Reason 82

Boring awards shows. Tonight you are graciously presenting what appears to be a golden bird of some kind to a hard-working, Hollywood writer at the Writer's Guild of America awards show. I'm guessing you are attending this soiree sans date because, let's face it, there probably aren't a ton of awesome ladies sitting around L.A. on a Saturday night just wishing they could get gussied up to attend an industry event that isn't even televised. As your friend, Jason, I would be willing to sacrifice my uber-exciting Saturday night plans to entertain you during the show. We could commiserate over the fact that HIMYM wasn't nominated in any category (blasphemy!); I could wipe drool from the corner of your mouth as you ogle the sexy cast of True Blood at the next table over; we could exhaust the supply of jokes that can be made about the new show Hung; and most importantly, we could very loudly root for Sesame Street to pick up a statuette in the children's show category. It's not only this show I would be willing to attend with you, Jason. If you are ever invited to judge the World's Ugliest Dog Contest, stump contestants as a panelist at Miss Gay America, or measure the length of the entries in Germany's Beard Growing Competition, I will be there to support you, ruler in hand. You're on your own for the Oscars, though. Just thinking about strapping myself into a fancy gown and sucking in my gut for that long walk down the red carpet makes me tired. I don't know how Kate Winslet does it.