And the Oscar goes to...

Let me just say, getting three kids off to school in the morning with a champagne hangover is one of life's least pleasant experiences. And doing it with burning resentment, since you were expecting your equally hungover spouse to be helping you, but he is less-than-useless due to his recent hockey-related injury, doesn't make it any easier.*

So obviously, the Oscars were last night. The Oscars are like my Super Bowl. The DVR is set and checked, then rechecked. Elaborate trays of finger foods are prepared, beverages chilled and glasses washed. Toys are cleaned up and any children who can not sit silently, or comment quietly on red carpet fashion are banned from the room. Pre-game starts at 6:00 with E!'s Live from the Red Carpet, as H and I fill out our at-home scorecards** and we watch until the bitter end.

Personally, I think this years' Oscars were boring as hell. Listening to James Franco and Anne Hathaway make jokes about being given the hosting gig in an effort to reach a younger demographic, wasn't funny, it was pathetic. And no, Anne, I wasn't distracted by your lack of hosting skills by your eighty-five wardrobe changes or your giant teeth. I will admit you can sing though, which was a surprise, and at least you did something other than sit there like a lump, as your cohost did, his only shining moment being when he walked out in Marilyn Monroe drag.

Let's talk about the Kirk Douglas for a moment, shall we? What a wonderful actor, but why, for the love of God, do producers think we want to see former screen heartthrobs struggle to form sentences? I'm also looking at you, Dick Clark since your produce your own New Year's special, yet you think we all want to watch you sweat trying to count backwards from ten before January 2nd. Kirk Douglas is not even an actor from my generation. How depressing it must be if you used to get all wet in the panties for this guy and now he looks like the Crypt Keeper. I flash forward mentally twenty years to George Clooney in a wheelchair, breathing through a stoma, and I die a little inside.

And speaking of George Clooney, where the hell was everyone? The Oscars without Clooney is like Christmas with no Santa. I know he's now a United Nations messenger of peace, brainwashing the people of Sudan into giving America their oil with his rugged good looks, but isn't there something in one of his contracts requiring him to show up at the Kodak Theater wearing a classic tuxedo to make witty remarks to Ryan Seacrest every February? And what of his boyfriend Mr. Pitt? No Angelina and Brad? She gives me a rash, and I think she tricked Brad into marriage with all her dirty-girl hotness, and then turned into The Crazy Woman Who Lived in the Shoe, but they are a red carpet staple. I was devastated there was no Jennifer Gardner. Someone from her husband's movie, The Town, got nominated and where is she? Not caring so much that Ben wasn't there, but I missed her and her strong jaw terribly. And what about Jack Nicholson? It just isn't the Oscars without some presenter making disturbing references to his sexual conquests after which we are treated to closeups of him in the audience, creepily waggling his eyebrows.

Even though last night's show was one of the more boring ones, I walked away with the same feeling I do every year. After seeing all the stars in real time, without the benefit of airbrushing or professional lighting, I realize most of them are pretty ordinary looking. Very attractive, sure, but I see people on the street in my daily life who are just as good looking as Halle Berry (who I do not get). On the red carpet, you see the flaws that all we women are concerned with. Back fat, bat wings, pooching stomachs - you see what is hidden clever poses and Photoshop in most photographs. Scarlett Johansson (who I really, really do not get), while still tiny, looked like five pounds of baloney in a three pound bag (see above). Amy Adams should fire her stylist after the way her arms looked like ham hocks in that sequined monstrosity.*** I have a message for the women of the world - YOU TOO CAN LOOK LIKE A HOLLYWOOD STAR IF YOU PAY THE RIGHT PEOPLE.

I think the Oscars should be required viewing for all women so, even though we are watching in our pajamas, eating too much French cheese and cupcakes, we can know we are as attractive as the women we put on such high pedestals. We just live in a world of bad lighting and unfortunate viewing angles. Which is a helpful thought to hang onto the next morning, looking at your haggard reflection in the bathroom mirror after staying up too late to watch all this nonsense.

*I'm so glad #1's ice skating lessons inspired him to play pick-up hockey Friday nights to relive his glory days resulting in what we think might be a ripped hamstring.
**At this point, H also begins cheating and visiting betting websites and researching the movies we haven't seen. I prefer to go with my gut. I solidly kicked his cheating ass this year.
***And speaking of stylists, Cate Blanchett desperately needed one. What the hell was all over that dress? Mentos?