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I love awards shows. There’s nothing like watching a bunch of celebrities kissing each other’s asses and gushing over each other like they’ve just found the cure for cancer. So, you can imagine the excitement I get from watching the big daddy of all celebrity kiss-ass-fests, the Oscars.

As if you care, I have some observations.

Clive Owen is hot. Not only is he gorgeous, but he has that sexy British accent… I love accents.

Clint Eastwood, in spite of his 17 face lifts, still looks like he’s his wife’s grandfather, not her husband.

Best acceptance speech of the night : “This is the dog’s bollocks.”

Funniest thing I heard on the pre-game show on E!, with that brown-nosing Star Jones (who really has too much back fat to be wearing backless gowns): pasty whitey-white Cate Blanchett saying the phrase “bling bling”.

I want Salma Hayek’s breasts.

Would someone PLEASE give Renee Zellweger a cheeseburger?

Having Beyonce sing a song in French is like having me sing a song in French. I don’t speak French. Not good.

Clive Owen is hot.

In spite of my heterosexuality, I would SO make out with Scarlett Johannsen. Or Angelina Jolie. Or Beyonce.

I used to really dig Samuel L. Jackson until I read a Newsweek article he was in, where he said that he took his daughter out of the college she was going to because she was dating too many white boys, and not enough black boys. He stuck her in an all black school. Nice.

Giving away the less prestigious technical awards in the audience, or making the nominees stand on the stage, was lame. Chris Rock’s joke that next year they’ll be getting those awards in the parking lot was funny.

Was Beyonce the only singer available? She sang three out of the five nominated songs.

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Saturday, I had to go to a party a co-worker threw in celebration of his wife, who passed away last week. I didn’t want to go, because everyone I work with was going to be there. But I really like Bob, and I really loved Sally, so I went.

I never know what to say in these situations. I don’t know what I can say that can possibly make someone who just lost his wife feel even one little tiny bit better. I mean, there’s nothing anyone can say.

Except Celestia.

I was laughing with Bob about a Sally story (which is a really funny story I should tell here one day), and Celestia walked in, saw Bob, and just starts bawling. The whole idea of this party was to celebrate Sally, and to have a good time, with no tears. She starts telling Bob how great Sally was (which, she didn’t even really know her that well, but whatever), and how terrible he must feel, and how his life must be over, and he’ll never get over losing his wife, and she would just kill herself if her dumb sucker of a boyfriend were to die suddenly.

Stupid. Fucking. Bitch.

So I excuse myself from the most uncomfortable situation ever, and grab the boyfriend. I tell him to get her the fuck away from Bob, and not to let her talk to him anymore. He, not being stupid all the time, realized that was the smart thing to do, and grabbed her.

Later on, after she had obviously had too many drinks, she came up to me and told me I thought I was better because I was friends with Bob and Sally outside of work, and had been to their home many times for social events. I wasn’t even sure how to respond.

I never know how to respond to her lunacy.

Happy schizophrenia!