thank you for everything. you’ve been a great audience.
“You know what your inalias would be?”
“Do you mean alias?”
“What did I say?”
I wasn’t sure if roommate J was actually trying to suggest that inalias was the alias for alias or if she just didn’t know the word. It’s okay for me to throw her under the bus like this, because she’s so on top of it most of the time, and I am convinced that the amount you can rib someone works in a directly proportional manner to how much you like them. Like how my dad loves to make fun of me for being almost physically unable to use commas. My brain has a block against punctuation so that apparently for the last 22 years every time someone has tried to show me how to use it I’ve entered a blackout, I might appear to be learning but memories of this conversation are not being made. Now what was I saying? Oh yes. Another example of this is the word restaurant. I can’t spell it. I look it up in the dictionary, and then immediately forget what I saw there. Is it ‘a’ before ‘au’? Who knows? Someone probably, but not me.
It’s like how much Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie were made fun of during the Oscars. Did I just compare myself to both Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt? Maybe, but stay with me here. All I’m saying is you can make fun of Brad and Angelina until the cows literally come all the way home from the pasture and they will still be sitting in the front row with this look on their faces like, I will humor you with laughter and then crush you with my beauty. I mean come on, someone has to tease them just to aleviate the tension that their insanely good looks create.
I loved the Oscars last night, I don’t know if it was just that I am finally crawling out of serotonin withdrawal from having gone off the meds two weeks ago, but I swear I have not enjoyed the Academy Awards so much in years. We don’t need to get into the fact that it’s three hours of people who get paid millions of dollars to act like other people for a living sitting around congratulating each other on how good they did at acting like other people for a living last year. I mean pimping ain’t easy I guess. But we won’t get into that here, no let’s talk Hugh Jackman. I was all like, “Why in God’s name is he hosting?” I was utterly skeptical. But you know, he rocked it. Who needs Steve Martin when you have Wolverine? Who knew Wolverine was such a talented singer? Who knew Zach Efron had such a good agent that he got to be on stage for like 3/4 of the show?
And there was so much levity. J remarked, “People are funny this year,” and people were funny. They were loose and self-depricating and going for laughs, and the jokes were never incredibly funny, but they were having fun, and just seemed relieved and tired and happy to be there. I couldn’t tear myself away. I mean the Academy Awards were making me excited about the possibilities of art in the world.
And the dresses. I want to have an Anne Hathaway year: long-term boyfriend goes to jail for embezzlement –> get nominated for Academy Award –>look stunning at all times.
It may be too soon to say this, but the 81st Academy Awards may have single-handedly fixed my attitude problem. Don’t let me say that Brangelina never did anything for my health.