And the award for the most self-centered thinking goes to...

I had DRAMA! this week, and -- surprise -- it was mostly going on in my head.

There is a woman in my circle of friends who throws an Academy Awards party every year.

(And by the way, if you're thinking, "What on earth does this have to do with not spending?" I don't blame you, but don't worry, I will get to it. Relax, will you?)

In this town, the Academy Awards are our Super Bowl. They are our big race in Daytona, whatever that thing's called.

In fact, every day last week, my lovely commute was lots longer, because they've shut down Hollywood Blvd. for the awards, which is PRECISELY the road I need to go down to get to work. So Monday through Friday, as I snaked past Hollywood Blvd. at one mile an hour, I saw the big red-carpet entryway they had created that read, "79th Annual Academy Awards!"

Which would've been exciting if it hadn't always SCREWED UP MY COMMUTE.

So, this woman throws an annual Oscars party. It's a fun party -- she decorates in movie themes, and she has gigantic TV screens and fancy sound because it's what she and her husband do for a living, something having to do with putting with giant TV screens and fancy sounds in other people's houses or something.

There is even a quiet room where supposedly, Amy, we are supposed to be quiet and actually watch the show.

Well, this year she didn't invite me. At first I thought maybe she wasn't having the party this year. Then others started talking about what they were going to wear to said party, as there is a costume portion (you can dress like one of the nominated movies. Last year Amy was June Carter Cash, which sounds remarkably similar to June Cutoff Cash. Perhaps I secretly wish I were Amy).

So, LOGICAL me said to myself, "She probably wrote the wrong email address in Evite. Your email address has changed, and sure, she has sent you emails to your new address, but maybe she used her old invite list from last year or something." That's what emotionally healthy, 41-year-old me said to me.

The Jan Brady in me said this: She hates you. She has ALWAYS hated you and has not had the nerve to let you know till this year. She does not think you are cool, and she is only about 29 times prettier than you. Why would she want your loser ass at her party?

Then I went on to blame Marvin Gardens. These people have a lot of electronic things at their house, which is for Marvin like it'd be for me to have a house full of six-week-old kittens. He cannot keep his hands off of them, he cannot forget they are there, and he has to mess mess mess with them constantly. So, I figured it made this couple nervous last year, him touching their expensive wiry electronic stuff. It was Marvin Gardens' fault that we were social outcasts.

Well, finally, the aforementioned Amy looked on her ding-dang Evite and saw my old email address on there. Crisis solved.

Except now it is the day before the party and I have no costume for the contest! If I had time, I could have fashioned a lovely matronly Queen outfit, but now I have one day and the only way to get a costume would be to buy it today, which as we all know I cannot do. Crap. This means I have to go to the party without calling attention to myself, which is worse than not being invited at all. Sort of.