My Bologna Has a First Name

It's Oscar.

For the past couple of years, the media have been telling us that you're either a Superbowl watcher or an Oscars devotee - that is, you're either a guy or a girl.

But some of us are a little more gender-bending in our viewership.  Hermaphroditic even.  Take me.  The boy parts of me love the pyrotechnics, the hitting, the poorly-conceived halftime shows of the Superbowl. The girly parts love the dresses, the hair, and the poorly-conceived dance numbers of the Oscars. And while I'm thank-goodness 100% biologically lady, the Oscars even give me my fair share of phallic symbols

So with all this stimulation, you may think that I totally get off on February. 
Sadly - that is not the case.  February, (even forgetting about the "I-wish-those-flowers-were-for-me" fest that is VDay), is the loneliest month.

You'll have to wait till next year for the full rundown on my superbowl ritual, (which includes drinking beer alone in my apartment while curling my hair and watching the 21 hours of televised pregame, venturing out to a rando bar alone, and hoping to attract attention by my high heels and honed knowledge of the new overtime rules) cause this post is all about AA rituals in twelve steps.

1. Bathe.  Some of you may take this for granted, but when you live alone, the chances that you've showered on a Sunday are just as slim as the chances that you're up for Best Sound Editing.

2. Dry and curl hair.  As you get to know me, you'll see that the importance of a life event can be indicated by the preceding time I've spent in hot rollers.

3. Slip on a slinky black dress - preferably with sequins. It doesn't matter that it's February and cold. In my pre-war apartment, the temperature inside is always a dry 85.

4. Apply lipstick. Usually an audacious shade that I would never wear in public.

So classy.

5. Hop into heels and a dressy coat and hustle over to the bodega on 181 - the one with the flirty Korean 20-something cashier.

6. Pick up a six-pack of Miller High Life.  (On this occasion I would prefer actual champagne, and I would have no problem consuming a bottle myself, but drinking champagne alone is so sad even I can't bring myself to do it, so I settle for the champagne of beers.)  It's golden and sparkly and like having six of your own stautettes.

7. Agonize over ice cream flavors.

8. Check out and flirt obligatorily with the aforementioned cashier.

9. This is the best (read: lame-o) part. Spend at least 25 minutes and an equal number of bobby pins piling my very long and now curly hair into an intricate red-carpet hairstyle that no one will see.

10. Tune into the Oscars.  Remember how obsessed I was with them early in the millennium.  Relive the glory days of past Oscar pools won and almost won. Regret that I didn't institute an office Oscar pool this year.

11. Dig into the beer and ice cream (which despite the bodega indecision is always, invariably Phish Food).

12. Feel lonely as there is no one to quip wittily to, no one to hear me claim prescience of all winners, no one to agree with my theory that Anne Hathaway is a robot set on total media saturation, and ditto for Franco...

Well, these solo rituals are a bunch of bologna.  This year, I'm socializing the steps.  I'm watching with other people.  I'm bashing pre-show fashions out loud.  I'm tweeting every thing that pops into my head.
I'm going to drink champagne.  What will you be doing?