Of drunken parallel parking and low class Brit Brit...

So.

The weekend was a complete and total bust.

Let's start with the delightfully stupid girl that decided to parallel park while intoxicated and subsequently plowed into my car. Now, I avoid parallel parking at all costs- drunk, sober or indifferent. So I don't know what this slag was thinking trying to maneuver her SUV into a teeny little space after 7 too many cocktails in a bloody thunderstorm in the middle of the night. Seriously, wtf?

She's agreed to pay for all the damages (duh, darling, or they'll never find your body when I'm done with you), but what a may-jah ordeal.

And then plans for a fun night on the town fell through due to inclement friend conditions (I hate flakes, don't you?).

Top it off with a fight with the 'rents, and that sums up my weekend.

It happens, I'll get over it.

Already over it, actually. (I just want my car fixed. Now.)

The little entertainment I got was provided for me by the legendary Miss Britney Spears (insert sarcastic snort here). Her VMA performance was something to be studied; something to be examined. I was sick of hearing about The Comeback, I wanted a little proof.

Just a little.

I didn't expect her to actually sing live or anything too demanding.

I did, however, expect her to dance her ass off. Go full out, really bring it. The way the Old Britney in the Days of Not That Innocent used to bring it. And I expected her to buy herself (with her insane $700,000 a month earnings) a nice, believable weave. And I expected her to wear clothes. They could have been revealing and sexy, even a little skimpy. But no shirts-as-dresses, heinous brown boots or, for God's sake, undergarments.

What did I get?

Low class. Lainey calls it "chicken fried." I totally agree, and think that's a spot on term for it.

I got lazy, half-speed, boring choreography (what happened to the mirrors and illusions via that freakfest Criss Angel?). I got cliched, ooh-look-at-the-strippers-aren't-they-sexy overdone bullshit. I got horrible, half-assed lip-syncing (I don't know how you manage to screw up pretending to sing, but whatever). I got a bad, 99 cent bottle-blonde weave. I got a non-toned Britney in a sparkly bra and panty set.

ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS?

It looked like she wasn't even trying. Like she was high off her tree or drunk out her mind, with those stupid blue contacts rolling around in her head like a couple marbles. It looked like she shopped a Deb outlet store for both her hair and her nasty, trashy, tasteless, uninteresting outfit.

And let's talk about this, people. Right now. Let's set the record straight.

Britney is not fat. She's not. Not by a long shot.

But is she toned enough to parade around in her bloody UNDERWEAR?

No. Bitch ain't even close.

When she was writhing around, body-rolling like a caterpillar onstage- please, try and tell me homegirl didn't look a little thick. Too thick to be rockin' the Frederick's of Hollywood clearance bin.

So put on a cute little dress (not a shirt, an actual dress) and a pair of heels. Or a burlap sack. I really don't give a rat's ass what you wear, just make sure it constitutes as an actual outfit.

When it comes right down to it, Brit's just a lazy, greasy, low class slag from the backwoods of Kentwood. And that's never going to change- especially when she clearly won't let anyone with any sense help her. (Would you let her onstage looking like that? Would you really? Because I wouldn't.)

Get a grip, darling. Because you're losing it, and fast.

Scratch that- you've lost it.

Comeback my asssssss.

Enough of that. Britney really sums up what's wrong with young Hollywood, or at least she sums up what's wrong with country-ass, fame-whoring twats who have too much money, too much time, and not enough sense to figure out what in the hell is going on.

Did anyone see what Jennifer Garner was wearing. Gor-ge-ous. Loved the dress, the hair, the makeup. I'm always a little bored with J-Gar; she's a little bland, you know? Like oatmeal without any sugar. Blah. But last night, she looked fab.

Paris looked hideous. I didn't mind the dress- it was predictable and a little snug, but what else do you really expect from Miss Hilton? It was her hair that offended me. Seriously? Are you a Golden Girl? Is your name really Betty White? Because your hair, Paris, oooooh my. Awful.

Nelly Furtado as a blonde? I'm not a fan. I love Nelly. I think she's fresh, fashion-forward (although she misses the often, you can't fault her for it), and absolutely adorable (not to mention legitimately talented). But blonde? No.

Beyonce's attempt at Grecian goddess? Oh. My. God. Now, I'm all about curvy, fabulous women flaunting what they've got. But that dress had too many drapes, too many folds, and Beyonce's body just ended up looking way too thick, way too wide, and way too No Thanks.

Loved Rihanna's performance outfit. Get out a pen and paper, Britney, and take some soddin' notes. That's how you do sexy. That's how you wear a fedora. That's how you give a performance. I wasn't so crazy about Rihanna's other outfit- the fitted-pink-mermaid-number. It look too high school prom for me. But trust, her body looked incredible. Homegirl's got curves. Love.

And Sarah Silverman's opening speech? Hilarious. The shots at Britney's boys were a little low... But other than that, slaggy Brit totally had it coming. Had it
coming. Thank you, Sarah, for having the guts to say it.

Lauren Conrad's new line is cute... I buy what she's selling. She wore a dress from her collection last night- cute, sparkly, short, sassy. Age-appropriate, even a little sexy. Nicely done. Might have to invest in her line when it hits the 'Net on the 15th.

That'll do it.

Have a fab Monday, dahhhhhlings.

Cheers.
savvy