Why Oprah is Wretched

I don't usually watch her. I'm one of the people that roots for her to get fat again. But I've watched her.

I haven't watched Oprah's show in years. The last time I did it was about a girl that had fallen down a well or something and when I hit the program info thingy, curiosity peaked.  The girl was Oprah's guest for the hour but in the front row sat the police officer that had 'rescued' her. Evidently, to make a ridiculously long story short, she had tried to seek help from the cops before for child abuse and they didn't believe her. Oprah had brought the cop on the show to make him feel bad. She didn't make him a guest, but a front row sitter so that it didn't look planned but you know she totally planned it.

"Well, don't you think you owe this girl an apology for not believing her? When she was being raped every day for 3 years? Don't you feel like you just dropped the ball?"

God Oprah loves a good rape story doesn't she?

Today I watched the show again. I couldn't help it. The morbid part of me was immediately drawn in to the heading of 'Girl That Lived in a Dog Cage'.  I work in a pet store. I had to see what size crate they had her in. What kind of crate? Was it as least a soft crate?

Alas, her parents were also wretched people and come to think of it, it surprises me a bit that Oprah didn't have a spot in the front row for them. All the better to berate you m'dear.

This young woman, now 21, had been treated  incredibly badly. After her brother was locked outside of the house, he walked barefoot in the snow to the police station and told them of the abuse. The police came, pulled her out of the cage, cue the swell of music and applause... But the shitty part of this story is that her parents were only jailed for 1 year.  Ten years probation, but only 1 year behind bars.

Now at this point, Oprah had me. I was completely invested in this girl. I got teary when she read a letter to her toddler son. I nearly did a 'you go girl' when she said you have to learn from your experiences, be strong and move forward. And then Oprah leaned in close to the girl... "We have some footage."

She took the girl to the basement she'd been caged in. As the cameras rolled, the viewer sees the fear come flooding back into her eyes. It's all incredibly dramatic and dammit, I was riveted. I felt like I'd gone through the tour of the basement with her. It was wrenching.

And then Oprah is back, perched on her chair with her legs crossed awkwardly in front of her. She shakes her head solemnly. She looks into the camera and whispers dramatically, "Seven. Years. Old."

There's a beat and then they show the audience, rows of women passing tissues to each other.

And then she turns back to the young woman. This poor woman who probably had no idea what she was getting into when she decided to go on the show. She probably had no idea that the nice Oprah lady would chastise her for not pursuing therapy immediately. She probably had no idea that Oprah would push her opinions so heavily on her that she'd have no choice but to nod and meekly say, 'yes Oprah'.

She says to her, "How did you feel? Being in that basement again. Seeing that place where you were kept. In. A. Cage.  A cage!  Walking down the stairs into the basement...what did that feel  like?"  Oprah's one giant snake away from being He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named.

I understand of course that people choose to go on the show. I realize that Oprah has done a lot of good things for people. I am aware that she has brought back the book, given away cars, interviewed crazy Scientologists...but...

"Terrible," the young woman replied. "It felt terrible."

I felt terrible. I saw the look on her face and saw that she was still scared and fragile and they kept showing the damn cage...Eventually Oprah thanked her for coming and they faded to commercial. She got half an hour and that was plenty for me too.

I guess she's trying to help. I can see her playing that card. But the way she talks to people there is NO way that woman thinks her shit stinks. She's got some money, ok. But so does Angelina Jolie and she would have at least offered to adopt the girl.

I used to want to be on her couch, I'll admit it. I wanted her to pat me on the head and tell me how amazing my book was-now that it was on her list of course-and maybe give me a car or two.

But I'm over it. I'm sending her some HoHos.

Thinker

 5/18/12

-Don't ask someone to be honest with you if you don't want them to.

-Thank you for reminding me I'd been through it before and made it out ok.  I could just kiss you. I probably will.

-I hope that saying something doesn't backfire

-"He's nice, he's smart, and he gets me."

-Book Idea: All my snippets about the store with cleverly titled sections including the "Things said in a pet store that sound dirtier than they are" series. Maybe little stories about customers or how many times I said 'debit or credit' in a day or the cute guy that brings the clean rugs every week. Firing someone. Hiring someone. Running into the girl you fired at the grocery store when you're wearing your work clothes and she's with her mother. That one could be interesting.

-Trying to explain that it's not that weird to pretend you're pregnant so you eat healthier. If I was creating life I'd eat healthy food. Might as well pretend I've got a bun in the oven since eventually I will. Might as well make it all healthy on the inside so when the little embryo begins he/she is off to a good start.

-If he marries her I hope he tells me and I don't find out on a social networking site.

-I'd like to own a St. Francis statue. I'm not Catholic, I'm not at all religious and I don't particularly like statues. But my grandma had a really neat, very simple wooden one and when I think about her, I think about that statue and I want one in my house. 

-Mother's Day wasn't as bad this year.

-I'm gonna get my hair cut. Short-ish and bob-ish and bring back the bangs and show my face a little bit more. It's time.

-Pretty sure my work balls have dropped. Told someone today that 'sometimes that's just how things were' and it felt good.

-Had a moment with a guy on the cereal aisle today. We both went for the Fruity Pebbles (I refrained in the end, he succumbed) and laughed at how delicious they still are, even in our 30s.

-Shaved my legs in the hope that my super comfy capris are weather appropriate tomorrow.

-Kind of forgot to eat lunch and dinner today. Probably not too good for that pretend fetus.

-My punctuation skills suck. I write how I talk, not how my high school English book told me to.

Moment

Feet stained black
from damp leather sandals

Cracked and worn
from roads walked down

Carry heart and soul
from across a dream

Into someone else's shoes.

Tears of a Clown

Crying doesn't really help. It just makes me feel weak and if that's why I started crying in the first place....well fuck.

I don't like disappointing people but I really hate it when I disappoint myself.

Why are some people really good at making others feel like shit? And how can you like yourself for having that kind of 'talent'?

I feel so lost most of the time. People are cruel, that's the way the world is, this too shall pass. Fuck all of that. I'm over it.

I don't want to be around people that are unkind or be in a world where that kind of behavior is rewarded and it doesn't matter if it will pass if I'm in it right now.

I felt two inches tall today. I felt like I sucked at everything and that everyone else was way better. It was a nasty feeling.

Crying doesn't help though. It just makes it worse.

Maybe I'm too sensitive. Or too naive. Or just not....enough.

Can't Sleep

I can't sleep and it's irritating me.

I keep thinking about everything.

Sex and death and having babies and work. My friends and my dad and maybe sometimes an ex boyfriend or two. Vacation and getting my carpets steam cleaned and who will feed the cats and the plants and Henry the betta fish when I'm away? How will I ever afford this vacation? How can I not?

Does it really matter that I haven't had sex in five years? A little.  I've almost forgotten what it's like to share that intimate a space with someone. In fact, I don't know if I ever have.

Dad will die because we all do. And my cats will and all my friends and the little old lady with the poodle named Monet will die and sometimes even just knowing that is...too much. Who would feed my cats and the plants and Henry the betta fish when I'm gone?

I'm scared shitless about being a mom someday. I'm scared to be pregnant. I'm scared I won't be able to  prepare for a potential emotional roller coaster ride when I hate roller coasters.

Work is what my world is and I can't decide how I feel about that. I like my job but it's so much of what I do that I'm afraid it will become who I am.

I feel like the Goldilocks of dating. This one is too mean, this one is too nice... It's so corny, but I'm looking forward to finding the one that's just right. Not too hot, not too cold. Not too soft, not too hard. He's gotta be out there. Or you know, maybe he isn't. How the hell do I know? Does it even really matter? Not really. I'm good with me.

 I love the way it feels when I type. I love watching the words form from my fingertips and the soft clacking of the keys. The thump of the space bar and the click click click of the backspace. It's a sound I focus on when it feels like I can't stop thinking about everything. A sound I need to get the thoughts out so I can sleep.

His Voice

His voice.

That's what most people think of when they think of my dad.

It's full of the salt from years on the sea and too many cigarettes for too many years. He kind of growls instead of talks to people, even when he's saying something kind.

He likes to sing Chantilly Lace because of that line, "Oh Baby you knoooow that's what I like" and he does a pretty good job with it.

His voice is absolutely recognizable. He uses his voice to bark commands when standing at the helm of his ship and to tell me that I'm his everything when we're both missing mom.

It's a strong voice. One I thought was harsh and mean for several years-before I really knew him. It's a voice that tells dirty jokes and bad puns. It's the voice I learned sarcasm from and the voice I tried very hard to ignore when I was a teenager. His voice has intimidated boyfriends and his voice has told me things I didn't want to hear.

It's his voice I hear every morning when I call on my way to work. It's the voice that says "I love you" and "have a good day" and empathizes with my shitty feelings about...anything.

I hear his voice sometimes when I'm just trying to figure it all out. 

Dad's voice.

It's my voice sometimes.