I tore open a bag of potato chips in the Acme parking lot tonight, dove in and chain-ate them the entire way home. Is that bad? I’m thinking that the raw feeling I have in my mouth may be an indication that it is.
It’s totally Oprah Winfrey’s fault.
Oprah’s guest today was Roseanne Barr. They were talking about how Roseanne now lives on a macadamia nut farm. Because I have ADD, my mind went from macadamia nuts to peanuts to potato chips in the span of about 30 seconds. And that’s where it stopped. I became so consumed with the thought of delicious, salty potato chips that I could barely focus on the rest of the show, so off to the grocery store I went. I made a beeline to those potato chips and immediately took the fact that they were on sale as a sign from the grocery gods that our union was meant to be. It took everything I had not to open the bag while I shopped.
My potato chip binge is definitely not a good thing considering the fact that I am on a strict calorie-counting diet. And by ‘strict’, I mean ‘destined to fail’ because math is not my strong suit. Also, I am a lazy girl whose two greatest loves are food and television (my husband and son are tied for third.) Not exactly a recipe for weight loss success.
I should have known better than to watch Oprah – or ‘God’, as she refers to herself (OK, so maybe not out loud, but we all know she’s thinking it.) She used to be a mainstay in my DVR. I would hang on her every word, buy every book she recommended, see every movie she promoted and purchase virtually everything she ever mentioned liking. Her ‘Favorite Things’ show would leave me light-headed.
Then something changed. It started with her sanctimonious parenting tips. I was working full-time and raising two small children with a husband who was a shift worker. My house was a temple to chaos, my schedule was crazy and my life was plain exhausting. And there was oh-so-enlightened Oprah doling out advice on how to raise children when she had never had, lived with or even worked with a child. Puh. I was certain I was going to sprain my eyeballs from rolling them so violently. It’s pretty easy to tell parents to be rational and calm when their kid, say, sets the sofa on fire if you’ve never had to endure so much as a dirty look from a child.
My love for Oprah was already wavering, then came the bitch-slap heard ‘round the world: the interview with James Frye, author of A Million Little Pieces. For the three of you who don’t know the story, James wrote an amazing book about overcoming addiction. It was billed as a memoir, but it turned out to be an embellishment of sorts.
OH. MY. GOD. How dare he write…a novel?
I loved that book. I didn’t care if it was true or not; it was beautifully written. Of course, Oprah didn’t see it that way. She could have just shrugged her shoulders and moved on with her life after finding out that the story wasn’t 100% true, but no. No. Not Oprah. Not if there was an opportunity to make it about her. She invited him back on the show to allegedly clear the air and let him explain himself. Instead, she spent the entire show dressing him down and humiliating him on national television. It was painful to watch. He was so caught off-guard by the attack that he could barely speak. Meanwhile, her ego burst out of her unflattering outfit Incredible Hulk-style, never to return to its normal size again.
[Side note: No, seriously. Who dresses Oprah? I am constantly amazed at the unfortunate wardrobe choices they’re making for her.]
Her demeanor changed after that interview. She no longer seemed ‘real’ to me. She would have guests come on her show and fawn all over her – ‘You’re an icon, Oprah’, ‘You’ve done so much good in the world, Oprah!’, ‘You’ve changed so many lives, Oprah!’ – while she just sat there purring and licking her paws without an ounce of humility or modesty. One day, she even went as far as to invite every talk show host she had left in her wake – Phil Donahue, Ricki Lake, Sally Jesse Raphael, Geraldo Rivera and Montel Williams – so she could hear each of them blather on about her untouchable talent.
And so my love affair with Oprah is officially over. It’s for the best because 4:00 is a good time to start getting things done around the house before my husband gets home from work. You know, so he doesn’t think I’ve just been sitting around the house eating potato chips and watching TV all day.