Yes, my Annual Oscar Party took place on Sunday night.  Yes, I was the only one there.  No, I didn’t mind.  In fact I think I prefer it that way – I didn’t have to share the snacks.

Let’s see . . . where to start?

First off, I hit “Hair & Make Up” (aka my bathroom) about 5:30pm Eastern.  For those of you not in the know, this is a solid 3 hours before the Oscars started and before we have Sunday dinner in these parts.

Once I was dolled up, I donned my finest full length gown.  It was a vintage emerald green satin number that I wore 13 years ago on the night of my 1996 work Christmas party, which was when Willie and I started dating.  True – it doesn’t hang quite as nicely now as it did then, but surely I get some points for the fact that the damn thing still fits.

Then it was time to head downstairs to put the finishing touches on dinner, and amuse the boys.  Mission accomplished.  They love whenever “Ms. Crazy LaRue” comes for dinner.  I often wonder “does this amuse them or scar them?”  I suppose only time will tell.

Then a quick kitchen clean up, packing of the lunches, gathering of my completed Oscar Nomination Ballot Form and Oscar Bingo sheets.  The boys were tucked in for the night and Willie was relegated to the bedroom TV.  Let the snacks show begin!

First up was the sushi – nothing fancy, just a few Cali rolls.  After all, I did just hoss down a plate of ham & scalloped potatoes for dinner.

All washed down with gingerale.

I decided to forego the cheese tray this year and went with this instead.

That’s right folks – Lemon Meringue pie!  A brilliant substitution.

It was at this point (about an hour and a half into the show) that I opted for the comfort of my pajamas for the remainder of the evening.  For obvious elastic waistband reasons.

And yes, I did hang in there to the bitter end.  Which, may I say, was bitter?  In fact I thought the whole show was a big – “meh”.  Kinda boring.  No big moments – neither embarrassing nor heart warming.  Although I did like Sandra Bullock’s speech and was glad Jeff Bridges and Christoph Waltz won.

And for the first time in years I got a bunch of the winners right.  Of the 13 categories I made predictions in, I got 10 correct!  This is unheard of, I assure you.

I’m not going to review the whole show or the outfits for you.  There’s plenty of sites out there that do that for a living and frankly, I’m not getting paid and you likely don’t care.

But what I can say, is that my party was fantastic and was worth the sleepy Hollywood “Hangover” I had Monday morning.

Next year I’ll be keeping the guest list the same.  I think there’s something to be said for an exclusive party.  Although I just might buy myself a strip of red carpet.  I think it would really add something magical to my Family Room that night.

Did you watch The Oscars?  Have I inspired you enough to host your own “Oscar Party For One” next year?  Is the name “Ms. Crazy LaRue” fitting or should it just be “crazy”?

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P.S.  I’ve managed to land an interview with a certain Blogger and hope to post it for your reading pleasure tomorrow.

Hint:  This person is opposite to just about everything that I am.  Curious now???

Apparently Ree Drummond, aka The Pioneer Woman, considers herself my best friend.  No, really.  She does.  I mean, I blog and she blogs, but that’s kind of where our relationship ends.  Perhaps I’ve mislead her.  I think it all started when I sent her this letter last month . . .

Dear Ree,

Enclosed, please find 2 of your fab cookbooks.  One is mine, and the other is my BFF, Elle’s.  I gave it to her for Christmas.  She claims it was the best gift she received.  And I believe her because I do give great gifts.

We’ve both been big PW readers for awhile now and were so excited when you announced the launch of your cookbook and the book tour!  Yay – we would finally get to meet you face to face!  After reading you for so long, and feeling like we totally and completely kinda know you, this was a very exciting prospect.

But then we read through the list of cities you would be visiting.  Shock!  Horrors!  Not only was our beloved city excluded, so was our country!  Surely to God you have many loyal readers and fans up here in Canada!  Let’s take the Calgary Stampede for example – that place is CRAWLING with cowboys.  Surely they’d ALL want their wives to have a copy of your book.

But alas, it was not meant to be.  Calgary was not on the list, and nor was our beloved Toronto.

But we will not let that deter us.  No.  We will continue to read, to enjoy and to admire our PW.  And in the meantime, we really hope you’re still doing the “book signing by mail” option.  Otherwise we’ve waste time and postage sending you our books.  And you can probably get one for free whenever you want.  I imagine you probably have a whole case of them in your house right now.  In case someone comes by the door.  You seem like you’d be really generous like that.

Anywhoo – we’re lost without our cookbooks and our families will not be eating until they are returned.  We hope that inspires you to sign and re-mail quickly.  But not too quickly – I’d be really annoyed if you rushed things and spelled my name wrong.

We’d be most appreciative if you could make one out to Elle and the one with all the post-it flags to Cher.  Please don’t remove any of the post-it flags.  Those are all the recipes I didn’t like – ha!  Just kidding.  Those are the ones I’m dying to try for my house of annoyingly picky boys loving family.

Many thanks – for the great website, for the awesome cookbook, and for the signings.

Much admiration,

Cher

And a couple weeks later, our cookbooks showed up in my mailbox.  Here’s mine;

See?  “from your BFF“.  And a heart.

Sorry Elle.  I think you’ve been replaced.

And if any of you also have one of The Pioneer Woman’s books signed in a very similar manner, please keep it to yourself.  I don’t want to ruin my fantasy.

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Be sure to enter yesterday’s Olympic Prize Pack give away.  Deadline is today (Tuesday) at noon Eastern time.

Did you ever meet someone, a complete stranger, but instantly felt like you’ve met them before?

Maybe there was something about their voice, or their mannerisms.   Maybe the way their mouth moved when they spoke or their eyes.  Something.  You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but yet, it was there.  A familiarity that you just couldn’t deny.

This is how I feel about him.  About Elvis.

I’m SURE we had met before.  Likely in another life because I certainly never met him in this one.  But how can someone be SO familiar if you’ve never met them?

Did I watch too many of his movies as a kid and permanently ingrain him in my mind?  No.  I prefer to believe that we did meet in a previous life.  That we were good friends.  Possibly even Lovers.  Maybe High School Sweethearts.  But that something tragic happened that tore us from each other.  And our lives together were never completed.

Which is why he wandered through his life always searching for that perfect love again – the one that he had shared with me.  I just know it.  In fact I’m convinced of it.  And you will not be able to tell me anything different.  Sadly no amount of drugs, doughnuts or peanut butter sandwiches were ever enough to fill that void that I left behind.

Yep.  You heard it here people – The Only Girl was the love of Elvis’ life.

Shut up.  I was so.

And the answer to yesterday’s “who did I used to look like” post is . . .

None other than Shelley Long!  That’s right – Miss Diane Chambers from the hit 80’s show “Cheers”.

Do you see any resemblance?  Is it the hair?  The fair complexion?  The eyes?  What?  WHAT IS IT?!?!  After all these years I still can’t figure it out!  But 437 people who stopped me on the street back in 1987 can’t all be wrong – can they?

Some of yesterday’s guesses included:

• Farrah Fawcett (really Belle?  I am flattered, but maybe you should have your eyes checked)
• Bea Arthur (dear husband . . . you’re so dead.  You have till the end of the weekend to make it up to me – get started!)
• Sarah Michelle Gellar (really Cath?  Buffy the Vampire Slayer?  I think that’s a bit of a stretch)
• Cheryl Ladd (hmmm . . . actually Lori, that’s not a bad guess)
• and several (again, I’m puzzled) Shelley Long guesses

But the winner is actually Elle, who was the first to guess correctly at 9:34 am.  Well done!  If you actually want the guinea pig or the autographed picture of me, just email me your mailing address.  If I don’t hear from you, I’ll completely understand.

I would,  however, be remiss if I didn’t discuss a few items of concern surrounding this picture.

Item #1 – what’s with the bangs? I remember that I took great pains to get them feathered back and up in that particular puff-ball, but I don’t know why.  It’s clearly not a good look and the slightest hint of rain or humidity and, well, bang disaster.

Item #2 – what young woman in her very early 20’s wears a blazer and a string of pearls? Again, I have no response.  I don’t know what I was thinking.  In fact I’m pretty sure I let my room-mate help select my wardrobe for this picture, and she actually had really good taste.  So all I can think of is that she was trying to sabotage me.

Item #3 – what’s up with the serious face? Shouldn’t I have been smiling?  I was in my early twenties, single and living with my best friend.  I had a sweet little office job that paid the rent and then some.  I had my own car and went out with my friends almost every night.  Life was good.  Really good.  I should have been grinning from ear to ear.  Or laughing hysterically.  Or at least something other than this blank “deer caught in the headlights”  stare.

Item #4 – why would I have sat for such a portrait when I was no longer in school and didn’t have to? Another very good question.  Well I’ll tell you why.  I had it taken for my parents.  I had moved out (with their love and blessings) at this time in my life and was working full time and I suppose I wanted to give them a picture of the new “grown up” me.  The “see Mom, you don’t have to worry about me at all.  I managed to get myself up, wash and dressed and to this portrait appointment on time, so I must be doing just fine.  And if you’re missing me you can just look at this very lovely picture” kind of portrait.  From Sears.  Because that’s where grown up, responsible girls in their early twenties get their portraits done.  Apparently.

Hope you liked it Mom.

And Shelley Long, if you’re reading this, did you ever have someone tell you that you look like me?

So Monday’s post about my supposed likeness to a certain Hollywood celeb got me remembering.  There was a time in my early twenties when I was compared – repeatedly – to a particular celebrity.  And when I say “repeatedly” I mean several times a week, for about a year or two.

And when I say “I was compared to” I mean I was actually stopped on the street by strangers.  Or approached in bars (gasp!  yes, I spent a fair bit of time in such establishments in my youth) in order to be told “Has anyone ever said that you look just like blank?” or “You know who you look like?”  To the point that it became really annoying.  At first I was pleased.  Or amused.  But by the end of the year I was just getting annoyed.  Because a) it was never ending  b) each smug person thought that they were the first to notice such similarities and c) this particular Hollywood celeb really wasn’t that good looking.

And so, dear readers, here’s you chance.  Who do you think I look like?  Leave me a comment with your guess (oh, and those people that actually knew me back in the day are disqualified.  Because it was a well known fact who my look-alike was).  But the rest of you are all fair game.  Your comments won’t post till after midnight tonight Eastern time so that you can’t see what everyone else is guessing until the next day.  Oh what fun!

No, there isn’t a prize.  Just bragging rights.  To being the winner of The Only Girl’s first ever contest.  Or perhaps a full grown stinky lovable guinea pig?  Or an 8″ x 10″ autographed glossy picture.  Of me.  Yeah, didn’t think so.

So come on – all you loyal commenters and lurkers alike.  Give me your best shot.  Who do you think I used to look like?

I’ll post the answer tomorrow along with an in-depth analysis of this picture, because obviously, some analysis needs to be done.

(hint:  this picture was taking circa 1987 so it was someone known from back then)

I went over to the mall on my lunch hour on Friday to get some blush.  Something I do far too often.  Well, not the buying of blush, but rather the going to the mall on my lunch hour.

Anywhoo – I entered the Mac Cosmetics store and was greeted by a delightful young girl who proceed to help me in my quest.  And who, at one point during our make-up transaction, said “Do you ever get told you look like a certain celebrity?”.  I VERY hesitantly answered “nooooo . . . why?  Who were you thinking of?” all the while holding my breathe.  Because maybe I don’t want to look like the person she’s suggesting.  Maybe I wouldn’t be happy being compared to, oh, I don’t know;

Sandra Bernhard?

Or Courtney Love?

Or Rosie O’Donnell?

But she answered “you remind me of (get ready for this . . .) Meg Ryan.”

Meg Ryan???  Really???  I have NEVER heard that before.  Not that I wouldn’t be proud to be compared to Meg Ryan, don’t get me wrong.  But honestly.  Aside from the bit of blonde we both have in our hair, I really don’t see the resemblance.  Sure, we both have two eyes, a nose and a mouth.  And in these particular shots, we both have bangs.  But that’s pretty much where it stops.

(She’s the one of the left in case you’re wondering.)

Yes, I know the delightful young Mac Cosmetics girl and I were engaged in a sales transaction.  And perhaps she was trying to get her numbers up.  Or maybe they’re experiencing an inventory surge in blush and were under strict orders from upper Management to sell as much blush as humanly possible that day.  And perhaps the Mac Cosmetics Sales Training material teaches delightful young salesgirls that comparing middle-aged mothers to successful Hollywood celebrities is a sure fire way to sell blush.  Not sure.

But I did buy the blush.

The Eldest and I went to see “This Is It” Friday night.  A rare date for just the two of us.  One-on-one time with either boy is something that I love and always promise myself I’ll do more often.   But time, as always, is usually the issue.  So when these opportunities do come along – I really enjoy them.

Now, I’m not a BIG Michael Jackson fan, and there was that whole court case issue.  And although the 9 year old Eldest isn’t a big fan either, he is a lover of music and has seen many Michael Jackson impersonators while on our yearly vacations to Caribbean resorts.  He also recently discovered Micheal’s music this past summer when radio stations starting playing a lot of it again after his death.  So he was keen to go with me.

And we thoroughly enjoyed it.  You simply can not deny that Michael had talent.  And lots of it.  He was a true entertainer.

The movie is basically the behind-the-scenes footage of him rehearsing for his upcoming concert tour.  And what a concert it would have been.  He was going to perform every big hit he had ever had.  With the most unbelievable special effects and visuals.  Some real ground-breaking stuff.  It would have been awesome.

I would have bought a ticket.  I know it would have been really expensive, but it would have been a once-in-a-lifetime thing.  And it would have been totally worth it.

Now, I’m no expert, but he certainly didn’t appear sick and he certainly didn’t appear drugged out.  Although he was thin, he appeared completely well, and very in control of both his body and his thoughts.

But what struck me the most was how kind and humble he seemed to be.  And thankful.  Thankful for the people around him that were also preparing for this tour, and just thankful for the opportunity to be doing it.  There was no big ego.  No “mantrums”.  No outlandish demands of his “people”.  Just kind, humble, creative cooperation.  He knew what he wanted.  He knew how to create a real concert experience and he wanted to give his audience the very best.

And it certainly would have been.

What a shame.

I’m getting my hair done today.  Excuse me if I don’t sound very thrilled.  That would be because I HATE getting my hair done.  Sure, I like it after the fact -- well a few days after the fact, once it’s settled in -- but I hate the actual process and sitting in that god damn chair for soooooooo bloody long.  It seems like such a waste of time to me.  There’s so many better things I could be doing.  Like cleaning out my belly button or watching paint dry.  But it’s a necessary evil.  The price to pay for being vain about your hair.

Fortunately I actually have good hair.  I’m not just bragging -- I’ve had many stylist say so.  It’s straight and very, very thick.  And it pretty much does whatever I want it to -- a quality that I would prefer to have in my husband and children, but it is a good quality to have in hair nonetheless.

And I do love my hair dresser.  And sometimes his wife also does me (in a completely non-sexual way -- don’t get the wrong idea here people).  I’ve stalked them to 3 different salons over the years.  They both do high-lights and low-lights like nobody’s business.  And they can cut with the best of them.  But neither one of them can style their way out of a wet paper bag.  Come to think of it, I have NEVER had anyone who can style my hair to my liking (yes -- I acknowledge that I could be the problem).  I always bring a ball hat with me to throw on the minute I leave the salon, then run home and re-style.  In fact I’m now at the stage where I’ll just say “I’m only going home to watch TV on the couch and go to bed.  You don’t have to bother styling me.  Just give it a quick blow-dry to get some of the wet out”.  Because honestly, what’s the point of sitting in that god damn chair a minute more than I have to for something that I won’t even like?  It’s torture.  Particularly when it’s high-light/low-light time, or the “long one” as I describe it to the boys.  The “short one” is the appointment where I just get a little trim up.  A re-shaping if you will.

And to Willie’s credit he has kindly trained the boys to systematically repeat “oh -- you’re hair looks nice Mommy!” the minute I come through the door.  Whether they’ve even looked at my hair or not.  And I know that they’re on autopilot when they say this because I, too, have looked at myself in the mirror.  For the past 2 hours that I’ve spent in that God forsaken chair as a matter of fact.  And I either a) have a baseball hat on so how could they possibly see my hair in the first place or b) it’s been styled to the hilt and froo-frooed up with so much product that my hair resembles something that should be walking down the red carpet on Oscar night -- which is in stark contrast to the jeans, t-shirt and runners I’m wearing.  And so I look completely ridiculous.  But they all get lots of bonus points for saying it looks nice anyway.

So tonight I will go for the “long one” and they will work their magic.  I will get a few high-lights and a few low-lights.  Then they will trim me into shape and send me on my way.  And I will have much less money in my account.  But tomorrow morning, after I shower and style it myself, it will look fabulous.  At least for 6 -- 8 weeks.

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Speaking of hair . . . A 51-year-old chunk of hair taken from Elvis’ haircut when he entered the Army is going up for auction this week, among some of his other items.  And I LOVE LOVE LOVE me some Elvis!  It’s tempting . . . VERY tempting.  Do you think they could extract some of his DNA, mix it up in a petri dish and impregnate me?!?!?  How cool would that be?  Elvis’ Baby Momma.  That just might be worth bidding on . . .

Dear Mr. James Frey,

I’ve been meaning to write you this letter for quite some time.  Unfortunately I procrastinate a lot so I haven’t gotten around to it yet.  Sorry.  But now I have a blog so I figured I could write your letter, turn it into a post and just email you the link, effectively killing 2 birds with 1 stone.  And I’d save on the postage.  A real win-win all around.

I’ve wanted you to know how your book “A Million Little Pieces” changed my life.  No, I wasn’t an addict who found hope and inspiration in the pages.  Nor was I in the publishing industry and learned some valuable lessons from the aftermath of “The Controversy”.  No.  I was simply a girl who didn’t read books.

But back in December of 2005 all I kept hearing about was your damn best selling book.  It was everywhere.  In stores.  On TV.  Even my beloved Oprah wouldn’t stop talking about it.  “ALRIGHT ALREADY!”  I said.  “I guess I’m going to have to read this bloody book so I know what the hell everyone is talking about!  Which is something I had never said before.  Because prior to December 2005 the extent of my reading consisted of the newspaper and one corny Mary Higgins Clark “suspense” novel each year while on vacation.  I know.  I know.

So I did buy your book.  And I couldn’t put it down.  No really – I couldn’t put it down.  And I feel in love with reading.

And just as I was finishing the last quarter of the book “The Controversy” broke.  But I didn’t care.  I had been enjoying that book SO much, that whether the whole damn thing was fabricated or just an insignificant-to-the-overall-plot detail or two was fabricated, it didn’t matter.  Because by then, you had ignited a fire in me.  A fire for the love of reading.

So I finished the book.  Then I read “My Friend Leonard”.  And then I went on to read many, many more really good books.  And I haven’t stopped.  I enjoy getting into bed at the end of the day and disappearing into a good story.  Or relaxing in my living room on a sunny weekend morning with a big cup of coffee and a good book.

So thank you James Frey.  Thank you for giving me the gift of reading.  Because if not for all the fuss about your book, I may still be hanging out with Mary Higgins Clark once a year.

I really hope that things have turned out well for you.  I haven’t bought “Bright Shiny Morning” yet, but I’m going to when I’m done my current book.  And I’m sure I’ll thoroughly enjoy it.

Yours Truly,

Cher

And now we move on to the U2 concert part of “The Only Girl’s Big Day” . . .

If you’ve read any of the reviews, you’ll know by now that it was freaking awesome!  That enormous stage was UN-believable.  Their performance was outstanding.  The music was spectacular.  And he’s just so handsome.

I enjoyed every moment.  From singing and clapping and dancing, to just trying to look around and take it all in.  Yes it was expensive, but I say it was worth it.  No regrets here my friends!

And although Cherry was probably a little sad that she wasn’t at the front of the stage with her friends that had lined up with their General Admission tickets – for the previous 24 hours might I add !!! – I think she did enjoy the different view point and was able to take in all the effects that you wouldn’t otherwise see when you’re right at the very front.  And I really enjoyed experiencing it with her (thanks again Cherry!).

Here’s a couple pics . . .

The big honkin’ stage before they turned the lights off.  I mean honestly – look at that thing!

The big honkin’ stage all lit up.  We were 30 rows from the field by the way.

The Man himself.

And when it was all over (just past 11:00pm), Cherry and I immediately left the stadium, and headed around the side of it to Gate 15, where I dropped her off with her friends for the night.  Because she joined the General Admission line up that had already started to form for the next night’s concert!!!!  Can you believe that?!?!?!  She was lucky number 37 and seemed quite happy about it.  So once she had secured her position, and had her number marked on her hand, off she went to her car.  To get a warm sleeping bag and some supplies to get her through the long chilly night that lay ahead.

I, on the other hand, headed off to the train station to make my way home.  To my comfortable warm bed in my comfortable warm house where there was plenty of food, running water and flushing toilets.  Which was a good thing, because somewhere between the stadium and the hour long train ride home I contracted a nasty stomach bug . . . oh my God – I hope I didn’t pass it on to Maureen Holloway!