Monday, February 1, 2016

Breaking down the 2016 SAG Awards

Aside from the Globes, the SAG Awards are my fav. Partially because winners are decided by their peers and mostly because the actors get real liquored up. This year, they ordered 150 bottles of tequila and 500 bottles of champagne. 500 BOTTLES OF CHAMPAGNE. That's at least 3 more bottles than a normal Friday night for me, which is quite impressive. And I bet Helen Mirren only drank like, 400 of them. HMirr can rage.

Anyway, lessons learned:

Brie Larson and Jacob Tremblay are more precious than two otters holding hands.

First off, "Room" is an amazing movie. You shouldn't watch it before a date, like I did, because it doesn't exactly put you in the most romantic mood, but it's amazing nonetheless. The fact that Jacob Tremblay memorized that entire script and I can't remember if I had one or two lunches today is astounding. I uphold that he should've snagged Best Supporting Actor (my on-again/off-again husband Idris Elba won), but his presence this awards show season has been big enough. Fingers crossed that his career develops like Leo DiCaprio and he doesn't pull a Macauley Culkin. Meth face looks good on no one.

Rami Malek's jawline cuts through glass. And also, my heart.

Some tasteless and uncultured people think Rami is "creepy" and "looks like he would kidnap me and trap me in a basement," when really the person they're describing is the man in the upper right corner of this pic who is apparently a rogue Charlie's Angles villain who is clearly here to avenge the unfortunate death of his beloved bird Myrtle. Anyway.  That jawline. Those blue eyes. How he kind of never blinks. I don't mind that. It means he never takes his eyes off me, which is 100% romantic and 0% creepy. I feel like he'd want to read me excerpts from a J.D. Salinger book while we drink tea made from tea leaves he picked from a mountain in Nepal. And he would not be interested in "Vanderpump Rules" which is fine because me neither. I've never watched that show for 12 hours straight. #RefinedWoman

Leo and Kate need to get married already and make all of our dreams come true.

You guys, look how he lovingly scurries over to her after winning Best Actor. It's how you look when your Bojangles order is ready and you finally lovingly embrace that fried chicken. Some of us may have even kissed the chicken before like Kate kisses Leo's neck, but let's not delve into my personal life. Look, these two survived Titanic together (one naturally, one via cryogenic freezing). I'm about 99% sure if Leo wins the Oscar, he'll propose to Kate on the spot. And then it'll rain Oreos, world hunger will be solved, global warming will end, my pants will stop mysteriously becoming huge during the course of the day, and several other world issues will be solved.

Amy & Tina continue their tour of "We Should Host Your Lives"

I enjoy this photo mostly because these are the two facial expressions that make up 98% of my life. Tina & Amy presented Carol Burnett with a lifetime achievement award and their 5 minute bit was better than the entire Oscars show when James Franco and Anne Failaway hosted. When I get married, I just plan to show clips of their movies ("their" being Tina & Amy, not James and Anne, I'm not into cruel and unusual punishment after all). I would like the same film shown at my funeral, but without sound and in black and white. You know, dramatic effect.

Okay also, their table included Kristen Wiig and I'm absolutely positive this image was taken straight out of my diary. I am willing to go to extreme lengths to be a part of this posse. I'm talking listen-to-the-entire-Nickelback-album extreme.

I'm not an Indian woman (SHOCKER), but if I was, it'd be great to look like Priyanka Chopra.
I'm not a British, white woman (OMG YOU'RE NOT?), but if I was, it'd be great to look like Emilia Clarke.

Let me be clear about the two declarations above: We as women should absolutely be happy with our bodies and our appearances. I'm just saying that if some "scientist" or "doctor" in a back alley offered me the chance to have Emilia Clarke's face, I'd do it. I mean, not her exact face, I don't want to have some sort of "Face-Off' movie situation. And also, calm down, I'm not that creepy (yet). I imagine both her and Priyanka are the type of women who wake up the morning after a rough night out and their hair is perfectly styled and birds are chirping in their window while squirrels pour them tea and iron their fresh-off-the-runway "everyday" couture. They never wake up holding a pita with salsa on their face. Me neither.

Susan Sarandon brought a couple things to the show.
I'M TALKING ABOUT HER KIDS, YOU SICKOS. Just kidding, I'm obviously referring to her boobs. I'm a 20-something year old and my boobs don't even look like this. Partially because I don't have boobs and mostly because I don't have boobs. I also want to note that when Susan Sarandon wears a suit with nothing underneath but a black bra it's "sexy" and "fashionable," but when I do it to work, it's "inappropriate." I DON'T GET IT.

Pretty good SAG Awards this year. I'm still recovering from Helen Mirren making me take tequila to the face, so I'll leave you with this as my final thought:

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