As far as I can tell from the Intranet, the only two important parties to attend after the award show last night was the Vanity Fair Party and Elton John’s bash. At the former, all of the mega stars drank champagne and water from crystal glasses, and at the latter, the flotsam from the rest of the industry floated.
I’m going to do a brief fashion analysis, starting with Vanity Fair and ending with the Elton John party, because I know that what people really want to do is scroll through and see what all of the bitches wore.
So, just to begin, apparently the Prince and Princess of Monaco were on the red carpet. Is it just me, or does Charlene look like she’s been locked in a dungeon for the past 8 months?
There are obvious comparisons to be made between her and Grace Kelly, who would have been her mother-in-law. Charlene is quite beautiful. Unfortunately, she is trapped in a marriage with Albert, who either didn’t let her choose her own shapeless gown, or only let her wear it because it wasn’t revealing. The look was, unfortunately, completely forgettable.
I’m at a dinner party this evening, hosted by my friend Carolina, featuring food by Fernando, who last year flew in meat from Northern Mexico to create one of the most incredible meals I’ve ever had in my entire life. So I might not only be a little bit distracted in my life blogging (life blogging is appropriate, I’m gonna keep it), but I also might occasionally have to take breaks for food orgasms.
Everyone seems excited that I’m live blogging, because most people don’t see my writing in action, but once they realize that I haven’t talked in 45 minutes, I have a feeling they’re going to get a little bit sick of me.
6:44pm: I don’t get how Stacey Kiebler or whatever the fuck her name is got elevated to red carpet icon status just because she’s “dating” George Clooney, but she is tall and lithe and looks good in clothing. Her dress is gold, and has a gigantic floral decal. I am even more disinterested than George Clooney himself, who has already moved on to the next interviewer.
So, I was going to live blog the Grammy’s last night, but Caleb forbade me from doing so, because for him, sitting next to me while I’m snickering and ignoring him is boring. Weird, right?
Soon after he laid down the law, he went out to go get us some ravioli for dinner, and I was left to my own devices. I obeyed his wishes for ten minutes, but then found myself with so many things to say. For instance, at first I was like, oh, that’s weird that LL Cool J is doing the intro, who gives a shit about him. And then I was like, holy shit, is LL Cool J hosting this thing? Because seriously, who gives a shit about him.
So I ran over to my bag to pull out my laptop. Just as I was opening it, Caleb walked through the door. “Oh no you don’t,” he said.
A bottle of wine later, he was a little bit numb to what I was doing, so I picked up my phone, and started Tweeting. You can read some of what I wrote here. For a few minutes, I went fucking nuts, and then he realized that I was up to something. “Are you on Tweeter?” he asked me. “No you don’t!” He really said Tweeter. And then he hid my phone from me.
So, sadly, you can’t read every single thought that I had during that mess of an awards show that I loved watching with every fiber of my being. Especially the 60 seconds when The Civil Wars sang their pretty little ditty of a duet in perfect harmony, after which I bought their entire album. I love tinkling guitars.
As a balm to soothe my heart ache, I’ll do some fashion analysis. Here it goes.
I think the clear winners of the evening were Sophia Grace & Rosie, who do this cover of Nicki Minaj’s “Superbass,” in which they prove that even toddlers can sing, dance, and rap better than Nicki herself, especially in live performance. They served as correspondents for the Ellen show all evening.
I was going to do some SAG Red Carpet analysis on Sunday night, but then I got caught up watching the series finale of “Khloe and Kim Take New York.” I tried so hard to get my heart to break for Kim Kardashian and the unraveling of her marriage, but her face doesn’t move, so it was hard for both of us to feel any emotion.
Instead, I waited for like, some moment of truth, but like, I just didn’t know what to do because like, nothing happened until like the very end when Kim sat on Kris’s lap, and said that they like needed to talk, because Kim didn’t want Kris to move into her apartment in Los Angeles. JUST FUCKING NEEDED TO TALK? NO DIVORCE OR I HATE YOU? So I turned that bullshit off with five minutes left in the episode, and soon after, fell into a deep, dark 24-hour depression.
I sometimes like the SAG red carpet because the stars get a little bit wacky, given that it’s not the Oscars or the Golden Globes. Also, some of the TV people are invited, and those are the actresses I really care these days given that television is the best, and movies almost universally suck.
I actually have no ideas what the SAG awards are, and what kind of prizes they give—tiaras for best attitude? cash for most moveable face? trophies for being famous?—but I have to say, it can’t be that high class if Claire Danes or the Downton Abbey girls weren’t there, but Ashlee Simpson was. Irregardless, people wore dresses, which I will discuss below.
Last night’s dresses at the Golden Globes were exceedingly boring. So boring, in fact, that I can’t even do a “Worst Dressed” list.
I could do a “Most Safely Played List,” but you’d just flip through that and be like, “red color,” “blue color,” “yellow color,” “pink color,” and not even realize that the people wearing the mermaid tale strapless dresses were actually switching faces. It’s be like an experiment in color field theory.
Kristin Wiig would be “flesh color,” and you’d be confused about whether or not she had a head at all.
So instead, I’m posting pictures of the 10 people I thought were the best dressed at the awards, in some cases because they looked stunning, but mostly just because their choices didn’t put me to sleep. Here they are.
I think this dress would be impossible to wear unless you were on a “I feel badly for starving children to mask my anorexia” diet, like Angelina Jolie, but she just looked killer. Edgy, old school Hollywood glamor. Swoon.
I’m late with this, because I’m at Shark’s house. First he told me I couldn’t watch the Golden Globes because the Giants game is on, and then lied and said his computer was broken. But, due to an overwhelming desire to write my negative thoughts, I was able to overtake him, lock him in the closet, flip through 700 channels to find the pre-show, and fix his computer by turning it on. Then I logged in, and now…I’m here with you.
Joining me is Shark, Hairilyn, Caleb, Smiban, and J-Scar.
7:37pm: Does Charlize Theron really have red legs?
7:39pm: I think I missed most of the dresses. Fuck.
7:40pm: BACK TO THE FUCKING GIANTS GAME. BACK TO THE FUCKING GOLDEN GLOBES.
7:49pm: Whenever I look at Carson Daly, all I can think is “Tara Reid.” And then I imagine the slow death of a nipple.
(The opinions expressed below are not mine, but rather those of my alter-ego Wendy.)
Either I have the stomach flu or I’m pregnant, because I’m basically horizontal with nausea today. Mr. R is keeping his finger’s crossed for the latter, and I’m doing research about whether or not babies can get fetal alcohol syndrome in the first month after conception.
We’re sitting on the couch at Caleb’s, watching NY1. I just asked him if he’d like to kill some time doing Emmy’s fashion analysis with me, and he said, “Good Lord, no.” So while he watches Neil Rosen lisp his way through a review of the movie Limelight, I’m gonna do it by myself.
Here it goes.
I have six articles due this week. Six. I will make probably $50 total after taxes from writing them all.
So what am I doing? Thirty seconds ago I was looking at pictures from the red carpets at the Venice Film Festival, and now I’m writing about them on my stupid fucking blog.
In my humble opinion, the fashion was killer this year—all of the stars I saw went super glam, I haven’t seen a single picture of Anne Hathaway, and Cindy Crawford looks as hot as the days when she was married to a man who kept gerbils as pets…
“Fashion” and “MTV Video Music Awards” are probably mutually exclusive terms, but I’m going to do an analysis of “What The Stars Wore” last night anyway, because I literally have nothing else to do.
So, the big news of the evening (at least for me) is that Beyoncé is pregnant with Jay Z’s baby. First children usually resemble their fathers, so I can only assume that it will come out looking like a buffoon. But I’m eagerly anticipating the birth and subsequent paparazzi shots of the child anyway.