Tag Archives: Oprah

Mastering the Art of Being Fierce (STFU, Steve Harvey)


I had an epiphany the other day that I think you would groove to but I forgot what it was, so maybe if I babble a bit it will come back. I really should write these things down. In the meantime, this is Rogue. I don’t know shit about X-Men, I have a vagina, but I came upon her by either happenstance or providence, depending on whether or not you believe in fate or just dumb luck. Whatever the case, you know the way the universe surprises you sometimes and sends something your way as a spiritual sherpa? I KNOW, so Oprahesque, like she used to say on her show about how the signs of guidance present themselves, let me paraphrase in my “own” way: At first it comes as a “whisper” of a stomach growl, then a low-noted fart, an SBD perhaps, followed higher pitched one, maybe a bit wet sounding, and if you ignore those then suddenly you might have to change your underwear, AND this is the warning: if you keep going like that you’ll have to get a colostomy bag at some point. Pay attention to the cues. Oprah is talking about important life decisions where you need to bail before the shit storm, like finally dumping that dude who kicks your dog and sells your used panties on eBay so he can buy his other girlfriend breast implants. Yes, I know that’s more of a Dr. Phil challenge but whatevs.

I’m talking about my hair.

It’s gotten kind of long and there are silvers pouring in at the temples. You prolly call them grey but they’re not. They’re blindingly shiny, fyi, grey doesn’t glisten like Swarovski crystals in the winter sun, so fuck you. But still, I’m like, ugh, should I dye my hair or what? Is it such a crime to age? Then last week, a random dude so sweet (and omg so hot, I could just squeeze the cute out of him and bottle all the juice and sell THAT crack on eBay) showed me a picture of Rogue from the X-Men with her silver crown of mojo and I’m like, FIERCE! WHY WOULD I EVER COVER MY SUPERPOWERS?

Then I googled up Rogue because if I ever get in to Cosplay (lol, just jokes…I think) I’m going to need to know who she is. I felt so drawn to her, like we are soul sisters. She has auburn hair with silvers, I have auburn hair with silvers. And the boobs, obvi. Her Wikipedia page is more prolix than my brain can handle, I am used to reading rehashed Jezebel articles. But! In essence, She’s a mutant who considers her power a curse. What?! I’m a mutant fo’ sho! And my “power,” and I’m using that term loosely, which is my charming writing style is full of shit, too! The blogarrhea, a blessing and a burden at the same time. This thing gets me in a whole whack of trouble yet for the select few who love to read it, I can’t stop writing it, it’s out of my control, #longhairdontcare. Rogue’s power is too, but hers is poignant. She’s so sensitive that when she touches you with her skin, she will suck all the memory and force out of you. Unwittingly! So she has to cover herself up in that tight titty suit so she doesn’t fuck anything up with her boyfriend, Gambit (is he hot? I don’t know. If I had to hit a superhero, it would be The Silver Surfer. He is a Fantastic Four, do they hang with X-Men? Jesus, am I actually asking this question?) and disempower him, you know, like regular women do when they dress their husbands in Lululemon and take them to farmer’s markets. She could kill you if she touched you long enough with her skin, so I guess blowjobs are out of the question :(. That’s so sad, to have have such limited intimacy,don’t you think?  And yet think of some people whose hands you’d be dying to shake with an ungloved vice grip. What a pleasure it is to meet you, Bieber!

So anyway, I’m going take a page from Rogue’s book and let my silver streak freak flag fly, that settles that dilemma. It is for my wisdom, my wit and my willingness to share my stories so you have something to read for 5 minutes, until something better comes on your newsfeed, that I am a valuable and powerful woman in today’s society. And the boobs, dem cartoon torpedoes, if left to their own free will, might flop around willy nilly and be riddled with crazy blue veins but harnessed in a bra and if you squint a bit, they can make you believe I could probably fly and double tittedly fight off all the evil in the world and possibly lower gas prices or at the very least, if not that, bobble around merrily in a hot tub and give you a bit of a chub even just thinking about them. That is some decent power, I’ll use it, somehow, some day. *chews anxiously on a strand of hair*

OH YES! The epiphany I had! I just remembered. Not really an epiphany but a stolen idea from my daughter’s Facebook page. She’s 21 and a feminist. If you are worried by the state of the future based on what the hashtaggery of duckface selfie cuture, do not fret, there is a whole new generation of young women strutting their way into the world questioning everything, including beauty ideals and gender roles, taking back the slut shaming, et cetera. My body, my rules, is their mantra. And by the way, The Book of Rules and all that shit that spouts out of Steve Harvey’s mouth about how women have to act like lady from the golden age of girdles and put men in a holding pattern of blue ball limbo for a set period of time, is a crockful of bukkake. A man who is waiting 3 months to pet your precious pussy is getting it somewhere else and you congratulations, fool, you have just trained him pee outside. Metaphorically-ish.

Aaaanyway, Evangeline posted a video…okay, it’s a TedTalks, I KNOW, but it’s only 12 minutes and it’s very inspiring, of Erika Lust, a Swedish woman who made a porn movie from a woman’s point of view that doesn’t depict women as inflatable Barbie dolls, objectified only for men’s pleasure. Why not make some badass porn films with some hot plots that appeal to women? I know for menfolk, the plots are superfluous but whatever, I myself like a warmup. Even my sex fantasies have to have a prelude that’s so drawn out, I get slightly bored and antsy, here is a typical one: “Let’s go for a hot chocolate at that place in the Distillery but first I have to pick up a package at Purolator, you wanna wait in the car? It’s probably that Thing I ordered off Amazon.” And then all this activity must go down before we drive to Cherry Beach and bone in the tall grass. Seriously.

So yeah, women-powered porn. Plots. Veins and stretch marks. 1200 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets. Hozier soundtrack. BBC. Tongue game. THIS IS COULD BE MY CALLING! Let’s do this!











Mastering the Art of Intent


Happy new year, motherfuckahhhs! I’m jealous of all of you who have managed to strip down your Christmas trees and drag them out to the curb. I have no heart for this type of deconstruction, me and Christmas go together like booze and more booze. WHEN ELSE CAN YOU GET AWAY WITH BAILEYS IN YOUR MORNING COFFEE EXCEPT DURING ORGY WEEK? Don’t answer that, I know at least two of you who think “Orgy Week” is just a state of mind and not the days and nights of gluttony, fapping, and tv binge-watching from December 26 to January 1. This might be the better way of thinking, instead of all this self-deprivation resolution gym/diet shite that only leads to self-loathing by mid-January.

One of my friends on the Facebook posted a New Year’s greeting that last year at this time, she set an “intent” for each and every day and is now, a year later, reaping the rewards. I’m earnestly (yes!)  happy for her and I think we should all take a page from her book (or I think she might even have a blog more constructive than this one) so I’ll try and interpret what is the crux  intention. I am a self-proclaimed armchair Buddhist with my moon rising in the fundamental teachings of Jesus, so my heart in almost the right place, bear with me.  I think “intent” means she is going through life mindfully and with purpose, rather than trudging through the cornfields like bewildered space aliens thinking we have some place better to be. Cornfields, fuck, I’m never going to get over last year. See, I, personally,  have to mindfully intend to move forward, NOT think about the past. So I’m going to list some intentions that I found in an old Oprah magazine I breezed through at a walk-in clinic, UTI’s, yo, what a bitch….Remember, intentions are not to be confused resolutions because those are for amateurs.

1. Live in the present. I don’t really know what that means either, aren’t we always living in the now?  Now I am writing a blog post, there’s an Uncle Smoke chicken pot pie in the oven, I am way too excited to eat. Is it wrong that I’m looking forward to 45 minutes from now? I don’t think so, maybe I should revel in the anticipation? Also I have to pee. I’ll go pee, wash my hands, come back. I always intend to wash my hands but I never do. It’s true, my friend JHo always says I’m the fastest pee-er but I’m not really, I just don’t want to waste time washing hands. THESE ARE PRECIOUS SECONDS I WILL NEVER GET BACK. So many things in the present (like handwashing) are just so boring I don’t want to do them. How can I possibly live in the moment when the moment is so fucking time consuming? Isn’t while I’m doing Amish chores like scrubbing the pots and pans, where I get to mull over the past and those particularly poignant moments where I have been hard done by, the place where I can work myself up into a rage that I actually don’t need steel wool, I can scrape all the burnt grease off with my emotional bile and chewed off fingernails? THIS IS GOING TO BE SO HARD. Also, I fret over the future, you know this about me. Hold my hand, please.

2. Keep a gratitude journal. What’s that? Oprah is such a task master. Everyday write 10 things you a grateful for and the gods of Disney fairy princesses will bestow you with all the luck in the world plus an abundance of cash money, fame, and all the hot fucks so your genitals will explode like an A-bomb that will actually create all the love the world needs to end hunger and war. I think we’ve gone over this before like last year, me with my eyerolling and you with your leather bound notebook from the Japanese paper store. Show me your diary now. I thought so.  You didn’t even bother to write in it, that’s okay though, I like the way you draw anime porn. Personally, as your poor man’s Oprah, I think you should just be in a permanent state of gratefulness, fuck writing this quackery down in list form because you’re sure as shit not going to be rewarded for it. You should make gratitude (and humility while we’re at it)  your default attitude. But don’t be a dick and expect anything out of your newfound lease on life because that’s not how it works. Also I think gratitude journals are the gateway to becoming cripplingly superstitious which is just plain unmindful. True story: I know of a man who drives with one hand on the wheel and the other hand massaging the  crucifix around his neck as he mutters his thanks to Jesus of how he is grateful for his healthy crotch spawn, who in is mind are the second and third coming of Messiah-palooza, whilst interspurtantly  he yells obscenities at other innocent drivers, who by the way, are obeying the rules of the road, all the while safe in the confines of his American-made gas guzzling SUV, windows rolled up. Mastering the art of gratitude is going to take more than writing in a journal, it’s going to take an ass kicking. We can hold each other’s hair back while we barf out our egos. Gratitude comes from the deep bile hole which contains this poison:

3. Judgy-wudgy-itis. To paraphrase the true second coming, Oprah, stop judging other people so goddamn much. Yes, we are all going to laugh at the follies of the crack couple who thought they were trapped in a locked closet and pooped in it FOR DAYS  because that is just natural selection. I still think it’s okay to hate on the buffoonery of the Bieber, and we can write in our gratitude journals how grateful we are that he has been more or less quiet lately and how the gods of social media were on the ball when he lost all those Instagram followers in the master cleanse of 2014. If ridiculous didn’t exist then where would comedy be? BUT! Can’t we let people express themselves who they are, how they self-identify, dress ,or create artistic content if they are not hurting anyone? Aren’t we all in this world together, like aliens in the cornfield, and we should look out for each other? Or simply just leave each other the fuck alone…maybe I did learn something from last year. It’s just such a hard road sometimes. Sigh, fap, lather, rinse, repeat.

Okay, I just ate the pot pie and feel the happiness of satiation which leads me to my own intent for 2015 and I hope Oprah feels the same way:

Stay fat, bitches! There’s so much to do with that waffle iron you got for Christmas, it’s crazy.








O-mnipotent in Pink

Yesterday I raced through traffic, screamed over speed bumps, charged through stop signs to get home in time to watch the season finale of Oprah.  My sister always tells me that she comes on Channel 1,027,382 at other times of the day but I don’t know how to work the Rogers remote and there is something about the 4:00 Oprah Hour that is almost sacred.    When my kids were babies, the Oprah Show was their feeding hour, a half an hour on each boob. Long after they were weened, I’d lactate at 4 whether I was watching Oprah or not.  Zing!  That is the sensation that the let-down of lactation makes, it’s Oprah o’clock!  Otherwise now known as cocktail hour.  Double zing!

Anyway, yesterday, Lorraine came over as she by divine intervention has the week off and is able to watch the final 3 episodes.  We had champagne and shared a box of Kleenex.  “I thought you hated Oprah,”  said my daughter.  I have been known to bust Miss O’s balls on a few occasions.  She is only human after all.  The whole James Frey scandal made me crazy.  “His memoir is a big lie!” she said.  I wrote her a scathing letter years ago:  All memoirs are “lies.”  Do you think Jeannette Wells didn’t take a few liberties when writing “The Glass Castle” since she would have to remember events and dialogue of when she was a toddler?  I think she ruined James Frey’s life in the worst possible way in that she made him famous, then took it all away by humiliating him.  I boycotted her show for a year after that.  See you next Tuesday, Oprah!  But I eventually got over it.  I’m not sure her recent two part interview with him was redemption but it was better than leaving him to rot in obscurity.  She has the power.

When she interviews people, she interrupts by finishing their sentences in order to move on to the next topic.  This is because she is one of those know-it-alls that you knew when you were in school.  You could just tell she was one of those kids who, 20 seconds before the bell, would put up her fucking hand and ask Teacher a question that would take 5 minutes to answer because she keep the questions going while everyone else was going squirrelly.

And I am suspicious of excessive amounts of generosity.  There was a woman at my gym who would do the most over the top things on other people’s birthday.  She once walked into a full spinning class with a lit birthday cake for someone she hardly knew.  Everything was always done in front of an audience.  All this “giving” this and that, is it more about achieving notoriety?  Look at me!   Then look under your chair, there’s a chicken pot pie!  A pair of Uggs! A Volkswagen Beetle!  A school in Africa!  Don’t get me wrong, she’s done great acts of philanthropy but she looooooves the accolades. 

Why is she the only one who appears on the cover of “O” Magazine?  Why doesn’t she call it “Eg-O” Magazine?

And if she is all about truth, why is maintaining the lifestyle lies of the certain couch-jumping, airplane-flying Scientologists that appear regularly on her show?  Is she one of them? 

Or is she the second coming of Jesus?  WWJD with a wagon load of lard?  Doubts he would be parading it on a tv soundstage wearing high-waisted Calvin Klein jeans.  He’d  probably fry lentils in it and serve them to the lepers in the cave colony.  Jesus wins.

So she’s not the second coming but she is a force, that’s for sure.  The finale was perfection, down to the pink dress which by the way was designed by L’Wren Scott.  It went over like a sermon that included the things she learned from the guests she had on her show.  And no, my child, I don’t hate her.  I’m only critical because skepticism is my nature and blogging about it is my game.  And isn’t that what Oprah wants us to do?  Be our best selves and find our forum to spread our energy around.  Yo, I listened and learned.  So from now on,when 4 o’clocks zings by, there’s going to a big void!   God knows I won’t be watching OWN because it is on those baffling upper channels I don’t know how to find to save my life.   I’m going to miss you, Oprah!

Guess What, Chicken Butt? I Got A New YouTube Sensation

I don’t really enjoy children that much.  Yes, I have two of them and I can say from experience that the old adage is true.  Children are basically like farts, you can stand your own but others cannot be tolerated.  And who am I kidding?  Even when my own kids when were little, I wanted to hide from them and light a match.  In my previous post, I described my daughter as ‘Satan’s spawn.”  My son was no cake walk either , he had some piss and vinegar running through his veins.  His tantrums were legendary, ask any crossing guard in the East End.  You could never get him from Point A to Point B, but when finally got him to Point B, he never wanted to leave.  He’s going to make a difficult husband for some poor woman, I just know it.  Anyway, now both are teenagers and you’d think they be even worse but they are totally cool.  They are actually people that I want to hang out with (but not necessarily together because they squabble like an old married couple). 

Yesterday, Oprah featured a show on young “talent.” and I am using that word loosely in particular with Willow Smith, who was her cohost.  She has a new song out and you can see her perform it here (but why would you want to?).  Her best trick is swinging her head around like she is giving herself shaken baby syndrome.  Do it.  And it seems like there’s a new child YouTube sensation every week that we avid television viewers must contend with.  They are like pimples on the face of media.  The Bieber aside (because he is awesome),  most of these “sensations” need to just do their homework and wash their hair (I’m looking at you, Simon Cowell’s latest cash cow).   And Lady Gaga needs to get out more is all I will say about her little mini-me. 

And speaking of kids on YouTube and parent pimps, here is my son, Freddy’s latest short film entry for The Sprockets Children’s Film Festival this Spring….he won first place last year in his age group (mama pride!  It was just like he won an Oscar).  He is the future Quentin Tarantino (they have the same birthday).  Enjoy:

A Prelude to Valentine’s Day

A message to Barbie:  Just be done with it. 

I was blissfully unaware that Valentine’s Day was coming up until this morning when I went on my Facebook that I have kind of neglecting recently because Twitter is where it’s at these days.  People on Twitter are self absorbed, narcissistic whiners and braggarts with very little to say because they only have 140 characters in which to tweet.  I love them so.  Don’t get me wrong, I still *like* my Facebook, and all my “friends”  but sometimes people’s status updates are truly horrific.  Today, for example, one of my friends had this to say:

“Find a guy who calls you beautiful instead of hot, who calls you back when you hang up on him, who will lie under the stars and listen to your heartbeat, or will stay awake just to watch you sleep… who wants to show you off to the world when you are in sweats, who holds your hand in front of his friends. One who is constantly reminding you of how much he cares and how lucky he is to have YOU…“

Seriously, a man posted this.  Furthermore he got 6 thumbs up for it and one woman commented:  `Where do I find this man?  I`ve been looking all my life…LOL!` So I counter-commented something like: `He`s the new talking Ken doll from Mattel, he retails for $39.95.`  She ignored me and wrote another comment:  “ Oh, (Facebook User), I wish I had a man like you, your wife is so lucky!  LOL!”  Yes “LOL” is right!  Is it just me or can you see the subtext in this guy’s status?  I think Dr.Phil would have a field day on the hot seat with this dude.  Let’s analyze it sentence by sentence:

“He calls you beautiful instead of hot”:  This means he is probably having sex somewhere else.   A sunset, a BLT, a covered bridge in Madison County are beautiful, too, and he is not boning either of these things.

“…who calls you back when you hang up on him, ”  : Why did you hang up on him in the first place?  Go with your instincts.  Oprah will tell you that.

“…who will lie under the stars and listen to your heartbeat.”  Creepy.

“…who will stay awake just to watch you sleep”:  Yeah, so he can sneak downstairs and make a phone call.

“…wants to show you off to the world when you are in sweats”:  Red flag!  Red flag!  This is the most dangerous of them all!  You realize, you, in sweats, are not hot.  He doesn’t think so either and nor does he want anyone else to.  Control freak.

“…holds hands in front of his friends.”:  That one is sort of cute but caution to all PDA, it is often just for show or like marking territory.

“…Constantly reminding you how much he care for you and how lucky he is to have YOU.”   Constantly?  Who is he really trying to remind? 

I’m not tying to be a big Valentine’s Scrooge but let’s just say I have your back.  If he seems to good to be true, you probably made him up in your head.  I’m not too worried my “friend” is going to read my post, he’s probably too busy rubbing petroleum jelly on his wife’s feet so she slips in the shower later on.  Here is the new talking Ken Doll, by the way:

Kristin’s Quest for Organic-ness

I was watching Oprah the other day and she had Alicia Siverstone on via Skype trilling about her new book and her vegan diet.  There is so much to analyze about that sentence starting at the beginning:  I was watching Oprah the other day….Yes, I watch Oprah and I am always going on about how she has jumped the shark * but I still like to watch it, 4 o’clock is pre-cocktail cocktail hour, I’d probably even watch The View if it were on at 4….and she had Alicia Silverswtone on via Skype…what the hell, why are all her guests on via Skype nowadays?  If I were invited on Oprah you better bet yer arse I’d be there in person, why are her guests so lazy?  or is she too cheap to fly them out there and pay for their stay at the Marriot?…anyway Alicia trilling about her new book and her vegan diet…First, I am sure Alicia (Clueless) Silverstone probably didn’t actually write this book, most likely she had a ghost writer.  I’d like to be a ghost writer if anyone has a boring story that needs embellishment, call me…and she’s a vegan…ugh, vegans.  The first vegan I ever met in my life was a woman who was friends with some people I knew and she would bring her own millet burgers to their barbeques.  She would have a fit if her sawdust patties touched the grill that a steak touched. Why was her millet trying to mimic meat? I murmured to myself.  She put it in a bun and put ketchup on it.  It made no sense to me that she demonized dead animals on a grill and then eat food with the texture of cremated gym towels.  Dumbo….anyway, fast forward 15 years and  back to Alicia Silverstone on Oprah…she had some points, maybe it’s a good idea to eat less meat, and more organic produce.  Actually I think “organic” is a misused term, everything is pretty much organic, even a fruit loop.  I think they should specify “pesticide-free” but I will just say organic but just know that I am not fooled.   Anyway, she seemed happy and sparkly(my eyes are whiter! she proclaimed) and most importantly, not bloated.  She had me there.  Bloating should be tauted the new black and I will be Miss It.  So why not try to eat more mindfully? So I started at the grocery store.  Even Loblaws has a millet section as well as the option for organic dairy and meat.  I got rice that took an hour to cook and made scraping marks on the pot after I cleaned it.  I made vegetarian chili out of beans and more beans.  So far my daughter is liking it, teenage girls all seem to go through a vegetarian phase.  Not the boys though, they are always pepperoni-centric….my son’s friend came to sleep over for a few days and he brought some underwear and a baggie of luncheon meat. After a week, I have to admit I noticed some improvement, a little less bloated, clearer skin.  So I decided to finally pay a visit to the mecca of organic eating in the east end, otherwise known as The Carrot Common on Danforth near Chester.  In all my years of east end living I have never actually been in the The Big Carrot, which is the grocery store in the square.  I have heard rumours of $30 free range chickens.  I needed to see if it was true.

Thankfully there was no need to be frightened.  The store itself was like any other grocery store with aisles and checkouts and cash registers.  For some reason I was expecting the floor to be made out of dirt and hay with goats running around.  It was nice and clean and the free range chickens were all plucked and covered in plastic (and NOT $30, between $8-$12).  There was a bulk section with bins of millet (!) and other organic grains.  Organic bananas were 99 cents a pounds, which is kind of high.  I’m not really sure all things need to be organic though, bananas have peels so who cares if they are sprayed?  Eating Well website gives a list of items that are good to get organics and others that don’t matter so much http://www.eatingwell.com/.  I didn’t buy anything there though….it all seemed so beige.   I like the colourful aisles of Loblaws with boxes of poptarts, chips ahoy, and flourescent orange sports drinks.  I did like the atmosphere at The Big Carrot though.  It’s very quaint. There was a Community Board full of posts about colon cleansing…. it’s like what it would be like going into Ike Godsey’s General Store in the Walton’s.  I know when I’m old and delusional I’m going to be confusing my real life memories with episodes of the Waltons and Happy Days….and speaking of Happy Days * the term “jumping the shark” comes from that episode of HD where the Fonz water skis over some shark in a desperate attempt to keep the ratings up.  I think any time Oprah mentions or has Tom Cruise on her show, she is jumping the shark.  Anyway, this healthier eating is best done a little at a time but one thing for sure, I will never eat a millet burger!