he's British - or Australian - or whatever. And Hubby would like to know what's up with the red-headed-step-child beard.
Finally. It's starting.
Ok, so James Fraco should so not be wearing a tighty-whitey ballerina leotard.
Oh! I love Morgan Freeman.
Ew. Anne Hathaway. Hubby says she looks like an anteater. And what's with the crazy fake eyelashes? She looks like tranny raccoon.
James Franco's grandmother is there. Hubby wants to know why everyone always claps for old people. But Grandma is excited to meet Marky Mark. I would be too.
Titanic! Oh, Leo, my heart WILL go on.
Ok, first commercial. Stay tuned.