So: going to the Oscars. Going alone. It’s awesome that I’m going but it fucking sucks that I’m going alone. At first, I was pissed that, you know, if I could have had a date, I would have been able to pull some incredibly high caliber of ass. But then I would have had to keep the party going, get us into Vanity Fair, or Madonna’s house, or whateverthefuck. Now I can just come home. But still– this crazy spectacle, tons of famous people… I mean, I’m glad I get to see it, but it will suck to have no one to lean over next to and whisper to. Maybe I’ll sit next to Hailee Steinfeld’s mom or something. Some woman from Kansas who doesn’t know anybody there either.
Maybe this is just a test of my solo socializing skills. Which are pretty good, except, these are all show business people. If this was the apex of achievement in the die casting and pipe welding industries I could show up alone and be a god damn social butterfly. If this were the American meat packing industry hall of fame induction ceremony I would be the queen of the god damn ball, but being that it’s the industry that I work in, and I am an inconsequential peon, it’s just gratingly awkward.
Like, Warren Beatty is going to look over and think I’m a douche. It will only occupy a nanosecond of his mind-space, but for that one nanosecond Warren Beatty will be looking at me and think: “look at that sad, lonely, awkward douche with no place here.” Then someone with tits will walk by and I will be instantly erased from his mind. But still, that nanosecond is what I fear.
And the tux thing- half the time you feel like James Bond, half the time you feel like you should be offering up canapé.