And the Emmy Went To…

Pretty much a deserving assortment of winners. Great to see Jane Lynch finally get her due, and great to see her out of the Sue Sylvester track suit in a perfectly draped and hued one shouldered gown.

In fact, it was wonderful how lush and lovely so many “real” women looked. When Mariska Hargitay ba-boomed, ba-boomed onstage, swingin’ those curves, it was sexy as hell. Sofia Vergara packed a punch, too. Tina Fey wowed me in her Oscar de la Renta that hugged her ass in all the right places.

Unfortunately, Christina Hendricks, one of the fairest of them all, looked like she’d wandered off a community theater production of Gone With the Wind. Oops. The wild west madam made-from-the-curtains frock on Jewel aged her something awful. Apparently, January Jones decided her Jetson’s catastrophe was such a mess she didn’t need to brush her hair. Whoever told Lauren Graham that a top resembling a crumpled shopping bag was flattering should be fired.

The producer of Temple Grandin provided the inevitable  yanking up of an ill fitting strapless dress.

I hope somebody YouTubes Lea Michele’s red carpet vamping. Here, I’m smiling. Now, I’m looking hot. Now back to my dazzling smile. Yeah, I’m smoldering again. Her continuous loop of self absorption was unintentional parody at its finest.

Note to Mr. Pacino: Black shoe polish is not an acceptable hair dye. And Liza wants her hair-do back. By the way, Al, once you pass 60, you don’t have a girlfriend. She’s a paramour, a companion, a fuck buddy – get with it.

Meanwhile, I caught some ad with Al Roker. Yikes. Sometimes you lose all that fat and find out you’re just ugly.

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