Tonight I gave in to all of the Hollywood Access and Insider Gods and laid my remote down to rest for three hours on the couch next to me. The Golden Globes were on.
Throughout the whole agonizing display of celeb camaraderie, or shall I say CAMERAderie, I daydreamed aloud what I would say if I were presented with the great honor of being honored in the Fabulous sector of any televised recognition ceremony.
But first things first: One must arrive at such a gala. And to arrive, one must expect an ego trip down il carpeto di reddo. The prefix, il carpeto, originates from the Latin term CARFOOT, which we Americans interpret as walking, and the following di reddo, an adjective of Greek origin, meaning the color red. Literally speaking, it translates to Walking Red, but we celeb followers (nicknamed paparazzi) have come to familiarize it as the red carpet.
---Anyway---
Back to the whole arrival pre-game, tailgate, mix 'n' mingle, hob nobbing, rubbing elbows photo op outside. I can hear it now:
"Oh! Samuel..."
And before Joan and Melissa can sputter out "L. Jackson!" through their surgically enhanced lips/vocal chords/wind pipes, they are moving the Samuel formerly known as L. Jackson toward the flashing camera abyss when they see Fabulous Nominee Marissa heading their way.
"Oh, hold on to your seats folks, here comes Marissa. She looks as stunning as ever."
"Marissa! Marissa! Over here!"
I walk over, nonchalantly.
"Darling, who are you wearing?"
I take this as a moment to show my fans not only that I'm impeccably dressed to the nines, hell the tens, even, but also that I am devastatingly witty. "What do you mean who am I wearing? Well, I'm wearing myself of course! And don't I wear well!"
"Oh, forgive me. I meant, what are you wearing?"
"A dress! My my, Joanie, I do believe all of that Botox has gone to your brain!"
I walk off, my diamonds sparkling all over me.
Joan mutters to Melissa, "She's like a human kaleidescope."
(For those of you who don't remember, this is Joan and Melissa's encore presentation in this journal. To read the transcripts from their debut, an interview with Jesus, click here.)
After a delish din-din, I sit, fingers crossed, in the first row awaiting my nomination. Every now in then I look into the camera to see if there's any reminants of din-din in my teeth. My Fabulous win would be a joke if I spewed my sure-fire tear-jerker acceptance speech and flashed a grateful smile only to be horrified as reruns of Marissa's Malfunction are on instant replay on channels 2-210, exposing bits of seabass with lemoncrusted basil seasoning between my two front award-winning teeth.
Finally they announce me.
Sean Connery is presenting. "And thuh winner for MOSHT FABULOUSH PERSHON goesh to...MARISSHA."
My hands flutter about to appear like I am wishing away tears, when in all actuality, Roberto Benini let one rip and it stunk up my whole aisle. I make my way to the stage, being extra careful to not trip over my Salvation Army original.
And my speech, which I prepared months beforehand, goes like this:
"I could stand up here and run through a list of names that mean nothing to you, but the world to me. I could thank everyone I have encountered along the way to achieving this outstanding recognition of being, as Mr. Connery has stated, the MOSHT FABULOUSH, but again, we'd be here all night. Instead, I have decided on thanking a few people and things we all know.
For instance, I would like to thank bike racks. Without them, we'd have nowhere to park our bikes.
I would also like to thank those Peanut Butter Trees and Milk Chocolate Santas around Christmas time, for making the holiday season bearable.
I'd like to give a shoutout to my homeboy Bill Clinton, for giving me hope that not every public figure out there just wants to screw the people, just interns. And also, in truth, I'd like to thank him for being the most selfless, supportive and giving leader we've ever had represent us. It was the one time I was not ashamed of being an American.
I'd also like to thank Sarah Jessica Parker. We've never met, and probably never will, but hopefully by giving her a shoutout, she'll go out of her way to bump into me at the dessert cart later.
A shoutout to my Jew Crew! (What do you think J. Crew stands for anyway?)
But most importantly, the person who deserves all of the thanks of the world, is me. I couldn't have done it without me."
And with that, I make my way behind the curtain to an uproarious standing ovation.
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