Ike and Tina: Take 2

If rumors are true: Rihanna reconciled with Chris Brown after he smacked the bejebus out of her. I don't blame her. I love it when my man throws me across a room, suffocates me with a pillow, then drops me from high places. The more black/blue on my pale-as-a-ghost skin, the better! After a week, the bruises turn a faint yellow and I get to wear sunglasses and look like a moviestar hiding plastic surgery. Smacking adds depth to our relationship because his emotions are so complicated. He had a hard childhood, his daddy hit him so it's not his fault. Really, the more he hits me, the more he loves me.

Just kidding! When is hitting okay (unless it's done by Shirley MacLaine, Susan Lucci or Joan Collins)? Dish is thankful never to have been smacked--it would only happen once and I'd press big-time charges, especially since I've witnessed friends going through an abusive mate. It's ugly and *never* winds up being a one-time freak-out. I just hope Rihanna doesn't end up dead.

Sorry, no picture of them. I can't stand the sight of them right now. I'll go with my fall-back: the one who has nothing to do with this post and is a soothing balm to all domestic abuse: Gale Harold.

"Governor Facelift"

That's what Kathy Griffin called Schwarzeneggar (sp? oh, who cares). As Superman graced me with his last hour on land, we watched True Lies and ate sushi. Somehow, he got me to eat crab and salmon tartare, all while watching Jamie Lee Curtis rock that little black dress and tote a machine gun. It all adds up: Superman is a spy. The purpose of this trip to Africa is to bring down a big illegal cartel, not partake in financial medical conference things. I'm so pulling out my black dress and ensuring passport readiness, you know, just in case.

In gossip, I made myself watch The Insider and Entertainment Tonight. Felt very curious to check out Mary Hart's age: 58. Wondered how often co-hosts could say the words "fun" and "lots." The answer is: very often.

Business Trip to Africa = Secret Family?

So Superman informed Dish that tomorrow's trip to Nigeria/Ethiopia will last two weeks, not one. He claimed I already knew this. As he described the many meetings he'll attend, the slides he's preparing, my eyes glazed over and I'm now watching Snapped, where women kill their spouses. It makes me feel better. Remember in Along Came Polly when J-Aniston says her father had a whole other secret family? Dish can see it already. Maybe I'll get more presents out of this.

I say thank you to Access Hollywood, who is not covering Octomom anymore. Dr. Phil, on the other hand, is whoring it up with many shows on the psycho mother. Every time I see her on TV, I turn it off.

And yes, I did dream about Jude Law last night. We were at a gala, and I told him his face was too fat. He blushed. Immediately, I backpedaled, which only dug a deeper hole: Jude, take a look at Tom Hanks and Julia Roberts (who were seated nearby). They have long, narrow faces, therefore make more money.

Coincidence? I Don't Think So!

Did anyone else notice how Katie looks like Suze now? I have no problem with KC going butch (you should see me today), especially if it boosts her in ratings. It's less threatening to some than her sexy blond bombshell look. Katie always perks me up and I enjoy the psychology behind the appearance changes. Butch is the new black! Even Dish cut her hair, but I fear I'll always look like a nineteenth century seamstress with alabaster skin, red hair and a taste for clothes that make my body disappear.

Dish enjoyed Obama last night but he didn't break me. I didn't cry once, not even when he read that adorable girl's letter. Sniff. Bottom line: Michelle has smokin' arms, but I wish she'd covered them just this once. It's winter. And while I appreciate the big picture, Obama should get his facts straight: We did not invent the automobile. The Germans invented the gasoline engine which was placed in a French car. So take that: the Nazis and the Frogs are responsible (Facts received from a highly reliable source--Dish has a fleet of historians at her disposal). We did invent everything else, though, and we're spreadin' liberty throughout the land.

Daddy, Tell Me a Bedtime Story

Dish has had a trying day. I say with love that Superman is slightly Benjamin Button in that he's aging backwards and is now in diapers. He needs a lot of organizing--which I'm deliriously happy to do (he's that handsome)--and today I'm ready to fall over from fatigue. Bear in mind, if he texted me to help him make a to-do list for his next mission, I'm already on Item #12.

Two more errands and I'll be home. What am I looking forward to most? Obama's speech at 9pm ET (I must be *really* tired). I can't wait for Daddy to tell me how he'll kiss the nation's boo boos and make them better. Either that or I'm so sleep-deprived and O's drone is kinda laxatative in a good way.

Oscar

The complaining about Oscar hosts post-Billy Crystal bores me. That little twerp was good but Hugh Jackman delivered. The dazzling opening number gave me goosebumps, especially when my arch-nemesis, Anne Hathaway, showed off her pipes. Yes, I hate her because Superman adores All-American brunettes. Even I had to admit she's multi-faceted (with huge teeth). Other thoughts:

Mickey Rourke looked fantastic in white. Good hair, excellent glittering pinky ring.

Sarah Jessica has had work done. We were trying to figure out what but got only as far as cheek implants.

My party praised Marisa Tomei, thought she should have won for letting the cameras explore her nakedness in The Wrestler.

Speaking of nakedness, Kate won, which was no surprise. Enjoyed her father's whistle.

Loved Amy Adams's necklace and dress, just not together.

I asked innocently if Barbara Walters had had a facelift and my party laughed uproariously.

Every time they flashed on Frank Langella, I couldn't help but remember his running naked in Lolita.

Was Beyonce lip-synching and "does the Pope sh*t in the woods?" as someone in my party asserted.

We loved Meryl Streep's gunbattle gray dress and elegant hair.

Sean Penn can call me a "commie, homo-loving son of a gun" anytime. His butt looked great in jeans throughout Milk. Oscar for his butt's performance alone.

The shot of Angelina during Jennifer Aniston's presentation was gross.

As I thought, PC awards to all! Harvey Milk won over a rueful wrestler. Twin Towers, poverty in India, cleft palates, Nazi Germany and its horrors, and a dead actor (who really should have won for Brokeback Mountain!). Not that I'm complaining--just noticing a long-time trend!

The Oscars and Apologies to Duran Duran

Like the jealous girlfriend who thinks the lipstick on her boy's collar is suspicious when it's actually juice from his bloody roast beef sandwich, Dish made a bad call on the "Tempted" video. As far as I can see, it was made by a horny teen with spliced footage of Duran Duran from other videos. I was rash and made assumptions that Duran Duran wanted to see women pole-riding to their music. Forgive me, boys. I know virtue exists and this knowledge saves me from despair.

On to Oscars, Superman and I are going to a party filled with my family of gay men. It will be Heaven for me. Could be Heaven for Superman if he plays his cards right. Most straight men I know secretly enjoy attention from all sides. I predict Hugh Jackman will charm the knickers off everyone--animal, vegetable, mineral--and the Politically Correct movies/actors (except for Mickey Rourke, but his face has been through hell and he rescues dogs so give him a freaking award!!!) will take home awards (not that this is a bad thing).

Old Fart Cinema

Dish is drowning in work. To clear my brain's palate, I indulged in three movies, all dealing with cranky bastards over 65.

The Straight Story: Oscar nominated and practically diapered Richard Farnsworth takes a tractor 300 miles to visit his ailing brother. RF is so cute, I wanted to sit by the campire and roast weiners with him. Unfortunately for me and the world of film, he's dead.

The Visitor: Oscar nominated Richard Jenkins is so bored he takes up drums in the subway, all while getting wrapped up in an immigration issue. So glad they didn't plonk in a gratuitous love scene, though Dish is always ready to watch geezer sex.

American Splendor: Paul Giamatti looks about 65 and always plays an unlikeable person. When I realized about five minutes in that the film was set in Cleveland, I turned it off. I haven't got time for the pain.

Kathy Griffin was luminous and delightfully offensive. Stopped counting all the f-bombs at 100. Hoping to see Fleetwood Mac next....