Okay,
I will admit it. I am an Oprah junkie. Yes, I am
inarguably, certifiably, indescribably, undeniably hooked on Oprah
Winfrey. I love the way she walks, talks, wears her hair, interviews
her guests, takes us to her house, “O” magazine and of course, her
show. Oh, I didn’t start watching her when she first
started—I was in school and never had the opportunity. I only got attached to her about five years ago. It was right around the time
she changed from the shock-drama-mayhem story lines and began having us
to focus, love and enjoy ourselves. Do you know I
have been in the audience twenty two times in the past three years? I
know, getting tickets is like pulling hen’s teeth, but through the
grace of the creator and an extensive bootleg list of my relative’s addresses, I have succeeded. Shoot, I’ve collected enough frequent
flyer miles to get the last three trips for free. Yep, I’ve had front row, back row and a
few in between. Once, I was even ten rows behind her best friend, Gayle. I truly felt like a member of the family. The only
time I really did not enjoy the seating arrangement was when I was in
the section that was to the far right of her. All during the show, I
only got a side/back view of her and the guest. I started to tap on the
shoulder of the usher and insist that I be moved. Afterall, I am a
regular! Anyway, I’ve seen stars—Brad Pitt, Dolly Parton,
Denzel Washington, even Ma’Deah. I even had my picture taken
with her. I am not lying! You see, they were taking a bunch of
“girlfriend” group shots. When I saw a large number of women from my
section go down, I joined the caravan and stood right up on that stage
with them. I tell you, I was so close I could smell that orange bath
soap she just raves about. Yeah, the other women were looking
at me strangely, but so what? I’ve got a photo just like they do! All
that Haterade just isn’t called for. And who has time for
vacations? I’ve got to watch Oprah! My God, once we went to resort and
you are not going to believe this…they did not have Oprah! Not even ‘O After the Show’! A travesty! I foamed at the mouth before I
recovered and complained long and loud. Now I have my girlfriend come
over and change the tape every two days to make sure that just in case,
I have my infusion of Oprah when I return. Did I
mention the gifts? I swooned when I was at a taping and they gave away
a ton of stuff. Good stuff. You should see some of these women in my
neighborhood switching around here bragging about their new Cuisinart
and a Capuccino machine. That ain’t nothing. I have a Messermeister knife set, along with a Illy Francis Francis and an
Oxo! Peeler all courtesy of the Queen Diva herself. These suburban
chicks just don’t know how to live! But girl, that
Christmas giveaway is the best! I had to beg, plead and nearly pimp
myself, but I got tickets one year. Believe me when I tell you it was
worth all the trouble. I got way more than I could have afforded for
myself. Do you know that my children had to nerve to ask me
for some of my bounty? They just do not know how close they were to
being put up for adoption. Yet, despite the best of
planning, things don’t always go like I’d like. Unfortunately, I missed
the year they gave away the videophone, digital camera and other technological wizardries. I was depressed for two weeks after
that. But my God! Did you see her give away all those cars?
I could have kicked myself three ways to Sunday. All I had to
do was fill out a form and send a videotape and maybe I could have
gotten a car! But no, I was too busy driving somebody to this practice
or that practice or cooking or cleaning…anyway, I didn’t fill out the
form and thus, missed my chance at a new car. I know, I know, I just got a new Mercedes but so what? My daughter needs a car. Her
Ford is five years old. I tell you, I have learned a lot.
My thread count is never below five hundred. I can’t afford the eight
hundred fifty counts just yet but I’m working on it. I suggest it to
every hotel I visit, too. My skin can tell the difference. Besides, I
am sure they do not do better because they just do not know. Oprah is not lying about those skin products she
suggests either. A peppermint scented bath will go a long way
to ease some tired nerves. Follow that up with some of that silky
lotion…ooh la la! I am a superstar myself! The show is the
bomb but girl, I get weak whenever “O” magazine arrives. Two hundred
plus pages chock full of Queen-endorsed suggestions. I even tried to
get a lifetime subscription but was told that was not possible. Nevertheless, I follow her suggestions religiously. This spring I
am wearing the yellow and greens, redid all my room to look like the
ones in her home and organized everything. June Cleaver move ova! I
drooled rivers when I heard she had a new magazine on the stands—“O at Home.” I nearly hit a child in my rush to buy a copy before
they ran out. Once home, I skipped fixing dinner to read it. What? They
have cereal. You know, I’m thinking about going on that new
cosmetic surgery show, I Want to Look Like a Star. Yeah, I
might be nearly six feet, high yella and have an Afro, but with the
wonders of plastic surgery, they can probably get me close, don’t you
think? Anyway, that is just a maybe right now. A strong one, but still
a maybe. My husband thinks I need therapy. Why…Oprah is therapy! Where has he been? I am a way better person just because
I have been in the presence of the Queen. No therapist in the world can
soothe my soul, wake me up and guide my “inner me” like Oprah. She
makes me step out on faith, banish those “shadow beliefs” and take on the world! I can do anything just because she says I can. It’s
already in me! He just doesn’t understand. There are way worse things
in life than being addicted to “The Oprah Winfrey Show” and—OOPS! Gotta
go. It is nearly four o’clock and La Queen is about to come
on. Bye!
