Putting on airs

There comes a time during long-term unemployment when a gal has to figure out what else she could do for a living. It would have to be something she’s good at, enjoys and will sustain her for a lifetime. While pondering my attributes, I decided to focus on my strengths — my intelligence, sense of humor, wicked wit, strong writing skills, wide knowledge of film making, and a built-in asshole detector — just to name a few.

A few friends have suggested I open my own business (doing what? Being a smartass doesn’t pay all that well). Small problem with starting  a business —  you kind of need a product to sell, and way to get and keep customers. I love how friends and acquaintances feel so triumphant when they tell me to ‘start my own business.’ That smugness is quickly dashed when I tell them I’m not an entrepreneur and not interested in ‘starting my own business.’ What’s truly is sad is they haven’t been paying attention and don’t know me well at all.

And, frankly, I’m sick of building my ‘brand’ and trying to sell myself to others. What brand would that be? Getting folks to click on ads on my blog is not my idea of ‘brand building’ — it’s bullshit and not worth the .001 cents I would get per click. While I’m at it, Tweeting and re-Tweeting my blog posts with the appropriate hashtags is not my idea of ‘brand building.’ Unless, of course, my ‘brand’ is porn because we all know that sex sells.

Until I spied this. From Untapped.Sf

I’ve edited it a bit since it’s waaay too long. Maybe Untapped.Sf should hire an editor.

Urban Profile: Jacki and the Business of Farting…for the Camera

Why didn’t I think of this?

Here’s a fact: WOMEN FART. Yep, we do. We belch, fart, rub one off every once in a while. We flick our nipples, use vibrators, pick our noses, scratch our asses, and walk around our abodes nekkid (shut UP).

In other words, we’re human.

With that, I don’t know why folks are getting their knickers in a twist about some broad who farts on video for money.

I met Jacki at a dance class three years ago. I remember noticing two things about her right off the bat. The first was a large, u-shaped scar on her chest that she made no effort to hide, and the second was just how open and upfront she was about…well, everything. Within minutes of meeting her, I learned that Jacki is, in her own words, a fetish video producer (more on this later), and that a few years prior she had had a life-saving lung transplant (hence the scar) born of a rare respiratory illness.

But first, who is Jacki and what does she do? Quite simply, this Bay Area native is a producer of farting videos. Her videos, which are posted on various fetish-exclusive sites are downloaded and paid for by hundreds of consumers. These video clips, featuring Jacki in various stages of undress, farting noisily into the camera, fulfill a niche community of men who get off on women farting. Yes, you read right. Men watch her fart and tell her how hot she is, how hard they are for her and her farts, and how much they want her to sit on their faces and fart on them.

Fetish isn’t something new to Bay Area folks. As a city that celebrates nudity, ass-less chaps, Kink.com and the Folsom Street Fair, San Franciscans are generally unfazed by what our more conservative counterparts call “sexual perversion.” But Jacki, my girl-next-door friend does not fit the typical profile of a San Francisco sexual deviant. With her fresh-faced cheeriness, completely unblemished skin (no tattoos, no piercings) and Euro-chic dress sense, Jacki looks like the furthest thing from a fetish girl. She jokes:

“When people hear that I’m in the fetish business they think latex, S&M, piercings and dominatrix whipping stuff. Seriously Suicide Girls is so 1998. We’ve moved on to farting people!”

 I am speechless. Why the hell didn’t I think of this? I’d be a gazillionaire by now had I done this first. Thank god for fetishes. Seriously.
Immersing herself full time in the world of selling fetish items, Jacki quickly became highly sought after. She soon transitioned her business from selling used items such as shoes and underwear (and tempting fate by shipping these items with the US Postal System) to filming and selling only fetish videos on the internet, her specialty being fart videos.

Her vidyas are plotless, last anywhere from five to ten minutes in length and are for sale via her website (which she doesn’t want posted). Candid is the name of the game with Staci — she just turns on the camera and let’s ‘em rip, but not after telling her viewers how bad she needs to cut one. Charming. And, what’s even better, is she’s basically a gal-next-door type. How refreshing, but the gal-next-door turn-on bodes well for someone like me, who looks like she’s just been found bound and gagged in someone’s crawlspace right next door, and is in dire need of a shower and a shave.

What’s even better about Staci is she’s a true Philosopher Queen when it comes to farting on camera, and what works and doesn’t. Also, her dietary needs that are helping her become as famous as Le Petomane. Spoiler alert — her roughage requirements aren’t that extraordinary.

“All farts are not created equal. Some men like farting girls in underwear, some men only like white underwear farts, some like thongs, some hate thongs, some like farts through jeans, some like bare-bottom farts, some like women farting on furniture, like chairs, or couches or mattresses. … Kashi cereal. I had some this morning, and now I’ve got so much gas!” she groans. “Raw cabbage will do it too, but who wants to eat raw cabbage?”

I’m in awe of this woman because she obviously isn’t filled with the crippling WASP prudishness that invades every single cell in my body. If I didn’t have family OR friends, I’d make over-40 farting vids because you know damn well there’s a market for it.

What makes me say something so bold?

“If you have a sense of humor about farting, you’ll stay young.”

Weekend plans

Being unemployed limits my entertainment choices since I don’t have the cash to do things like eat. So, it’s time to experiment with a few things around the house for fun. When I’m done constructing a blanket out of lint and Kotex maxipads, I’ll make some of these.

(via abeautifulmess.typepad.com)

No, these are blood fudgesicles, they’re made with something better and more life-affirming than blood — RED WINE. You know that thing Jesus turned boring water into that one day when he had nothing better to do.

I love both fudgesicles and red wine, so the person who came up with this combo needs an award.

Here’s the recipe (courtesy of abeautifulmess.typepad.com)

Red Wine Fudgesicles, makes 4-6 popsicles depending on your tray size.

Needed: 1 cup red wine, 1 1/2 cup dark chocolate chips and 1 1/2 cup milk.

In a small pot simmer the wine over low/medium heat for 12-18 minutes, allowing it to reduce. Remove from heat and whisk in the chocolate until completely melted. Stir in the milk. Pour into your popsicle tray and freeze over night. (Note: you can use milk instead of wine for regular fudgesicles.)

As someone who likes to bake, I recommend using the best chocolate and full-fat milk in this recipe. If you’re that paranoid about calories, go eat a carrot and leave the good stuff to those of us who don’t mind nibbling on the bad stuff every once in a while.

Life is short — eat Red Wine Fudgesicles.

A Womb with a View

The world is going to hell in hand basket, that’s no secret. Some folks long for the time when they believe life was easy and good — the 1950s seems to be the era of focus these days. I don’t quite get that since it was only good for one particular portion of society–White men–but not exactly a stellar time for the rest of us.

Then, there are those who want to regress even further. We’re talking all the way back to their very first indoor swimming pool — the womb. Since that’s physically impossible, Freyja Sewell has replicated a womb that will fit our bulbous asses and bloated egos that’s constructed from natural fibers like wool, not sinew or guts or muscle.

Sewell is hawking this monolith of a wool womb as a personal retreat of sorts, a place for “contemplation and rest” from the hustle and bustle of life — mainly life with computers and cell phones and cameras. Oh, and it’s a nice way to deal with soaring property values. She views these wombs as a way to hide from an increasingly overpopulated and un-private world. Her wooly booly womb is a way for folks to peacefully co-exist in this world — by not dealing with people and instead retreating into an orb that probably has poor ventilation and is, let’s face it, a moth-magnet.

And, should you decide you’ve had enough of smelling your own farts whilst dealing with Facebook withdrawal symptoms and the swarm of moths that are nom-nomming on your womb walls, you can always open up the womb (think c-section) for added seating. You’ll need this extra seating to accommodate your guests for the blow-out party you’ll inevitably have to help bring you back to the shitty, real world.

Trust me, you’ll want to come back. Why would you want to hide from it?

Why didn’t I think of that?

From time to time, I’ll spy a product or two in my journeys that stops me cold in my tracks and causes me to shout out to no one in particular: “Why the heck didn’t I think of that?” Then, due to my undiagnosed ADHD, my mind will shift to something like a fluffy cat or a lampshade.

But, back to the products I didn’t invent. Why, for instance, didn’t I come up with the Shamwow? Probably because I would’ve fallen ass over teakettle in love with their cannibal hooker-loving spokesman, Vince Shlomi. Yes, that’s his name.

Back in the day when I was into both springboard and platform diving, I used a chamois to dry off between dives since towels got too cumbersome and soaked. If you watch any diving competition on the tee vee, you’ll see divers using them to dry off between dives and after they get out of the whirlpool. They work great. So, it didn’t surprise me years later when some genius decided that ‘shammies’ could be used as a regular household tool to clean up everything from chocolate milk spills to detox vomit spewed all over the guest bathroom. Of course, they had to think of a kicky name and find an even kickier spokesman. Welcome home, Vince Shlomi — the Shamwow was birthed.

The Shamwow works ok, but it’s made a fortune for its inventors. So I missed the Shamwow boat. Damn.

I love the Japanese. They’re all about cute and being efficient. One of my new fave products they invented. Need I mention Hello Kitty?

This one, well, it just makes perfect sense. Think about it. You’re a new mom with little time to clean and don’t have the cash to hire a housekeeper. So what do you do? Put your wee bairn to work and teach him or her the importance of hard work at an early age.

Score one more for the Japanese.

Finally, the topic of this post. I’m going to let the images do the talking here. There are no words at the moment to describe the awesomeness of this.

Wait…there’s more.

One more …

These hirsute undergarments are the pride and joy of Nutty Tarts — a Finnish company that believes all of the waxing, plucking and shaving can get boring, but not boring enough to go back to growing a pubic forest. So, what does one do? Don whichever piece of clothing will bring you the peace of your college days in Madison, Wisconsin when you didn’t believe in waxing, plucking or shaving. Or bathing for that matter. Ahem. Patchouli and sandalwood worked as a great B. O. mask for some of us, err, I mean them.

I’m tempted to buy some of these products because yes, they are that attractive. And, I don’t look enough like a doofus as it is.

Enjoy.

The sun never sets on McCrabass

I’m now a full-fledged attention whore and have a Tumblr. All the cool kids have one and since I can’t seem to think for myself anymore, I had to take the leap. I don’t really know what the fuck it is either — I was just told to get one. NOW.

Take a gander at it when you have a moment please.

http://mccrabass.tumblr.com/

I’m feeling my way through it.

Suggestions and booze are always welcome.

A Saturday in June with David

David is one of my dearest friends. He’s highly intelligent, has a quick wit that’s matched by no one, and is kind and caring. I met him in Los Angeles right after a horrible break-up and we became fast friends.

We’ve known each other for almost 20 years.

Since I’ve been back in LA, we’ve spent a great deal of time together and have fallen back into some of our old routines from when I previously inhabited this city. We’ve sipped coffee at two of the best coffee places on the planet, had a mini-Oscar viewing party and had long discussions about both of our pasts, our presents and futures. Those are the conversations I treasure the most.

Then, there are the ones that aren’t particularly earth-shattering, but are memorable.

Julia: David, we both need jobs.

David: Yes, but we’re too old to be whores.

*****

While watching “Aliens”(spoiler alert — really?) & Michael Biehn acting through his body armor and the colony dirt his bod was covered in – David: I just wanna sleep with his forearms, is that so bad?

… the part after Newt, Bishop and Ripley escape, and colony goes nuke-cu-lar.

David: They didn’t cut Newt’s hair — what is that about?

*****

Reminiscing in his mind about a White Trash 4th of July party a friend had back in the late-1990s in Hollywood, David blurted out:

“Hey Jules, remember when I crawled naked across Mitch’s apartment floor and licked his cute friend, Manhung?”

Of course I remember. How could I forget? Some memories you need to expunge from your mental rolodex, but I knew that this particular one would be useful someday. Also, who in their right mind would want to do away with such a gem? I’d gladly take some of that fancy book learnin’ I did in college that isn’t helping me right now (statistics-*ahem*), and replace it with David memories.

I was dressed like a trailer park princess (shut UP) and oh so glad those pics have been destroyed. This particular party was a low-point for David — drinking-wise. Soon after, he dried out and has been sober now for 12 years and 5 months. The party was on the roof of Mitch’s apartment building that was on the edge of Runyan Canyon, and David wandered down to the apartment to use the loo, and chill out.

Oh and lick Manhung. Yes, there’s more to this yarn. So much more. Delving into that particular memory might toss me back into therapy — circa 1997. I remember driving someone to the ER because they had stabbed themselves with a Spork or a tin can, or got a fish hook to the eye. I don’t remember the specifics.

After the naked crawl down memory lane, David decided he needs to find a hairy Chinese guy with a big dick.

Charming.

He still hasn’t found what he’s looking for.

*****

David: Julia, you know what a theremin is, don’t you?

Julia: Yes, dear, I do. What is the purpose of the question? 

David: Just curious. 

*****

We have one of those friendships where, if we don’t talk for a couple of weeks — or months — we can pick up where we left off as if only a few hours have passed since the last time we chatted. When we were roommates at the appropriately dubbed Palazzo (credit: David) on Beverly Glen, just north of Olympic in West LA, we would spend many a-weekend with our other roommate and great friend, Kim, not doing a damn thing, just keeping the couches down. We all had stressful jobs at the time — I was working in animation at the Mouse, David worked (& still does) in PR and Kim worked as a producer for home video — so we treated our apartment and each other’s company as a sanctuary of sorts. This was a time when we were still finding our way — in that fearless manner that’s de riguer of late-20s/early 30-somethings.

Oh, how the times have changed.

As I was getting ready to leave, David was just finishing up a phone call with an acquaintance. He was mumbling about how he’ll help some folks, if they’ll help themselves. I nodded along since his logic makes sense to me.
I looked up at him just as he said, “But for you, dear Julia, I’d walk on hot coals.” 

I’ve known this to be true for years, but hearing it always feels good.

Next up: Camping with David in Kings Canyon.

The Leviticus salad bar

julesagray:

I stumbled upon this post the other day and it is worth reposting.
This country is under attack by right-wing religious zealots who use their fear, hatred, and the Bible as their Constitution and as their moral guide. Guess what? They expect the rest of the country to do the same. Once again, the group under attack are homosexuals, and the zealots are using the book of Leviticus as a guide to how we as society should ‘deal’ with homosexuals. “Hey, it’s the word of God, we can’t go against Him!”
Oh really now? So, my question is, what about the rest of Leviticus? How can these hard-core, devout Christians who allegedly live and breathe by the Bible, only choose the parts of the Bible that suits their lame ‘arguments’? This is one of the finest examples of hypocrisy around.
Take a gander at this post and at the rest of the blog. I’m still exploring it but so far, it’s chock-full of interesting stuff.
The separation of Church and State is lost on some folks unless it’s the separation of Mosque and State, or Temple and State.

Enjoy.

Originally posted on The Road:

The pig is considered an unclean animal as foo...

The pig is considered an unclean animal as food in Judaism and Islam and some Christian denominations. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Thanks to The Tumblr Atheist

Here’s chapter and verse on a more-or-less comprehensive list of things banned in the Leviticus book of the bible. A decent number of them are punishable by death.

1.       Burning any yeast or honey in offerings to God (2:11)

2.       Failing to include salt in offerings to God (2:13)

3.       Eating fat (3:17)

4.       Eating blood (3:17)

5.       Failing to testify against any wrongdoing you’ve witnessed (5:1)

6.       Failing to testify against any wrongdoing you’ve been told about (5:1)

7.       Touching an unclean animal (5:2)

8.       Carelessly making an oath (5:4)

9.       Deceiving a neighbour about something trusted to them (6:2)

10.   Finding lost property and lying about it (6:3)

11.   Bringing unauthorised fire before God (10:1)

12.   Letting your hair become unkempt (10:6)

13.  …

View original 725 more words

Sliding down Crap Mountain

I worry about the future of this country.

Wait, scratch that. I worry about the future of the human race.

Why?

Read.

Courtesy of WetPaint.com

“Honey Boo Boo Child” Toddlers & Tiaras Star Gets Her Own Spin-Off

What the entire crap? I have no idea who this is because I’ve never watched this show. See, I have issues with embracing mediocrity so I don’t watch reality tee vee. Most of the folks featured on such shows are complete half-wits, and it disgusts me that they have jobs & make shitloads of shekels for being dicks on national tee vee. Meanwhile, I did all things right and am staring down 17 months of unemployment. Land of opportunity? Yeah, sure, if you’re a choad with big tits.

But, I digress.

“If a dollar makes her holler we can only imagine what Toddlers & Tiaras star Alana Thompson thinks of her new spin-off.

The breakout star of the controversial TLC show, who won her way into our hearts with her “honey boo boo child” refrain, has inked a new spin-off deal with TLC. Us Weekly reports that the show will be appropriately titledHere Comes Honey Boo Boo and will premiere with 6 half-hour episodes in August.

The show will reportedly take a look at the little girl behind the go-go juice, following around Alana and her family as they live their lives in rural Georgia. Alana’s family is no stranger to reality television, her mother was featured on Extreme Couponing before appearing on Toddlers & Tiaras.

If you are unfamiliar with Alana and her magical one-liners, please do yourself a favor and check out the video below. You will not regret it!”

Video: Must Watch: Toddlers & Tiaras’ Alana Steals Some Dollars to Make Her Holler

Alana’s new spin-off won’t be the first Toddlers & Tiaras spin-off. Tiny pageant queen Eden Wood landed her own spin-off, Eden’s World, on Logo, but the show has garnered mixed reviews and lackluster ratings. Alan’s spin-off will be the first TLC spin-off from their popular series.

All we want to know is why did it take so long for Alana to land her spin-off?”

Let me get this straight. Some dirt farmers in Georgia (of course), breed and give birth to a brat with blonde locks. So, they dress her up and pimp her out at those baby beauty pageants where she gets to strut her stuff (so wrong I wanna crap myself) and say sassy things to those around her, and watch her mom grow more chins.

Sometimes I wish I was born dumb.

This is a poor example of life imitating art. From Inquisitr.com

Vanderbilt Football Coach James Franklin: My Assistant Coaches Must Have Hot Wives

America has had enough of shitty behavior by those in charge of college football programs. While what Coach Franklin said wasn’t nearly as deplorable as what happened at Penn State, it just shows the level of the mind that is in a position of enormous influence over young men. It also shows that stupid begets stupid.

“James Franklin, the head coach of Vanderbilt University’s football team, apparently has an interesting screening process for potential assistant coach applicants. Forget a strong resume and a solid interview:  He wants to meet the wives to make sure they are attractive enough to qualify as  “Division 1″ recruits.

As reported by multiple media sources, Franklin went on a local Nashville radio station and said the following:

I’ve been saying it for a long time, I will not hire an assistant until I see his wife.  If she looks the part and she’s a D1 recruit, then you got a chance to get hired. That’s part of the deal.  There’s a very strong correlation between having the confidence, going up and talking to a women, and being quick on your feet and having some personality and confidence and being articulate and confident, than it is walking into a high school and recruiting a kid and selling him.

According to Yahoo! Sports, Franklin got his inspiration from the film MoneyBall where a baseball scout opines that “Ugly girlfriend means no confidence.”

There are so many things wrong with this sentiment. First, you’re not allowed to ask anyone in any type of job interview their marital status. It’s illegal.

When they made James Franklin stupid, they made him real stupid. He should lose his job over this “oops” but he won’t because college football rules all, sadly.

Second, the Moneyball reference. If the ‘hot girlfriends’ line was all he got from the film, then he missed the message and doesn’t deserve such a position of power. Oh, and if memory serves, Vanderbilt’s record ain’t that great so it’s probably not wise to rely on Hollywood to help you turn a 6-7 team into a winning one. If Franklin had stopped yanking his pud over his perceived awesomeness of the hot wives mantra, he might have learned that Billy Beane bypassed that recruiting philosophy because it’s horsehit. 

Finally, men like Franklin are dangerous to women. I know this type of man too well I’m afraid. Women, according to Franklin and his ilk, are only as valuable as their dress size. The smaller the size, the more they’re worth. They prove that sexism isn’t being bred out with each new generation.

Call me crazy, but the side of a highway is not a place I’d want to play with my kitty. I know, I know–SHOCKING.

But some women don’t have a problem with pearl diving as 18-wheelers go whizzing by. Especially this gal. Aaand, once again, Florida has the most people occupying Darwin’s Waiting Room (thanks Dennis Miller).

Woman Accused Of Masturbating On Florida Highway

Do you need my commentary on this one? No? Good because I’m too damn tired. Please read here for more info.

I need a drink and perhaps a sedative.