Since Orlando and I are nowhere in sight for any Tammy Award (I got it right!) nominations this year, it looks like we won't get our asses handed to us on awards night. After the year we've been through, you'd think that I could come up with something else to be more concerned about, but, really, what is there other than fake awards to worry about? I've seen mostly respectable people shove their own grandmothers out of the way to get one, and rightly so. Grandma isn't gold plated. [removes tongue from cheek] I just couldn't resist taking a swipe at the "ooh, ooh, look at me, love meeeeeeee!" award drama since the season has officially been kicked off in both the Land of Make Believe AKA Hollywood and here in the real world. (People think it's the Golden Globes that does it. Hah! Wrong.) Even though the official nods haven't been announced yet, I'd like to offer the following to the nominees, the winners and the losers: Good show, congrats, my condolences.
No, I haven't lost my mind. I was just reading an article about Meryl Streep where she was bemoaning the amount of campaigning that happens in Hollywood now for the Academy Award, and wishes we could go back to the days when the awards were, well, awarded to someone selected by peers without all the gaudy bells and whistles. I have to agree with her that it's pretty unseemly for people to get awards because their studio spent the most money rather than it being an honor bestowed on a worthy recipient. I mean, what does it say when what was once a respectable, revered time between nominations and the actual ceremony now has all the class and poise of a presidential election? I don't want to see a world where I can't tell the difference between my Oscars and the Tammys, for god's sake! The former is meant to be classy the way the latter is meant to be trashy, and I don't want the line between the two blurring. I know the nominations aren't going to be announced until January, but I'm dreading the campaigning crap already. [cue dramatic sigh and slight tearing up] Shame on you Academy. Shame.
I feel better. I think my inner raging 'mo is getting sick of the Oscar buzz surrounding movies that haven't even been finished or released yet. For a great send up of this, by the way, watch "For Your Consideration."
Okay, moving on to the real world and a decidedly more somber tone. This is the important thing I referenced in the subject line:
I haven't officially announced it or anything, but I'm back home. For those of you who didn't know, I had been asked by Shy to leave the house so that he could deal with what happened to him without me being a constant reminder of Kevin. Anyway, a crisis of sorts has brought me home, and while I know that Shy doesn't particularly want me back yet, I really can't give a damn about what he thinks. I need to be here for my husband. Okay, I don't mean that I don't give a damn. I do. I give a lot of damn. Big Costco bulk packages of damn. But I'm worried about Orlando right now. I won't go into too many details about what's going on, but if I'm a bit more stressed out than usual, it would be because there's a very real chance that Orlando may have been exposed to something. Well, I guess that's the one detail that really trumps the others.
I know Shy will see this and I don't really care if he gets upset by it because I feel like being a bastard right now. I want to tell him that if he got Orli sick, I want him out of my house. But I can't. When it comes to him I have absolutely no say or power. Not anymore. I'm sorry you went through hell, kiddo, but we weren't exactly having a party while you were gone. And the anger and guilt that have been constants since you got back are making it pretty clear to me that no matter what happens down the road, we are never going to be the same. None of us. I'm trying to be patient but it feels as if you're deliberately ignoring all the help that's being offered just so you can keep cutting me out of everything. I might as well have stayed on the mainland. Or maybe I should just go back to Hartford until I know I can be in my house without feeling like an intruder.
This wasn't supposed to turn into a rant against Shy, but I'm too fricking tired to change it. And, believe me, it's not as if it'll do any more harm. It would be so much easier to deal with this if I could hate him.