Do Not Look Behind The Curtain
I like Oprah. I do. I really do. I am not just saying that because she is the Supreme Ruler of the Universe and I am afraid of her ability to shoot lasers from her eyes.
So why is it that 80% of the time I catch Oprah's Hour or Power, I feel like I want to hurl?
I'm sweating, I'm feeling puffy, I'm moving faster than usual on the treadmill because earlier in the day my son poked my stomach like I was the F-ing Poppin' Fresh Dough Monster and laughed as if he'd invented laughing and was just so entertained at how much fun laughing could be.
My gym, by the way, kicks ass and has tvs to watch while I work out lest I miss anything at all at any minute occurring in the universe - including the local news story today about the danger of falling down manholes without covers. I am not making this up. I hate local news.
Oprah comes on and the intro to the show is something about how My Midlife Can Be Great!!! 40's! 50's! 60's! I'm not old! I'm just getting started! Oprah is going to tell me how to be all that I can be...even though I'm 40! This is useful. I had to be dragged kicking and screaming to 40. Now that I am 40, I'm feeling OK about it, except for the fact that my body is falling apart faster than a rusted Pinto abandoned on a West Virginia lawn, but never mind. The anticipation of turning 40 was nothing short of traumatic. I had to leave town on my 40th birthday. I didn't return the fantastically nice and well meaning birthday phone calls my friends took the time to make. No Thank You. I'm already planning my escape from 50. Jesus Christ, I can't even WRITE that number without getting dizzy. Suffice it to say that I was ready to drink the Oprah kool-aid today. Sign my poppin' fresh belly up! I'm in! I'm down! I'm ready! Preach on!
Today's pukefest began thusly: Oprah walked out on the stage whilst putting on her shoes, Louboutin no doubt. The stage was decorated like a living room, except that a mannequin was sitting on one of the chairs.
Oprah did her audience interaction shtick, and then this totally crazy thing happened.
The mannequin spoke! And Oprah spoke with it. They seemed to interact. It was fascinating. I had no idea that robots were so advanced.
Turns out, the mannequin has a name, Marianne Williamson.
Let the hurling begin. Marianne Williamson Mannequin started by saying something really insightful and fresh about how our society values youth and how unfair and bad that is. The woman's face has been so starched and ironed that I thought she was a goddamn mannequin. She is, I believe, the very last person on the face of the planet from whom I am going to listen to any BS about how to embrace being 40. Then I think I blacked out because all I remember were phrases like, "Inhabit your true self" and "Literally, your heart and mind grow from experiencing a re-awakening." Really? Literally? You should see a doctor immediately if your heart and mind begin to grow. Literally.
I came to as she was celebrating the joys of what she was referring to as "the second puberty." She is clearly deranged. The second puberty???!!! And this is a good thing??!!! When her face was stretched and pulled, they must have punctured her brain with a staple. Puberty is HELL. If you can't remember anything about your own puberty it's because some part of you, in a frantic and desperate attempt at self-preservation, has blocked the horror of it all.
As evidence of how great this second puberty is- I must note, in the interest of full disclosure and in case anybody I know was at the gym and heard me and wondered what was wrong with me, that when she said "second puberty" I actually snorted really loudly - I heard testimonials from phenomenally wealthy, hugely famous, and exquisitely groomed Friends of Oprah: Bette Midler, Natalie Cole, and on and on. Give me strength. Of course they feel fantastic and in control of their lives...they have people who do everything for them! Including, but not limited to, keeping control of their lives!
Then Oprah showed clips of her own 50th and 51st birthday parties and shilled for her writer friends.
Is it true that I feel pretty good now at 40? Yes. Do some of the things the FoO said reflect my experience about being older and finding what I love to do and discerning what is important and what is just poppin' fresh dough in my rearview mirror? Yes. Did even Mannequin Marianne utter a few syllables that weren't outlandishly dippy? Yes, although I can't remember what they are. Would I have botox? Yes. And soon. Do I cling to my Oprah life raft? Yes. I can't quit her. Still...second puberty!??? I'll pass. In fact, if anyone would like my first puberty, I'm posting it on Craigslist. It involves excessive sweating, occasionally acne explosions, and the persistent aroma of Love's Baby Soft. You haul. Cash only.
So why is it that 80% of the time I catch Oprah's Hour or Power, I feel like I want to hurl?
I'm sweating, I'm feeling puffy, I'm moving faster than usual on the treadmill because earlier in the day my son poked my stomach like I was the F-ing Poppin' Fresh Dough Monster and laughed as if he'd invented laughing and was just so entertained at how much fun laughing could be.
My gym, by the way, kicks ass and has tvs to watch while I work out lest I miss anything at all at any minute occurring in the universe - including the local news story today about the danger of falling down manholes without covers. I am not making this up. I hate local news.
Oprah comes on and the intro to the show is something about how My Midlife Can Be Great!!! 40's! 50's! 60's! I'm not old! I'm just getting started! Oprah is going to tell me how to be all that I can be...even though I'm 40! This is useful. I had to be dragged kicking and screaming to 40. Now that I am 40, I'm feeling OK about it, except for the fact that my body is falling apart faster than a rusted Pinto abandoned on a West Virginia lawn, but never mind. The anticipation of turning 40 was nothing short of traumatic. I had to leave town on my 40th birthday. I didn't return the fantastically nice and well meaning birthday phone calls my friends took the time to make. No Thank You. I'm already planning my escape from 50. Jesus Christ, I can't even WRITE that number without getting dizzy. Suffice it to say that I was ready to drink the Oprah kool-aid today. Sign my poppin' fresh belly up! I'm in! I'm down! I'm ready! Preach on!
Today's pukefest began thusly: Oprah walked out on the stage whilst putting on her shoes, Louboutin no doubt. The stage was decorated like a living room, except that a mannequin was sitting on one of the chairs.
Oprah did her audience interaction shtick, and then this totally crazy thing happened.
The mannequin spoke! And Oprah spoke with it. They seemed to interact. It was fascinating. I had no idea that robots were so advanced.
Turns out, the mannequin has a name, Marianne Williamson.
Let the hurling begin. Marianne Williamson Mannequin started by saying something really insightful and fresh about how our society values youth and how unfair and bad that is. The woman's face has been so starched and ironed that I thought she was a goddamn mannequin. She is, I believe, the very last person on the face of the planet from whom I am going to listen to any BS about how to embrace being 40. Then I think I blacked out because all I remember were phrases like, "Inhabit your true self" and "Literally, your heart and mind grow from experiencing a re-awakening." Really? Literally? You should see a doctor immediately if your heart and mind begin to grow. Literally.
I came to as she was celebrating the joys of what she was referring to as "the second puberty." She is clearly deranged. The second puberty???!!! And this is a good thing??!!! When her face was stretched and pulled, they must have punctured her brain with a staple. Puberty is HELL. If you can't remember anything about your own puberty it's because some part of you, in a frantic and desperate attempt at self-preservation, has blocked the horror of it all.
As evidence of how great this second puberty is- I must note, in the interest of full disclosure and in case anybody I know was at the gym and heard me and wondered what was wrong with me, that when she said "second puberty" I actually snorted really loudly - I heard testimonials from phenomenally wealthy, hugely famous, and exquisitely groomed Friends of Oprah: Bette Midler, Natalie Cole, and on and on. Give me strength. Of course they feel fantastic and in control of their lives...they have people who do everything for them! Including, but not limited to, keeping control of their lives!
Then Oprah showed clips of her own 50th and 51st birthday parties and shilled for her writer friends.
Is it true that I feel pretty good now at 40? Yes. Do some of the things the FoO said reflect my experience about being older and finding what I love to do and discerning what is important and what is just poppin' fresh dough in my rearview mirror? Yes. Did even Mannequin Marianne utter a few syllables that weren't outlandishly dippy? Yes, although I can't remember what they are. Would I have botox? Yes. And soon. Do I cling to my Oprah life raft? Yes. I can't quit her. Still...second puberty!??? I'll pass. In fact, if anyone would like my first puberty, I'm posting it on Craigslist. It involves excessive sweating, occasionally acne explosions, and the persistent aroma of Love's Baby Soft. You haul. Cash only.
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