As I write this, I’ve just watched three hours of Oprah: Where Are They Now? on the OWN channel.
I don’t know how this happened. One minute I was flipping through channels, my best options being Totally T-Boz and A Conception Story (TMI, people who make that show), and the next thing I knew I was watching Mary Jo Buttafuoco in a group therapy session.
I don’t care about Mary Jo Buttafuoco. I mean, I’m sure she’s great and all, but why did I devote 20 minutes of my life to listening to her?
Same goes for whatever happened to the runner up of Oprah’s first (and only) annual Sexiest Man of the Islands contest (he was appointed by President Obama for something or other, and since I remember that I guess I kind of cared).
Double that for the human Barbie doll who’s had 60 plastic surgery procedures or something crazy like that.
Ms. Winfrey has a certain, how shall I say, je ne sais quoi for me. Always has. I watched her as a kid in the 80s. And most recently, I would watch snippets (well, read the captions for the hearing impaired) of her show when it was on while I was at the gym.
I literally could NEVER NOT watch an Oprah episode when it was on, no matter how disturbing, how uninteresting the topic was.
For instance, take the one time there was this episode that showed (finger quotes) where your beef comes from (end finger quotes). I knew it was a bad idea to watch it. I don’t want to know where my beef comes from. I get super grossed out from basically everything. Until that point in my life I just pretended my beef miraculously materialized in the grocery store, pre-cut and shrink wrapped.
But I just couldn’t bring myself NOT to watch it. Granted, I glanced over just THREE times at the screen during the hour-long episode. I didn’t even read the captions. Didn’t matter. I might as well have watched every gory detail. I haven’t had a steak or burger since.
That Oprah. You just can’t stay mad at her, as I clearly proved three hours ago. She’s my girl. Whether I like it or not.