Archives: oprah

Dear Tuesday

Dear Tuesday,
Is it Tuesday already? Dude. You sure do sneak up on me. You’re making me look bad, Tuesday. Here I am all trying to be consistent with posting on Tuesday and you go and turn into Wednesday on me.

Dear Oprah,
I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say that I would do ANYTHING to be on the show this last season. Can you sense my desperation from over here? Wait. Scratch that. You would never indulge desperation. Okay. Do-over. I am now appealing to my highest self, my Source, my Power, The Universal Life Force that wants nothing but good for me. Oh! Did you hear that? I think the Source is speaking to me! What’s that, Universal Life Force? You ALSO think it’s a good idea for me to be on the Oprah show at least once before it goes off the air? You see, Oprah? All things are aligning… Now, if you could just do a show on intestinal worms, I would be more than happy to be your guest.

Dear Self That Visited Chicago Three Years Ago and Never Managed To Get On The Show:
Are you just kicking yourself, or what?

Dear Self That Should Have Published A Book By Now,
Would that not have been the PERFECT excuse to be on the Oprah show? Didn’t you, at one time, think that you would have written a book so powerful, so world changing, so full of life and wisdom and engrossing characters that the Queen of Bookclubs, Oprah Winfrey herself, would be made to weep? Imagine it! Oprah weeping while reading YOUR book! GAH! How many times can you smack yourself in the forehead with your open palm before it becomes medically dangerous?

Dear Free Time Made Possible By My New Schedule,
You are a double edged sword, aren’t you? Allowing me time to exercise and making me think about publishing a book! You sneaky devil, you!

Dear Woman Who Looks Just Like My Friend Stephanie In Zumba Class,
I’m sorry if I stare so much at you. I’m sorry if I have, by now, memorized and can replicate on command the way your arms and legs perform the Cumbia. I’m sorry that I cannot take my eyes off the back of your neatly coiffed head while you sweat and jab the air with your long, lean arms. It’s just that you look almost EXACTLY like my friend Stephanie who is living in China right now and sometimes, when I look at you, I miss her with a power that takes me by surprise, and my eyes start filling with tears right there in class. I have to look away and concentrate on my moves so as not to have a full-on sob-fest right there in the middle of the gym floor. Inevitably, though, I go right back to staring and I am sure you have noticed. I’m sorry you have become a sort of surrogate for Steph. I want very much to approach you in the hallway after class and explain myself, but I’m scared of what you might think of me.

Dear Chase Bank,
I could write paragraph after paragraph about how much you suck for charging me twenty five dollars a month just to have a stupid checking account with you. TWENTY FIVE DOLLARS, Chase Bank. As a matter of fact, I just did. And then I erased it. Know why? Because you are not worth my time. I just did the sensible thing and moved all my money to a new bank. You can’t see me right now, but I am flipping you the bird. I’m sure everyone reading this who is also getting charged fifteen bucks here and ten bucks there to bank with you is ALSO flipping you the bird right now. So, consider yourself the recipient of the largest bird ever flipped by the Internet.

Dear Cannonball Adderley Record and Earl Grey Tea,
You are the most perfect breakfast combination I can think of.

Dear Spring,
Your procrastination is even worse than mine. I shouldn’t have to wear a sweater in April, Spring. You know this. So please hurry it up. The tomato starts, Spring, they long to be outside, and off my windowsill. The pea vines that are winding their way around yarn I have strung up to my venetian blinds, inside my house, Spring, they are confused. They know something is not right. Think of the cucumbers, Spring, that are bursting out of their little yogurt cups packed with soil. They long to spill out over the driveway. Forget me, Spring. I have gotten used to your heel-dragging ways. But think of the vegetables, Spring. Think of the vegetables!

The Bishop calls

Dear Oprah,
I’m going to San Luis Obispo. Your recent piece on “The Happiest City in America” (featuring the delightful Jenny McCarthy) really put the nail in this rainy, gray coffin. This is about the time of year when the weather starts pushing me to consider living in a teepee in the Sahara just so I can feel the sun on my skin, so your timing couldn’t be more perfect. I realize it’s raining there right now, but, do you know what’s going to happen tomorrow? It’s going to be sunny. And the day after that? Sunny again. Are you starting to see how this could be a good fit for me?

I don’t actually think that just traveling to a place will make me instantly happy, but it won’t hurt to spend a few days trying. Anyway, thanks for tip. We should be boarding soon.

Oh, and if you need a follow up report, just let me know. There’s probably a flight that connects to Chicago from San Luis Obispo, right?