Somebody, Help Oprah!

It seems every time I tune into "Oprah After the Show" on the Oxygen network, she's saying something that saddens me or pisses me off. (See previous blog of April '05).

Last night, I tuned in while cooking dinner. She had on bizzaro actress Kirstie Alley who was showing off her fancy-schmancy bedroom, complete with a French chandelier, antique Itallian writing desk and an inflatable, blanket-filled swimming pool where her pet rabbit, "Strawberry" lives.

After the clip, Oprah and Kirstie spoke at length about how they "love their houses" and how they have "the best houses in the world". Oprah then told us her housekeeper said "I love my house, too". Proving to her devoted fans that even lowly service workers can love the little shit boxes they call home.

But what really made my jaw drop to the floor was Oprah's next comment:

"It was my house that finally made me lose my weight. I felt I owed it to myself to live up to such a beautiful home. I couldn't be my big-butted old self and still live there!"

WHAT THE FUCK?????????????!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Jesus, Oparah? Why don't you go and bleach your skin so you can prove what you're really saying?

'A po' black woman don't deserve to live in no rich white woman's palace!'

I feel sad for Oprah. To her and the millions like her, superficiality is reality. An inanimate house, created by human beings, that does not possess a consciousness and is as benign as a Swingline stapler, has become her judge and jury.

I am reminded of my mother, who's favorite excuse for not taking a photography class or going on a vacation or even taking herself out for lunch is "Before I do that I need to get rid of this weight". She has put off an entire life because she hates the way she looks.

So, she sits at home and watches Oprah on TV and agrees with everything she says.

Goodbye Puppy Friends - Part I

'Peros and Jumping Dog are moving!

Their Mommy and Daddy are getting jobs in Texas and my puppy friends must go, too. They have been an important part of my life while living in this god forsaken Southern town.

Three years ago, when I moved into my apartment not far from the University, I noticed the saddest looking dog I'd ever seen sitting across the street on the porch. The black-and-white border-collie mix was outside, every day, chin resting on her paws and looking glum. She barely raised her head or showed any interest in passers-by. I tried and tried to get her attention. "Hello Puppy! Who's the prettiest dog in the world?" I'd say as I walked outside my door. She just ignored me and it broke my heart.

Despite the rejection I kept on trying. After a month or two of this, one Friday afternoon I was inspired while carrying a fish sandwich home for lunch. I asked her "Puppy, would you like some fish?" To my astonishment, she trotted off the porch and up to the fence to have the tasty treat. She ate the morsel of cod right from my hand. I knew I had made a friend. "Hey, Pupperos", I said, "I'll bring you another treat tomorrow."

I gave her a dog biscuit the next day and every day after that. It was easy to fall in love with her warm brown eyes and wet nose. She ran out to greet me every day as I walked out of my apartment building crying "Peros!"

It seemed she had been transformed by the cookies. When I looked outside she was no longer just slumped over looking depressed. Before my very eyes 'Peros became a happy, active dog. She started taking an interest in other pedestrians in the hopes they'd also provide treats. Some did and then they became her friends, too.

In the summer after my first year in town, I was lucky enough to study abroad in France for 6 weeks. I explained to my new puppy friend that I was leaving for a little while but would return. I left to have the time of my life but she was lonely and soon fell back into her old habit of moping on the porch. I didn't know this until...

I returned, went out on my steps and called out her name. To my surprise, Peros ran out to greet me, joined by a miniature version of herself!! But, instead of being a part Border Collie, the new puppy was part Jack Russel Terrier with a springy step and a two-foot vertical leap. I called him, "Jumping Dog", of course! Their daddy came outside to tell me they thought I had moved so they got 'Peros a friend.

A struggling student doesn't have much ready cash but I considered it a necessity to double my doggie-treat budget.

Stay tuned for part II......

JESUS AND THE POPSICLE

This post is being written in response to the inaccuracies stated by my sister, "Miss Patsycat" in her blog, "Patsycat Cafe".

According to her writings, I stopped beleiving in Christianity due to an ORANGE CREAMSICLE. This is a bald-faced lie. The culprit was, in fact, A BANANA POPSICLE! There is not now and never has been any similarity between the two. An orange creamsicle is an orange popsicle shell covering a delicious vanilla ice cream center. The two tastes combine to make a light and fruity confection. A banana popsicle is yellow from the outside to the wooden stick inside and tastes like how a skunk scent would taste if it could be frozen and packaged 6-to-a-box. DuPont probably has a patent on the flavor.

Here is the true and factual story, to the best of my recallection:

It was a sweltering Illinois summer in 1968. I was 7 and NOT 10 years old, as my sister incorrectly stated. My mother, in an ongoing attempt to turn her daughters into little boot-stepping Christians, once again sent us to Vacation Bible School - this one held at the Church of Christ in the suburban north of Decatur, IL.

During the week, the church ladies would, after lunch, offer us popsicles for desert if we would agree to "be saved" and "accept the Lord Jesus Christ" as our personal "Lord and Savior". I resisted for 4 days, after I saw some children crying when they came back from the dark room inside the church where the ladies did their "holy" work. I thought it might hurt.

On the fifth day, they bribed us with fudgesicles, the most glorious and delicious of all popsicles. Finally, a hungry little Ansapo agreed to submit to their taunting and "accepted the Lord Jesus Christ as my Personal Savior". And that was all. It didn't hurt, I didn't cry and I couldn't understand what all the fuss was about. I just wanted my goddamned fudgesicle!

But NO! The lure of the fudgesicle was great and the supply had been depleated! The Church Ladies had run out before I could get mine! In an attempt to appease a poor, sobbing, freshly minted little Christian girl, they offered me what they had left, A VILE, POISONOUS BANANA POPSICLE.

It was at that moment I had an epiphany. I had been lured into a religion that did not keep its word. A religion that did not honor the needs of its flock. A religion that would deny the faithful in order to increase in numbers. In short, a SHAM RELIGION! It was at that moment that I became a doubter of Christianity and though I've tried countless churches, Christianity has never taken a hold of me.

Dear ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I believe I have provided sufficient evidence why I can not believe in Christianity and why I can not be blamed for my actions.

Miss Patsycat, in the future, I would appreciate it if you would check your facts before recklessly publishing them.

Thank you for your time.