Monday night I pulled on my very best celebrity judging uniform (sweatpants and some quasi-boyfriend's stolen hoodie, accessorized with my favorite delightfully witty and energetic homosexual) and settled in to watch the Grammys. As expected, I was provided with a whole slew of new things to ponder, and a new secret crush on Jason Mraz, even though I always found him obnoxiously popish and questioned his sexuality in a just-come-out-already-and-start-dating-Rufus-Wainwright kinda way. Maybe that's why Tristan Prettyman dumped him via email. I digress.
I was prepared to indulge my ponderings in a post, but FGY beat me to it and put 85% of what had kept me up the last two nights into words (and pictures) this morning.
The other 15%? Well, as always 14% of my brain is devoted to Disney Channel stars. The forced smiles thinly veiling the tension between Miley Cyrus and Taylor Swift during their duet hurt my heart a little, and Nick Jonas fucking up the words while playing with Stevie Wonder mended it. The other 1% belonged entirely to Kanye's jerry curl.