Oscar Night is Sunday; the annual evening we don sweat pants and perch glued to the TV for seven hours wishing to be thin. And rich. And have someone drape us in free jewels and gowns. And give us a goodie bag worth a hundred thousand dollars. Whaaaa?
Yep, Oscar’s gift bag this year is worth a cool hundred grand. But it’s not an “Oscar” bag since the Academy doesn’t condone frivolity. Instead it’s the “Everybody Wins” bag. Two questions: if it’s “everybody” where’s mine? And what’s in it?
All are plugs for donors. Which means it’s that eye of the beholder thing whether these are actual winners or losers. Things like a portable vaporizer, weight loss pills, weird light bulbs, an anteater patterned handbag, a “responsive” pillow and a plain looking dog bed with an ugly toy will no doubt land on the give to an assistant pile.
But then there are trips. From simple Hawaii and California’s Pacific Coast to Lake Como to take in the dazzle that is The Twins Clooney. No guarantee on sighting the tots. There’s a day at the Golden Door Spa and a stay at the Grand Hotel in Sorrento. Because, when we only make 20 mil per film we can’t be expected to pay for vacay. Silly girls, someone needs to provide staples.
There’s foodstuff, since after the Oscars we can actually ingest more than purified water. There is maple syrup, chocolate, drunken figs no soul would touch, pecans and apples that mere humans have yet to experience. They are considered more healthful, whatever that means. What is most amazing about magical Opal Apples–they don’t brown after cutting. Those of us who actually cut our own fruit are wondering where the line forms. Oh–and there’s a set of baby sized plates so we don’t overindulge. You know, on apples.
We can’t forget beauty products. An array of skin serums are on hand to awaken our Botoxed faces and a there’s foundation for older skin. Bought one a month ago–it settled deeper into the crevices of my face than the drug store cheapie so I gave the $54 bottle of magic to Baby Chicken so she could slather it about her 24-year-old unlined face and claim it works.
There are sweat pads–evidently they soak up underarm output with no one the wiser. Just no. Butt pads are a must. You attach them to your hind end and they stimulate circulation while you sit–you know, for a cellulite free backside. But wait, in order to have no lines on our skin tight gowns, we wear no panties. Mon Dieu, the problems of the everyday girl.
There’s also a Positive Cube; a box filled with uplifting comments. Because with all those designers, assistants, jewelers and makeup artists fawning over us how do measure we our own worth? We get so lost in all the yes men that we need a stack of cards to tell us how great we are.
After all, we’re just like you.
The Duchess Diaries 