It was a night of big thighs and vigorous twerking, with white “artists” scoring a perfect zero.

Kanye provided the obligatory dis to Taylor Swift in a short but obnoxious tribute to himself.

Taylor is a bad sport, so in the absence of nominations she was a no-show, which was a relief.

But even without Taylor, it was a painfully tedious and mostly stupid affair. punctuated by FOUR exciting performances by my fiance, Rihanna.

Riri showed off her versatility as a singer and fashion icon, on point throughout  She is nothing but good. She is a goddess,  she is gangsta, she designs great shoes, and as a bonus, she doesn’t pretend to be a feminist.

On the feminism front, we had Beyonce strutting about in her leotard, whipping her long extensions around and shaking her ass in a medley about a cheating husband and her African American heritage. It was a strong case for women’s equality.

Poor Britney Spears lip-synced her way through a sad showgirl routine, unaccountably joined by a creepy young douche called G-Eazy. D-Sgusting.

Joe Jonas pretended not to be gay in a dopey production number that started off in a diner. Don’t ask me, I have no idea.

In the huge butt department, Nicki Minaj went overboard this year, looking absolutely gigantic. Kim Kardashian wore a see-through dress, revealing that she has now lost too much weight to deliver the customary shock of her massive ass. EAT, KIM, before it’s too late!

Future performed an aggressive rap, grabbing his crotch and surrounded by gyrating thugs. Whatever he was rapping about, it was obscured by bleeps. I guess that’s a good sign if you’re a rapper, right?

What else?

A band called DNCE won the best new artist award and were a noteworthy eyesore. Here, look for yourself:

It’s hard to believe they’re real. I’m just glad they didn’t perform.

Ariana Grande pranced across the stage in a bra, singing loudly but unable to enunciate. Does anyone know the point of her?

Okay, that’s it. Sorry. Let me know if I forgot anything.

Save

If you live in the world of pop culture and fashion, you know all too well that the green suede Puma creepers by Rihanna are the new holy grail.

And you’ve been anxiously awaiting May 26, when they were scheduled to go on sale.

I discussed the challenge of obtaining them with friends online, and we braced ourselves for the effort. And the probability of disappointment: Rihanna’s shoes sell out in the blink of an eye, leaving a global trail of broken hearts and frantic eBay searches.

I missed out on the pink creepers and it was a bitter loss. It still hurts. It will hurt forever.

So I discussed my plan with my husband, and we both logged on to the Puma website at midnight eastern time, thinking how smart we were. After a long period of nothingness, I called customer service, who said they would be available at 7: a.m.

Now, here comes the love part.

My husband knows I can’t get up before noon except for catastrophes. So he set his alarm and tried to buy the shoes for nearly an hour before giving up. Every time my size seemed to appear, he clicked on them and got “SOLD OUT.”

Later, he told some friends about the ordeal, and no one could understand my fixation on the shoes. Apparently, they associated my behavior with “young people.”

Hey, fuck them! 62 is the new forty, and forty is like 25, and at my core I am still 14, stubborn, angry, and style-obsessed.

When I finally got out of bed, I scoured the internet for the green creepers, and using a list of the Top Ten sneaker sites, found a pair at a store in Texas. I figured it was some kind of mistake, even after I paid for them.

But tonight I’m wearing them, and obviously they did nothing to change my life or even dull my greed for more pointless consumer goods. The high is in scoring, I guess, like opiates. Rather than ‘happy,’ I’d say I’m relieved.

I do feel lucky to have my husband. He always has my back. He is my everything.

And I’ve just tried to pick a fight on Twitter with some writer on Bustle who’s gloating about scoring two pairs and describes them as “illusive.”

Rihanna is proving to be the best source of daring, original fashion that the pop world has ever seen. She wears the coolest under-the-radar designers and puts together the best outfits, period. With her yellow fur-trimmed cloak, she has ushered in a style I will call ‘Regal Ghetto‘.

Her outfit is the work of Chinese couture designer Guo Pei and apparently took two years to create. Rihanna didn’t care about dominating the red carpet as it was cleared to accommodate the mileage of her trailing cloak. As she said about social media recently, “Do I even give a dick about that?” And she doesn’t. Not one dick.

Let it be known that I will marry Riri if she will have me.

Next up are the naked butts. J Lo, Kim Kardashian, and Beyonce all unveiled their outsized butts, hoping to grab the spotlight. Kim was SO CLOSE to winning the ‘Most Naked’ prize until Bey showed up in a few sequins, posing her butt in every angle possible from a standing position.

She is pretty damn proud of that butt. I have now looked at it so much that I just want to put a thermometer in it. Mothers, do you feel me? And don’t forget, she is a feminist.

Anyway, Bey wins ‘Most Naked’ but Kim still gets ‘Biggest Bare Butt’, as if there were any other butts in her league.

Why, Kim??? Just stop it. We can’t, okay?

For ‘Most Egregiously Horrifying’, the prize goes to Kim’s mom, Kris.

What the fuck! Surely this is deliberate. But how can this even happen? Where do you find such awful 80’s crap? Sea of Shoes‘s closet? Salvation Army? While we ponder the horror of Kris Jenner, why don’t we say what we’ve been thinking about her marriage. I’ll go first. She and Bruce don’t need a divorce; Bruce can be the woman and Kris can be the man! It’s such a no-brainer. Kris is halfway there, or at least as far along in her ‘journey’ and Bruce is in his.

Never mind, you can’t save every marriage, not if people won’t listen to reason. On to the ‘Most Tragic’ award, it was an easy win for Sarah Jessica Parker.

Should we feel sorry for her? I don’t know. Let’s not. She brought it on herself. On the other hand, she’s married to a man who won’t come out of the closet and she has to pay women to have babies for her. That part is kind of sad. Still, that fucking headpiece: criminal.

Winners in the ‘Simply Awfu’l category were Miley Cyrus, Solange Knowles, Anna Wintour Herself, that 50 Shades of Grey girl, Lady Gaga, and most surprising, Jennifer Lawrence. Maybe the Chris Martin thing is fucking up J Law’s game.

Two gorgeous Chinese actresses who put almost everyone else to shame were barely mentioned, so let’s give them their due. Gong Li is always stunning and her appearance at the Met was right on point. I could watch her movies forever, just to admire her face.

Fan Bingbing is an international red-carpet favorite who always brings it. Always. Last night she was pure ‘Ooooooooooh.’

Finally, my choice for most annoying is Amal Clooney. She is always looking around for a camera. Her bony arm must make Angelina furious. And I’m disgusted that George had to buy a castle in England to pay off his beard uppity starving wife. Just take them away.

Okay, over to you. What did I forget?

The Grammy Awards show was all about Amy Winehouse, but here’s what else happened.

Frank Sinatra, who won’t stay dead, talked about the awards and then joined Alicia Keyes in a duet. Alicia looked gorgeous, even though her hairdo was crazy. That Rihanna girl pranced around with Morris Day and his band, who were probably too old for anyone to remember them except for  their buddy Prince. Prince looked fabulous in a fitted red suit and dark sunglasses with diamante accents.

Some idiot introduced Tina Turner as the Queen of Soul. Girl! Everyone knows that’s Aretha’s title. Anyway, Tina looked a little scary in a silver lame jumpsuit but she still knew how to move. Beyonce joined her,   wearing a silver mini that highlighted her enormous legs. Her shorter blonde hair and new face were not enough to erase the My Pretty Pony effect.

I think John Mayer came out and accompanied someone on guitar, although I may be thinking of the David Letterman show. All you can think about when John Mayer appears is “Eeoow!” anyway.

Kanye sang his big hit and I know I wasn’t alone in thinking, what about your Mama? Sure enough, he had the word MAMA carved into his hair. I asked my teenager if he would do the same for me, were I to die before he accepted his Grammy award. He argued over some technicalities but I believe we have a deal.

Tom Hanks gave some award to the Beatles. Paul couldn’t be there, because he can’t just give Heather the money and call it a day. The always excruciating Cirque du Soleil performed a creepy routine to Day in the Life. If only that girl had fallen off the rope! Heather could have helped out with a new leg.

Aretha sang, accompanied by a gospel choir, a mountainous vision in a sea green dress. Be as fat as you want, Aretha, you are the Queen.

Two guys sang an aria or something, and the Foo Fighters had lank, greasy hair. Finally, the live by satellite performance by Amy Winehouse, in London. Amy looked gorgeous but very nervous. She rushed through two songs, screwing up a few times and wiggling her hips in obvious terror. Her desperation to prove herself was touching, just like her shock at winning the award. She sent out her thanks to “My Blake, incarcerated” and hugged her tiny haggard Mum.

Then the Album of the Year was mistakenly given to Herbie Hancock, who played the race card as he accepted the honor that rightly belonged to My Amy, not in rehab.