I will eat tortilla chips.
I will drink wine.
I will tweet something nasty about J-Lo’s gown while wiping salsa off my mouth with my sweatshirt.
I will eat more tortilla chips.
I will drink more wine.
I will attempt to hug my cats while singing “Shallow” like Lady Gaga.
I will require a first aid kit.
I will ask if anyone else has fantasies about Dick Cheney in Vice.
I will attempt to get the hashtag #CheneySoSexy trending.
I will switch to vodka.
I will loudly argue that nominated documentary Free Solo is about that time Han Solo was stuck in carbonite, then continue making my point in Wookie sounds.
I will call 311 and yell, “Where the fuck is Billy Crystal?”
I will be told by my guests that they suddenly have to leave early.
I will take off my bra and throw it at the TV when Paul Rudd presents.
I will get into at least five Facebook arguments about Sacheen Littlefeather.
I will hit my limit.
I will hurt myself trying to say “Irving G. Thalberg Memorial Award” three times fast.
I will wake up in the guest room.
Read Wendi Aarons’
2010 Oscar Predictions