This year, I was lucky enough to be invited to the Oscars. While every girl I knew squealed and asked what I was wearing I was riddled with anxiety… How did I get invited to the 86th Academy Awards, you ask? Well, my best friend took me as her date. I met her seven years ago at an event where we both didn’t know a single person. We hit it off over a mutual respect for Chandler Bing, and we’ve been eating pizza together ever since.
I think the most interesting thing that they don’t show anyone on TV is the street leading up to the Oscars. Highland (between Sunset and Hollywood) is filled with barricades with different entry points so no crazy person can plow their car through, killing everyone on the red carpet. Guarding each entry point through the barricades are men in head to toe camouflage with gigantic automatic weapons (rifles? I don’t know guns). I try to take a photo of one and I’m stopped immediately. Completely lining the sidewalks of Highland are the Jesus freaks. I am not talking a few—I am talking every inch of the sidewalk is full of God-fearing picket signs and psalms. Some have megaphones and are yelling inaudible sermons and others just shouting at the line of black cars. Right before you get to the red carpet, you get to Westboro Baptists with huge yellow signs of pictures of Phillip Seymour Hoffman and Paul Walker saying “BURNING IN HELL” and other despicable things. It’s so surreal and hate-filled, I feel like I am heading to my own personal Salem Witch Trial. One thing is for sure: They think we’re all going to hell.
We finally arrive at the red carpet and as we exit the car, my date eats shit and uses my freshly done Lauren Conrad up do to break her fall. The crowd goes wild. There are flashbulbs and people circling yet no one asks if I need any help because unless you are famous at the Oscars, you are completely invisible. I have never experienced anything like it. The only time anyone talks to you is if you are in the way of his or her photo. Oh and photographers on the carpet yell “YOU IN THE HUGE DRESS, GET OUT OF THE FUCKING SHOT.” It’s incredible. It is no wonder actors are crazy. The carpet is filled with screaming fans and photographers who only care about you; everyone is salivating to talk to you and telling you how great you look. We finally make it to the end of the carpet and I decide to use the restroom before I sit. Jessica Biel holds the door open for me and compliments my dress—no human being should be allowed to have her face and body. I get inside and Margot Robbie from Wolf of Wall Street shows me her Kardashian-sized diamond ring in line for the toilet and says “I feel like a guy with a gun should be following me—I could be halfway to Mexico with this by now.” The lights begin to flicker and we are told we need to take our seats. I quickly pee and head to my seat.
It’s around this time that you realize you are STARVING and haven’t had any food since breakfast at 9 a.m. It’s hot and you feel like you’re going to pass out. After waiting for my date’s category, her dad and I decide to hit the bar and just watch from the monitor behind the bar and slam a few drinks to make this tolerable. The Academy really needs to spring for more hors d’oeuvres options because now everyone is hammered. My date comes out after her category and we decide to watch the rest of the show in the greenroom where there is pizza. This is where the presenters and winners are hanging out and it’s pretty jarring. Some guy picks up my purse that had fallen off my seat and I say “Thank you… Channing Tatum” and my dress gets caught on Jennifer Garner and we awkwardly laugh and someone tries to separate us. The lovely pregnant Kerry Washington asks me if she could have the Slim Jim in my purse. Glenn Close shows us her Oscar secret, which is a handmade corset and a dress long enough to hide her comfortable shoes. Miss J is sashaying around the room being crazy fabulous and I am one of maybe two non-famous people there. I kind of just sit there and smile creepily when someone catches me staring—shout out to Penelope Cruz.
After the show we go backstage where I meet Brad and Angelina. Brad Pitt smells amazing, like nothing I’ve ever smelled. Eventually we ask what cologne he’s wearing and he tells us, “I don’t wear cologne, it’s just my musk I guess.” I have to choose not to believe him because it would just be unfair to mankind. Angelina is gorgeous and elegant and they are like The Sun and The Moon.
The show ends and we’re ready to party. Everyone goes to Vanity Fair where, much like the Oscars, photographers yell at you and no one gives a shit that you are a human being unless you’re famous. We can’t enjoy ourselves because everyone, whether they know my date or not, has some weird story they just NEED to tell her as they stand in front of me pushing me out of the circle. I get tired of this and decide to follow Bill Murray around the party. At one point he looks in my direction and winks at me while dancing to “If You Want My Body and You Think I’m Sexy” by Rod Stewart—a moment, I now realize, my whole life had been leading up to.
|—||So you might not know her name, but Laura Simpson has been immortalised by the internet as the girl Jennifer Lawrence grabbed onto when she fell over at the Oscars this year. Ms Simpson also happens to be Lawrence’s best friend and was the actress’ date for that evening. Fortunately for those of us without megastar actor friends, Simpson has written an account of her night at the pinnacle of Hollywood over on MySpace (yeah, it seems like that’s back again? Time to fire up those top eights). The best parts? Flirty dancing Bill fuckin’ Murray, and Glenn Close’s covert comfortable shoes.|