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Dear Oprah!

Congrats on the SAG award nomination!  There is nothing like the admiration of your peers for something you have worked hard on and done well.  I have won a few awards for my blog, but none of my peers like me well enough to “Press This” and get me “Freshly Pressed,”  so I stew in my own resentment as I type.  This was not where I wanted to go with this letter!

Let’s see…Abraham Hicks says not to focus on what makes you feel bad, so I am changing the subject.  So, first a SAG nomination—what next?  An Oscar?  That would be cool!  In our family, we have our own Oscar story.  I am sure that you will find it rather impressive.

Back in 2011 my husband found himself being required to perform at a very high level at his job.  His role was “Problem Solver.”  I have seen him in action, and Greg is very convincing when troubleshooting computer issues for his audience.  You would actually believe he is fixing stuff.  Witty and funny with great determination he addressed staff technical problems while laughingly shaming them for the things they did to cause their laptops get messed up and lose all of their files.  Somehow his colleagues loved him in spite of this.  He plays a multidimensional character—nerdy, techy guy, strapping and handsome (I know—how can this be?) fun, athletic—he pretty much should where a super hero uniform—his character is so well-rounded.  The company was so impressed with his performance that they nominated him for an Oscar and HE WON!  For some reason, though, I wasn’t invited to the awards show or any after parties.  I’m not sure if there were any—probably a very exclusive one at Liam Fitzpatrick’s for the cool people, that Greg didn’t tell me about.  I am sure they served beer and good food, but I’ll never really know, will I?  Bitter?  Yes…Bitter about not getting an Oscar for myself.  Bitter about Greg not letting me partake in his celebration and accomplishment except for putting his stupid Oscar on our entertainment center for two years, where I could be reminded constantly about how awesome he is and I am not!  I finally moved it to his desk where I wouldn’t have to see it unless I felt like torturing myself.

So, Oprah, I was wondering if I could tag along with you to the after parties this year. At least I could brag about rubbing shoulders with all that greatness in Hollywood since my husband wouldn’t let me rub shoulders with the greatness at his company.  He only lets me RUB his shoulders…it’s not the same.

Please RSVP by commenting on this post and letting me know where, when and what to wear.

See you soon!

Exciting tidings!

J

Fah Fah FAAAHHHHH!

Fah Fah FAAAHHHHH!