dailydiatribes

I went to an Oscar party on Sunday night at my friend Lisa's house.  I have always loved watching the Oscars; there is something magical about all the movie stars, dressed in their finery, sobbing through their acceptance speeches.  I will be there one day when my blog wins an Oscar for "Best Blog Adapted For the Screen."  I will thank all my faithful readers who have been with me from the beginning.  Then I will trip over the hem of my borrowed designer gown and plunge headfirst into the crowd, landing in Jack Nicholson's lap. 

But I digress.  Lisa's party invitation specified formal attire, something which I don't really own.  And being a woman of dimension (how 'bout that for politically correct???) I can't just rummage through the children's dress up box for something to wear.  Plus, I had been at Thinking Day all afternoon, with no time to "think" about what I was going to wear.  I came home and stared in the closet, and finally settled on a gown I had worn to a school fundraiser several years before.  The only problem was I have shrunk somewhat since that time, so there was quite a bit of room in the....ahem....bodice.

Aside:  Why is it when women lose weight, we lose it in our boobs?  It's not fair, my boobs are fine, I want to lose it in my butt or my thighs or even my rather ample backside!  But no, when I lose weight, the first ten pounds come off my cheeks (and I don't mean the ones I sit on!!) and the next ten come off my chest.  I never manage to lose any in my waist!  Not fair!!!!

So anyway, not having a lot of choices, I decided to wear the gown and keep the matching wrap clutched tightly to my chest.  The other thing specified by the invitation was a garage sale item.  Lisa was so taken with the Super Bowl auction at my house, she decided to have one at the Oscar party.  In desperation, I raced around the house, trying to find a piece of junk to take with me.  Nothing presented itself as a suitable item.  I don't buy lots of knickknacks and I am very good about not holding on to junk.  At the last minute, I seized the 25 year old vacuum cleaner Tim's mom had loaned us when ours died.  She told me to give it to GoodWill when we were done; I thought this was an even better use for it!

So I clomped down the stairs to the car, tottering on my high heels, clutching the top of my dress and lugging a vacuum cleaner.  Thank God the paparazzi laid off me for a night!  I had a hard time getting the vacuum in my truck, but I finally managed to wedge it in behind the driver's seat.  Then I took off to get Kiki.

Once I picked her up, we headed for the party.  When we got there, I decided to park in the street, since our hostess had luminaries lining both sides of the drive.  I pulled up very close to the curb which was a huge mistake, because when I got out of the car, my heels promptly sank into the lawn, which was wet from the rain we had just gotten.  I yanked my foot up and the shoe came off in the grass.  I hopped around and got it, then grimly opened the back door of the car to get the vacuum cleaner.

Vacuum cleaners were much heavier 25 years ago.  I reached in and grabbed it and pulled with all my might, but it was wedged in very tightly.  I staggered backwards and got stuck in the lawn again.  I surged forward to do battle again.  I pulled mightily and my dress started dropping in the front.  

By now, I was cursing rather colorfully and Kiki, who was doing something on the other side of the car (God only knows what) started laughing and asking "are you ok?"  

"I'm fine," I snapped, and went back to do battle a third time.  This time I grabbed it from the bottom and gave a sustained pull and it popped free and I staggered back again and dropped it on my toe.  Many colorful words followed, which is why it's a good reason I didn't give up cursing for Lent.  It didn't help that Kiki was positively howling and verbalizing her desire to have a camera to record my battle with the vacuum cleaner for posterity.

Ignoring her, I straightened out my dress, pulling it up over my heaving bosoms, and then marched up the driveway, dragging my Hoover behind me.  We hit the red carpet and I lugged it up step by step and got it into the house.  It took a diet coke and 4 baby quiches before I regained my composure.

We settled down in the living room to watch the Oscars.  Before it started, we filled out our ballots and chattered about the upcoming show.  When it started, I innocently remarked that if I was a lesbian, I would think Ellen Degeneres is totally hot.  I know some of you are going "ewwwwwwwwww", but I have always thought she had the most beautiful eyes and she looks like fun.  Well, five minutes after I made that comment, the camera panned in on an attractive woman with short hair.

"Isn't that....", someone started to comment.

"Oh yes, that's Judi Dench," I finished for her, wanting to show off my extensive knowledge of all things trivial.  She gave me a strange look and said "That's not Judi Dench, it's Melissa Etheridge!"  Everyone screamed with laughter and I sank down into my dress, feeling like a fool.  

"There's no way Ellen will have you now," someone hollered.  "You don't even know who Melissa Etheridge is!!"  Just like that, my lesbian notions were squashed!

Well, as the Oscars continued, I continued to display my ignorance.  When Alan Arkin's name was announced for Best Supporting Actor, someone asked who he was and I said informatively "You know him, he's been around forever, he played Columbo."  I got some strange looks and I thought about it for a minute and then I admitted "never mind, I'm lying, that was Peter Falk!"  Whatever, they're both old!!

After the second mistake, I just kept my mouth shut.  It was safer for everyone that way.  By 8:30, everyone was restive and ready for the auction to start.  Lisa had purchased some foreign currency at a coin show a few weeks before, and she handed out envelopes to all the guests.  Each of us got nine envelopes.  There were two bills with Saddam Hussein on them; whoever got one would be thrown into jail.  Well, of course I got one, so Lisa cuffed me in red, fur-lined handcuffs and threw me out on the back porch, along with the other "prisoner".  I had a mug shot taken, and then, in order to be readmitted to the party, I had to trek across the street, in my formal, ill-fitting gown, to receive psychoanalysis from Lisa's neighbor.

Well, I am a good sport, so I marched across the street and knocked on the door.  Dr. "Freud" answered, a very dapper, good looking man who looked a lot like his namesake.  He invited us in and then took the other prisoner into another room, so we could be interrogated separately.  I sat on the couch and waited nervously for him to come back.

He came back in and took my handcuffs off and started off asking me about my sex life.  I responded that Tim insisted on parading around in a fur thong and asked me to whip him repeatedly.  He asked me about my background and I told him both of my parents were therapists.  He gave me a strange look, and then wrote out his impressions on a piece of paper.  He advised me that Tim's behavior was normal, that under no circumstances should I ever take advice from my parents, and that I should avoid Lisa's parties in the future.

I marched back across the street and was readmitted to the party.  The other guest returned a few minutes later, and we began the auction.  Thirty minutes later, I had saddled Lisa with my vacuum cleaner (there is some justice in the world!!) and I was the proud owner of a very strange pitcher (a receptacle for holding drinks y'all, not something you hang on the wall!!!)  It's in the shape of Santa and Rudoph and Santa's head comes off and becomes a mug.  It seems vaguely cannibalistic to me, but I figured the blonde goddess would get a kick out of it.  Plus, it was Lenox!

At the end of the night, I marched back down the hill to my car, yanking my dress up and carrying my shoes.  Thank God the Oscars are over for this year!!