9:05 pm: I walk in late to hear my housemates groaning over how awful Britney was; they can barely disguise their glee. On stage, Sarah Silverman is lauding how amazing and wonderful Britney Spears is. Uh oh, Brit must have been worse than I thought.
But no, she’s just setting up for a bitch-volley. “Isn’t it amazing? She’s only 25 and she’s already accomplished everything she’s going to accomplish in life!” Hey, be nice. But Sarah shouldn’t worry; it looks like she’s tanked too.
Housemate 1: What is she saying? Why is she being so awkward?
Housemate 2: Wait no, I love this. I love awkward.
Sarah’s on an awkward-turtle roll though, because she doesn’t stop until she’s trashed Paris to her face, made every celebrity in the room cringe, discussed Britney’s private parts, and destroyed any remaining girl crush I have on her.
Next up: Monster Single of the year. We all know it’s going to be Umbrella, but we wait and watch the stand ins in the badly lit room pretend to act surprised anyway.
Housemate 1: What the hell is Rihanna wearing?
9:15 pm: Commercials. Taco Bell promises me I’ll get lucky tonight if I buy a burrito. I somehow doubt eating their rat-infested food will help me mack, but then what do I know?
There are maybe only 20 people at the VMAs this year, and I only recognize 10 of them.
I ignore the cell phone conversations around me as my sisters complain about how bad Britney was.
9:20 pm: Best New Artist of the year. I see Lily Allen’s face and start commanding everyone to vote for her, screaming like a banshee as I search for my phone.
Housemate 4: Who the hell is Lily Allen?
9:30 pm: I can’t for the life of me figure out who is filming this, or who thought it would be a good idea to make it seem like a small concert venue. I want to hit them.
9:32 pm: It’s like a rooms party: Fall Out Boy play in one room and the Foo Fighters perform in the other. I wish it were a rooms party, because that means I’d be drunk right now.
9:33 pm: Kanye is a lot shorter than I imagined. “Smack That” is up for Earth Shattering Collaboration. Hey, that’s my ring tone!
Me: Guys, look! My ring tone!
Housemate 5: We know.
Housemate 6: Ok, the stage is about to send me into an epileptic fit.
9:35 pm: Beyonce’s boob looks like it’s about to pop out; we all eagerly await the Janet Jackson déjà vu.
9:40 pm: The VMAs text me back, telling me to text GIMME to 33633 for more Britney. No thanks, I think I’ve had enough Britney for the night.
Post-commercials, the girls in my house scream for JT. Hey ladies, I don’t think he can hear you.
9:45 pm: My suitemates and I puzzle over who Chris Brown is. We are mocked by our sisters for our lack of cultural knowledge. I don’t care who he is; he can dance and the Charlie Chaplin references don’t hurt. I even pretend that the really obvious lip syncing doesn’t bother me.
Housemate 600: They should at least make it look like he’s singing.
Housemate 35: He’s so good! I want to dance with him!
Housemate 12: He’s not even saying the right words!
(Side note: these are their actual names; I hope they don’t get mad at me.)
9:48 pm: I don’t care that I hate Rihanna, at least something is happening. For some reason, Ashanti is singing along under her breath.
9:49 pm: No, no, Chris Brown. You are not Michael Jackson, don’t even try.
9:50 pm: Everyone gets really excited that the Hills Girls are doing the next introduction. I realize that I still have never seen the show, though I can guess how it goes. (LC: Blah blah blah blah, he’s an asshole. Random Friends: Uh huh, you are so right.)
9:55 pm: We watch the Kanye West Good Life party and try to figure out the innuendos.
Housemate: Supersoak her what?
Housemate 2: Superman Ho.
Me: I think I would look really good with dreads.
[Silence]
9:57 pm: The Hills girls receive massive applause from our couch. I think they look hideous, but I don’t want to get beat up with throw pillows, so I hold my silence.
LC: We have a lot of problems with boys, but we have no beef with these boys.
Stupid Sidekick: No, we don’t. (Why? Why was that necessary?)
10:00 pm: JT wins. He may potentially beat out Sarah Silverman for awkward talk of the night award. Text that to 12345.
JT talks about being old. Whatever, your ex-girlfriend just humiliated herself, you don’t have to be so smug.
Housemate: Do you think he takes satisfaction when he walks past her and sees how far she’s fallen? Like when you see an ex, and they’re fat?
We all stop and consider this.
Housemate 2: Do you think he even remembers dating her?
Before a debate can ensue, the TV is hijacked – it’s time for Curb Your Enthusiasm. I don’t argue, I’ve had enough – I guess YouTube killed the VMA star.
P.S. Somebody let me know if Lily Allen wins, please.