I was sick all of last week. And I’m still sick. But Natalie, Sketch and I had purchased tickets to watch the Oscars (am I allowed to say Oscars or is it now like the Superbowl?) at this fancy fake red carpet event in town. Carissa was working the door, so she didn’t get to sit with us. SadFACE.

I hauled my lazy, overslept ass off the couch and away from House (Please sir, come heal what ails me. Delicious.) and put on some makeup and a pretty dress, so I wouldn’t scare the photographers. Or my friends. I even baked them some gooey butter cake to take home with them. Don’t worry, I’m no longer contagious.

If I’m to be perfectly honest (how could I lie to you guys?), I’ve never even watched the Oscars at home. It just doesn’t interest me that much. I’m not really a super avid movie watcher, so most of the time I don’t even know anything about the movies anyway. It’s three hours or more of my life I’ll never get back.

But last night’s festivities were totally worth it. And they had me at Neil Patrick Harris. Good call having him do the opening number, folks. Good call.

I can’t really tell you much about the awards. There are people far more qualified to do so. So instead I’m going to tell you about the people around us at the theater. And mind you, I was sick. So I was slightly more than GRUMPTASTIC. But totally pretty. In the face.

First, and I think solely for my amusement, the people who run the theater thought it would be a genius call to tape off the edges of the stairs. You know, to make them more visible. The only problem? They only taped off every other one. Not all of them. So people were dropping like flies up in the VIP area. Especially given that for $10 they provided every VIP with special seating, a free drink coupon, and all the Lone Star beer he or she could drink. Some people took it as a challenge.

Apparently, the VIP section drank over 1000 beers. The falling started before the beers, so it only got worse as people got drunk.

To balance out my amusement, they universe sent two people to sit in front of us and MAKE OUT for the entire show. And I don’t mean a smooch here and there. I mean full on tongue face licking she was practically in his chair MAKING OUT. I was sickened. The best part? Every time she went to the bathroom, which was a lot (Ahem. Free beer.), he would turn around and hit on our lovely Sketch (Who totally won an Inglorious Basterds DVD for correctly predicting…something about sound and The Hurt Locker). We almost barfed on them.

In a cruel turn of events, the universe completely turned against me and made this a crowd participation event. And the drunker people got, the more they felt the need to yell, scream, and shout for the people on the big screen. Who couldn’t hear them. It was like yelling at a sporting event on TV, but worse.

One woman behind me was OUT. OF. CONTROL. However, she almost made up for it by falling down the stairs twice and just falling on her ass once. Almost.

The people sitting a little further in front of us weren’t really there to watch the show. The people around them were PISSED. We heard a LOT of shushing. I have to say, it just seemed a little ridiculous, considering the Oscar’s were playing at FULL THEATER volume and no one was really saying anything important anyway. But one obnoxious woman in the group kept STANDING UP to talk to the people behind her. Blocking the entire screen. And no amount of my loudly telling her to sit down helped. I was about to go all first-step-dad on her ass and tell her she made a better door than a window.

Somewhere around the halfway point, I turned to Natalie and said, “It’s a damn good thing Graygrrrl didn’t come with us. It would be a bloody mess up in here.” Natalie agreed. Carnage, it would have happened.

Afterward, the girls came back to my place for cake and girl talk.

It’s possible that I maybe should have just stayed on the couch, as today I feel like I got run over my a train. If a train could affect my breathing. You know what I mean. I don’t feel well. So I’m leaving work in an hour and a half and going home to go back to bed. After stopping for some chicken soup, on the orders of DJ. She even found me a deli where they make it. And she doesn’t, you know, LIVE HERE. So chicken soup it is.