Inner Monologue

If I had been nominated for a Golden Globe tonight (for best original screenplay, obviously)...I am sure the following thoughts would have gone through my mind at some point in the evening:

Is my hair frizzing out?

Wait, what is our governor doing here?

Thanks a lot, Mo'Nique...now my mascara's going to be smudged for the entire rest of the night.

Take little bites. You never know when the camera is going to turn on you.

Amy Adams is just the cutest little nugget of a pregnant woman on the planet.

Who gets these centerpieces after? Like, could I take one?

OMG...Robert Downey Jr.'s sitting at the table next to me. Be cool, Lisa, be cool...

Quentin Tarantino creeps me out. Must not make eye contact with him.

I hope Mickey Rourke never changes. Ever.

Don't go to the bathroom...you'll miss something funny or important.

I wonder if Jesse James remembers me from that one time we ran into each other in a Russian submarine in San Diego. Or if Kevin Bacon remembers me when I met him at the Coach House after seeing the Bacon Brothers. I bet they do.

I'm so glad Christoph Waltz won. Not really sure what he said up there though; I hope he works on his Oscar acceptance speech. He will win the Oscar, after all.

Chloe Sevigny--what was she thinking? I appreciate her courageous fashion efforts, but...yikes.

If I win, how do I get to the stage? Do I take the most direct way? Or do I take the way that passes Sir Paul McCartney? Must strategize quickly...

Where is Sam Worthington and how do I get him to notice me? I didn't learn to say “Kaltxì. Ngaru lu fpom srak?” for nothing.

What...what? They called my name? I won?! Oh....gotta go!!