.... happy to get that manifesto off my chest. and i mean it when i say there's no sadness or requests for pity or even a high five and a " you go girl!" boost of confidence.
seriously.
moving on: i'm clinging to the final episodes of oprah like they're my last drops of water while stranded on a deserted island. there are literally 13 episodes on my dvr and i watch them in, like, 10 minute incriments.
EXCEPT this week's episodes with james frey. he got two episodes, people! the whole biography/fiction situation was a pretttty big deal and i'm glued to every second of it.
i chowed down on these episodes the second i got home.
i read that book on a whim. i picked it up - ignorantly - at the airport on my way to ukraine. i didn't know what it was all about, or even the controversy swirling about it {oprah and i must have been in a fight}, but the cover was appealing enough. i read it in one swoop, then covered my eyes and gave it to my mom, hoping she could stomach all the raw-ness.
on the way home, my mom told the flight attendant she could have it after she was done.
........ even though it was my book.
shebetterhaveenjoyedit.
i loved that book. and learned like 2385372 new meanings for the f-bomb.
if you can handle it, read it.
and then there was that time, a couple years ago, when my best friend celebrated her 2 year drug sobriety and i made jail-jumpsuit orange cupcakes with million little pieces sprinkles on top. appropriate for the occassion, right?
don't gooooooo, oprah. i need more.
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