Awards shows are bullshit. I watched Miss America for the first time. The judging process is ridiculous, the 2nd place winner girl was a ventriloquist yodler. You think I'm kidding:
And then there's the Golden Globes, which is basically a glorified dinner party, only with some of the most beautiful people alive. It's not really about the awards, it's about the clothes. Which is fine with me:
Though January Jones apparently didn't get the memo that sometimes more really is more, this one wins the Ugh Contest:
My favorite ensemble was that of Helena Bonham Carter, because she DIDN'T WANT to look like all the other Hollywood princesses. I LOVE everything about her, the crazy hair, the sunglasses, the poufy dress, the SHOES THAT DON'T MATCH. She is what we call Utter Fabulous.
I want to be like Helena Bonham Carter, or at least have some of that "devil may care" sensibility. Life is too short to wear shoes that match. It's glourious when risktakers triumph.
I took a risk yesterday. I made up a new pie.
Generally I am not a make up my own recipes kind of gal. I go out of my way to find new recipes, but rarely do I invent my own. I wear shoes that match.
This is my first step towards a Helena Bonham Carter-esque freedom and liberation from expected norms.
I call it Blueberry Dream Cream Pie.
Blueberries in a dreamy creamy custard. It is heaven. It is freedom. It is new and unusual. It is beautiful. It is my invention. We ate the whole pie in less than 24 hours. I dedicate it to Helena Bonham Carter and the other free spirits, who liberate themselves from expected norms and embrace their eccentric glamour.
I'm going to wear shoes that don't match tomorrow.
Blueberry Dream Cream Pie