We need to have a conversation. Here’s why. I just turned on Oprah and she’s interviewing Jenny McCarthy about her break-up with Jim Carrey. I don’t have anything against either of them, but are you fucking kidding me? This is your last year of your show and you’re interviewing a C/B-list celebrity about her break-up to some dude who tweeted about it some seven months ago? Are you fucking kidding me, Oprah? I’m not going to use the J-word (journalism) but how is this worth 5 minutes of airtime, let alone almost an entire hour? I just broke up with some dude, where’s my fucking interview? Is someone going to have me on their show so I can complain about how I thought we were “going to go the distance” (because unless you use that cliche you’re not sincere) and how I’ve learned so much about myself and can I make rousing statements like, “LADIES, MAKE YOUR OWN MONEY!” and have an audience cheer for me? Why don’t I get to dispense this pithy Skinny Bitch/”Single Ladies” babble to millions of women? And how did Jenny McCarthy make a career out of this? Oh right, she became Oprah’s friend. If you do that, you’re set for life.
Speaking of “Single Ladies”: no. No more of this song. It was a great song, a great video (“One of the best of all time. OF ALL TIME.“) but when Liza Minelli is limping her way through it in a sequel to an HBO movie it needs to stop. First of all, I am a single lady, but I do not want anyone to put a fucking ring on it. I am in no way ready or willing to get married to anyone, and the idea that all women are dating just so they can wind up with a ring on their finger is fucking insulting. Believe it or not we have other shit we would like to achieve in life. Secondly, I can buy my own fucking rings. Thirdly, if you liked it, you should have treated me with fucking respect. A ring has nothing to do with it. And I know that when Beyonce sings, “Put a ring on it” she’s referring to her hand and not to herself, but there’s only so many times I can hear this song and not associate the word “it” with something else. And what really pisses me off is that I really liked this stupid song! Remember “Crazy In Love”? That was a great fucking song! Beyonce has some great hits! But then it just kind of mushroomed into something else. It turned into something that “I’m-not-a-regular-mom-I’m-a-cool-mom”s claimed as their anthem, as they danced to it at weddings. To quote the great Christian Bale, “It’s fucking distracting.” It’s like the time I went to a Lady Gaga concert that was promptly ruined by the painfully “hip” mom dancing in front of my fucking face and blocking my fucking view for the entire fucking concert. Pull up your goddamn low rise jeans, sit down, and stop embarrassing your preteen daughter. I don’t need to see this. You can enjoy pithy pop songs as much as the rest of us, but you can’t relish it. I’m sorry. It just comes off as sad. Which is why when I see Jenny McCarthy babbling about how okay she is being single as she warms up Oprah’s audience by doing the whole “Single Ladies” dance routine I feel like I’m watching Michael Scott do something awkward on “The Office.” Stop. Please stop.
And Oprah, you need to put an end to this. All of this. “We’ve never broken up,” Oprah randomly announced, about her relationship with Steadman. Oprah, I cannot think of a single fucking person who actually gives a fuck about your boring fucking relationship. I also can’t think of a single person who actually buys that you are in a relationship with Steadman. And you keep talking about how you like to keep your personal life private, so why the hell do you keep bringing it up? If you’re going to let your guests make total fools of themselves by babbling about their break-ups like they’re having lunch with their girlfriends, then at least pull it together and stay out of it. Tom Cruise made a total jackass of himself on your show when he was in love, and you kept your mouth shut. Don’t try to do the girl talk. Maybe try to have topics that aren’t completely inane.
I’m still going to watch the rest of this episode though.