So, I have not watched Oprah since she went and tried to be her own network, but I was browsing around on the TV’s guide and saw that she was going to be discussing past life regression on some show.
Wait wait hold up, before I get to that, can I just tell you that I believe Oprah has made a terrible, really ginormous, bad mistake naming her network OWN? For realz, people, because we all already feel just a teensy bit owned. And she’s calling us out on it. She has so much money she gives cars to theaters full of people. I, however, am too broke to even win a car from Oprah because it would require travel and hotels and tickets and not working for a day. At any rate, she would have been a lot better off naming her network OWW (Oprah Winfrey World) or NOW (Network of Oprah Winfreyness) or WIO (Whatever, It’s Oprah) or WOW (Wow) or virtually anything besides her owning some shit. She has a whole bunch of people working for her, right? Like, the best and the brightest, I would assume. And access to test audiences and survey people? You have to know that someone, somewhere along the way must have felt a little uncomfortable with Oprah OWNing it, but I bet they were just too afraid to say anything because you don’t want to look like a whiney ass in THAT meeting when everyone else is all, “oh yes, Oprah, that sounds wonderful, but Carl over here is afraid that someone might take it wrong that the richest lady in America wants to own OWN.” I guess the intention could be about “owning” yourself or your life or whathaveyou, but there’s no divorcing the word own from its most common meaning.
And I believe the ratings for OWN could maybe prove me out. Amirite?
So anyway, I caught a blurb about a show on past life regression and set my DVR to record, stat, because hello? How do you NOT watch that? But when I went to watch the show it was about some lady I had never heard of who was saying some kind of really wacky stuff about shadows and light chasers, so I held my channel-changing hand back a minute. I admit, I did expect something ultra new age involving light sabers.
Apparently, this Debbie Ford person that Oprah was interviewing has written some books about embracing the shadows that live in all our souls. And I have shadows. Like, at the end of the day, it is probably fair to say that I am a bit of a bitch. No, really. That is not to say that I am also not a nice or good person, it’s just to say that the word “bitchy” is not entirely inappropriate with regards to my personality, on occasion.
I have struggled with it – this being bitchy business. I mean, it’s a terrible thing to be so of course I agonize often about what to do to cure myself of being a bitch. Who wants to be a bitch? Plus, it really pisses me off when someone calls me one. Most of my friends never experience my bitchiness (because I like them?), but my husband does (no escape). My coworkers do (insufferable). Random strangers who cross me (mistake!) and people at the cable company sure as shit do (obvs). I tell myself that I am assertive or direct or honest, and those things are true, for sure. (Not honest in the “gee, you look so ugly with that new haircut” sort of honest, because I’m not a bad person), but you know, you never really have to wonder if I’m mad at you or not. You definitely will know if I am mad at you. It will be clear the moment you step over the line with me and you may get smacked-the-hell back onto your side of the line.
Let me be clear, though, I am not some sort of feelings-assassin or anything. I do not lay in wait and look for opportunities to snipe at people or attack out of the blue and say cruel things – that is not the sort of bitch I am talking about here. I am talking about the kind of person who is good and decent at heart, but ornery and not willing to take your shit. You know, the kind of woman who is getting real. sick. of your shit. That kind of bitch. As much as I try to overcome my bitchiness, I just can’t seem to be NOT a bitch. The harder I try, the more I remain the same.
But here is this Debbie Ford person talking about embracing your dark side. What?
Oh boy does THIS sound like a good idea! Clearly, in the near future I will be trying to track down one of her books, because if someone can let me off the hook, that’d be great. And how did I not know about her before? I don’t really travel in self-help circles as a rule, so it’s not completely inexplicable that the existence of these books would escape me, but I do get around a bit – enough to think I would have heard at least a little about books that give you permission to be a bitch. If that’s what they say.
Let’s hope that’s what they say.
Actually, if I’m completely honest, I might travel in self-help circles a teensy bit as my mother is a psychologist and a certified smarty pants who probably has read every book in the self-help library. But I don’t listen to her too much because…
Wait wait hold up. Huh.
Now HERE is a crossroads.
Do I tell you about my mother? Do I assume that I will blog with the aegis of an unknown and unread blogger forever or do I assume that someday it will matter that I wrote, not necessarily flatteringly, about my mother for all on the interwebs to read?
That is quite a dilemma.
Suffice it to say that the rest of that unfinished sentence would, whether I intended it to or not, make my mother uncomfortable at a minimum and possibly really hurt and/or angry with me. Which might make me a bitch.
Anyhoo, stream of consciousness is really a lot of fun, by the way, but let me circle back for a second and inform you that Debbie Ford, a person that I never knew existed until yesterday, actually died about a week ago, so if you know who she is or have read her books, I’m sorry to be the one to tell you. She had cancer and the cancer won.
And not to make light of it (truly), but I heard Norm MacDonald tell a joke once about dying wherein he stated that in his opinion, one does not lose a battle to cancer, because if one dies from it, the cancer also dies from it, so in fact it’s a tie. He has a point.
But I really am not making a joke about Debbie Ford dying of cancer. It’s not funny, it’s sad. That said, I cannot control where my brain goes. Although, I probably could control where my fingers go because I don’t type on a Ouija board, but I chose to not do so does that make me a bitch?
Meanwhile, here’s what it looks like when I watch OWN while working.