A Somber Anniversary

This week marks a frustrating and sad anniversary for me: Two years ago–January 21, 2011–was my last day at my editing gig at a trade/B2B publication here in Chicago.

First, allow me to back it up a titch and regale you about how the fun began two weeks earlier.

I arrived at work on that crappy cold-as-fuck morning, had just enough time to put my stuff down on my desk, take off my coat, and say hello to my co-workers before the Editor-in-Chief asked me to take a walk with him. I found this a bit odd since he never paid me much attention, unless it was to gripe about something, or if he needed me to order some sort of pen.

So, when we rounded the corner that separated the newsroom from sales, and into a small conference room where the resident HR drone was waiting, my stomach flip-flopped. My mouth went dry and my chest felt like it was going to resemble Kane’s in “Alien”–but with my heart bursting out & smacking both the EIC and HR right in their mugs instead of a parasite that would eventually kill the entire fucking masthead. A wry smile crossed my lips for a brief second at that thought, but it quickly vanished when I heard the following:

“Um, yeah. Julia. We’re going to lay you off–it’s nothing personal of course–we’re just eliminating your position so we can add more to the sales team.”

What happened next few minutes was a blur. I do, however, remember giving the EIC a look that would kill a planet, tightening my jaw until it ached and feeling the tears starting to build up. Sadly, the death glare didn’t land because he wouldn’t look me in the face, but he did manage to set the land speed record for waddling out of the conference room so he could alert my colleagues of my fate.

You know, to save face and look like a fucking hero.

“Gosh, we really like Julia, but tight budgets are preventing us from keeping her on. So, I know she’s looking for work, so please help her out if you can.”

My immediate boss was absent that day so when she got my tearful phonecall an hour later, needless to say, she was furious. The next couple of weeks were a blur of phonecalls to friends slash possible employers, resume prep, buckets of tears, lashing out at everyone, allowing my shocked soon-to-be-former co-workers take me out for lunches and post-work drinks, and trying my damndest to not kick both the EIC and ME in the balls. It took alll of my god-given strength to NOT throw my ass in the shitastic Chicago River when I learned that an intern would be doing my job.

Not personal, eh? Go fuck yourself.

The last couple of years hurled all sorts of puke/jiz-filled crappy crap at me. I don’t know which moments were the most fucked-in-the-head: Was it the the snow storm that hit the area about a week after I was canned? Or was it the pubic-hair freezing cold that pounded Chicago in the ass afterwards? Or, was it going out to LA to look for work and have many jobs dangled in front of me only to have them taken away just as I was making arrangements to move my life west? Maybe it was three interviews I had with a certain Chicago media outlet that always hired someone too young and inexperienced over me, only to have that person leave a few months later because the work was “too hard.” This happened three times.

It coulda been the publisher in Florida who flat-out asked me my age during a phone interview, and when I gently reminded him that what he was asking me was, gosh, ILLEGAL, he proclaimed he didn’t care. I ended the interview soon after.

Perhaps it was the approximately 500 carefully crafted resumes with the appropriate key words and phrases I sent out that were probably mocked, laughed at and tossed in digital circular files–I have no idea which one of these events have helped push me down Crap Mountain the fastest, but I do know this much–

THE LAST TWO YEARS HAVE BEEN A MAJOR PIG FUCK.

Somedays, I can’t move. I don’t leave the apartment. I read my New York Times, the New Yorker, maybe watch my stories on the tee vee, watch porn on the computer–anything to distract me from the fact that I am a miserable failure. While I am well aware that there are many in my situation–and in worse situations–I can’t worry about them. Does that make me cold & heartless? Naah, it makes me realistic because I highly doubt they give a red rat’s ass about me.

Other days, I work on my book that no one will ever read, do Bikram yoga and consider cooking meth in my kitchen. I help other friends find work, read reports and a thesis or two for a pittance. I cheer when my friends find work, and am sad for them when they lose their jobs. My happiness for their successes is genuine, but so is my anger and resentment. It’s difficult to be around friends who are successful and have jobs, so I don’t go out much. Plus, this city is expensive.

I’m thankful for my health (knock on wood), and the facts that I’m well-educated, and don’t have a mortgage or kids to worry about. I don’t want to think about where I’d be if either of those were a factor.

I felt some cold-comfort upon learning that both the EIC and ME were canned under new management. Since it’s not my style to revel in someone else’s misfortunes, my happiness immediately turned to concern because they both have families and mortgages. But then again, they’ll probably find work before I do, so fuck ‘em.

So, what am I to do? Keep getting out of bed every day. Keep on with the writing because my book is turning out to be a gem.

And most of all, not listen to those folks who tell me I can’t succeed. One of ‘those folks’ happens to be me, but that voice is getting fainter and fainter with each passing moment.

I think Madonna said it best below.

Suckwad McSuckersons

The gal with the mostest moxy on WordPress, Madame Weebles, had a great post earlier this week. So, whilst I was getting my sweat on during Bikram, I decided to answer the call of this siren and play along.

I blow donk at the following:

Not holding my tongue (shut up, pervs). Now, a little history about yours truly here. I’m a WASP (doormat) and with that pedigree comes learning how to make good conversatin’ at a wee age, a wicked sense of humor, a good edumacation and the ability to hold a lot of liquor and still be a McCrabass.

In other words, I’m a youngish Ouiser Boudreaux.

I wish.

However, when I was younger, the rule was to not talk about yourself (doing so was considered selfish), be polite and not ruffle any feathers (once again=doormat) regardless of what was being uttered to ruffle said feathers. Same goes for the utterer….right. Be polite to that person, then rip them to shreds when you’re with the fam. As I’ve aged, I’ve switched those two rules. Simply put, I don’t suffer fools lightly–and it shows. Now, I don’t immediately jump down someone’s gullet when they start spewing stupid, but I do when what has been said is either a right-out falsehood or an insult to me or mine. When I do say something, it’s usually quick and sharp, and has been known to harbor a certain amount of acidity that was part of my kind and genteel demeanor a few years ago. This is where I get into trouble–and lots of it. But changing my ways would be bad to my mental health so I’ve learned how to take what I dish out at a relatively early age.

My laziness when it comes to taking care of myself. I’m a lazy ass–I just am. I eat well, but if no food is in sight, I won’t eat. I’ll just think about food and hope that it’ll magically appear. On the plus side, I do Bikram yoga, go for long walks and drink copious amounts of water — and that’s about it aside from the occasional box of wine and trough of chocolate.

I can’t play basketball — at all. I’m turrible, turrible at it. What’s real odd is I believe that I should be good at it–why? I grew up playing tennis, riding to the hounds and plunging off of 3 meter springboards at break-neck speeds–where does basketball fit in?

Tally ho!

I don’t even like basketball all that much–same goes for baseball–come to think of it. The sight of me attempting to play can cause blindness so I don’t even try anymore because I do care about my fellow citizens that much.

Even Stanley is better than I am.

Being employed. I’ve been job-free for almost 2 years now and have no idea as to why I’m still not working, and find it odd that I’m persona non grata in the Chicago media world. I don’t want to talk about it though.

Overthinking. Being too cerebral. Too much in my head. This horrid habit tends to paralyze me at times. Instead of just “going for it”, I sit back and think of every possible thing that could go wrong AND right! Then, by the time I decide to go for it, the moment is gone and then there I am–holding my limp dick, or a limp dick. Depends on the situation I guess.

This next one may come as a shock, but I’m not all sweetness & light. I’m a born cynic. I see pictures of fluffy kittehs, puppehs and other woodland creatures, and do they warm the deep, dark parts of my soul? Nah. In fact, they fill me with dread because I know those critters are being pimped out for their cuteness but will soon be put back in some horrid basement or animal shelter somewheres because folks are too fucking stoopid/macho to get their animals fixed. Those animals never had a shot, see, and that sucks.

Pretending to like popular music–both new and old. I can’t stand 90 percent of the music that’s out today. It’s just pure horror produced by no talent shitstains who got lucky–or had someone killed so they could succeed. Same goes for old(er) stuff like Paul McCartney & Wings, Elvis Presley, Edie Brickell, U2, Tracy Chapman, John Mayer, DMB — I could go on and on, but I don’t want this bad juju on my blog. Plus, I wanna see the comments flow in about my audacity of not liking someone’s precious U2 or DMB.

So, to the 3 readers of this blog, what do you absolutely suck at?

Lookie here

The McCrabass blog is a distraction for me–it’s fluff, it’s fun–aka it’s mental masturbation.

I consider my blogging as a sort of “Artist’s Way” minus the touchy-feely-I-was-once-married-to-Marty-Scorsese-but-he-dumped-me-so-now-I-write-how-to-books-for-wannabe-artists-aka-bored-housewives –but with box wine, chocolate and Bikram yoga. Oh and dark purple highlights and buttloads of salty language.

Simply put, I’m a writer who blogs for fun. I’m not into that brand-building bullshit. (Side note: what the fuck is branding anyway? Why are we supposed to brand ourselves to each other? What the fuck does it have to do with the price of eggs? It doesn’t help people get meaningful work, believeyoume. It’s basically a bullshit term made up by marketers. You’re only a brand if you’ve been heated up on the range where the deer and the antelope play, and used to tap some livestock ass.)

When I’m not thinking up and composing posts, I’m writing my book and looking for a gig. That type of writing is my true calling, along with journalism which I happen to do quite well when given the opportunity.

The following list is made up of folks who are great writers and use their blogs to display their dog-given talent. Some days they write more than on others by using words and images–or just words or just images–kinda like yours truly here. I’ve been reading these folks for a long time now and I suggest you check ‘em out. They write to write, not for the nebulous glory of Internet awards but because they love writing. Oh, and they all have something to say which is the mostest important aspect.

I’m not going to write up brief descriptions of their work because you need to do your own heavy lifting. You won’t regret it either.

In no particular order, if you may …

Reinventing the Event Horizon

Squathole

Lame Adventures

The Learned Fan Girl

Marguerite Darlington

The Musings of a Storyteller

Lloydville

Jonathan Turley

Rufino Cabang

CREW

UnfetteredBS

Robert Loerzel

Adventures By Kim

Violet Blue (NSFW)

Love Letters Are Dying

Herlander-Walking

Learn ‘em, know ‘em, love ‘em.

Magnificent Obsessions

When I’m not focusing on my main obsession — finding a decent job — I’m out and about checking out the sights, sounds and smells of Los Angeles. I’ve wandered all over the place in the past two months, out among the living and breathing denizens of this city and have found some new and not-so-new-but-seem-new loves.

Am I obsessed with astrology and psychics? Nope. Especially not after a well-known website which houses psychics and their wares turned me down for a writing/editing job. I know, how odd of me to not be into this since California IS the place for such obsessions. The last thing I need is to have someone tell me what my future is based on a reading a synapse misfiring in their brain gave them. I have a hard enough time dealing with my own little reality to get bogged down in cosmic farces.

Rot.

The hunt for the perfect t-shirt. Actually, this obsession has been a life-long one. I’ve tried them all and my fave has to be a James Perse one I found at a deep-discount place in Chicago. It was similar to this one, but sans the writing on the sleeve.

Best. T-shirts. Ever.

My perfect-t-shirt-obsessed-sister-Liza tells me that the Gap has some decent ones that are long enough at a fraction of the cost. The good thing is, the Gaps out here are great and seem to carry different stuff than their stores in other cities. Also, since James Perse is located here, I’m sure they have some sort of  warehouse sale where those of us of limited means can venture to buy their threads on the cheap. We probably have to be escorted in under a cloak of darkness though as to not to embarrass ourselves. Chalk one up for Los Angeles.

Scarves. Always scarves. My new fave is this one from the over-priced and over-hyped Lululemon. But I love it anyway.

                          

If/when I get a gig, I’m treating myself. Odd? Perhaps. But, that makes more sense to me than getting some hookers and blow and going to town. Hey, that’s just me — I don’t mean to knock your habits.

Friends, this is a horchata con espresso AKA liquid crack.

Magnificent obsession.

I get this fab beverage at the best coffee house I’ve ever been to in my entire life: Cafe de Leche on York and Ave. 50 in Eagle Rock. Words can’t quite describe how fucking yummy and good this stuff is, so I won’t even try. I don’t want to embarrass mahself OR my favorite drink by getting all schmaltzy. Sadly, I view this obsession as a treat since it’s loaded with calories AND it’s kinda expensive. It’s getting to the point that after I guzzle one of these, I need a cigarette and a nap.

 Thank you, Darrin N. for introducing me to my new, fave crack house.

One of the advantages of not having broadcast tee vee is I listen to NPR all day long. When it gets to be too much, I resort to watching screeners or listening to my own music on my ‘puter. Or, I read — a lot. One of the nice things about radio out here is it’s a bit more progressive and interesting than what we have in Chicago. There’s more alternative music here than anywhere else. One of the NPR stations here, KCRW, plays a lot of this music. Some of it is a bit much, but the atonal crap comprises about 5% of their playlists. The rest is worth listening to again and again. My latest faves? Gotye, Heartless Bastards, Los Campesinos, Shelby Lynne, Kimbra, Jessie Baylin and more. Now, before the music snobs weigh in, I’m well aware that some of these artists have been around for a while. No shit. But, this is the first time I’ve had the chance to listen to any of them. These types of tunes aren’t played that often over the Windy City airwaves.

Anyhoo, enjoy.

Gotye.

Smells.

My ‘hood smells. The whole city smells. Some good smells and some bad smell, but mostly good. The ocean, orange blossoms, night blooming jasmine, gardenia and eucalyptus — they’re especially strong post-rain and help to smother the roasting taco meat and pee-pee stench (rarely are the two experienced at the same time) that permeate my street when the breeze is juuuuuust right.

Since for the moment I’m living in a desert and not in a swamp, my skin is suffering. Big time. I’m starting to resemble Bridget Bardot circa now and thrilled about it I’m not. Short of soaking in olive oil, nothing keeps my skin from puckering up due to the arid air here. Add super-sensitive skin to the mix and I’m in a conundrum. The stuff I get from the chain drugstores doesn’t work (and I’ve tried them all) and the good stuff costs some serious coin (thank dog for samples). Pure coconut oil is messy and a pain to prep so I’m still figuring this one out. But, I do have the sunscreen issue licked. A daily shea butter bath will be the way to go should I end up here.

Beautiful people –LA’s filled with ‘em due to the movie industry and a burgeoning fashion scene. They’re fun to look at for a minute or two, but as soon as most of them open their mouths, well… there goes my erection.

 

 

 

 

Just call me Sweaty McPitstains

Today was a big, fat, farmer adventure in the Bikram world for I attended my first hot yoga class in Southern California. Also, it’s been my first yoga class in about two weeks and my body let me know how just how pissed it is at me for taking so long to get back to the studio.

In short, it was brutal, and yours truly over here is to blame. My mind was swimming when I traipsed up the stairs to the small studio in South Pasadena. I couldn’t settle my thoughts — so much crap is racing through my mind and soul right now that concentration is a fucking luxury. This is one of the many drawbacks about being so damn cerebral (I know … I know … http://www.whitewhine.com..).

It’s a nice studio — for the most part — except I’m used to a much larger space like at my home studio, Bikram Yoga Andersonville. My sizest attitude quelled once I got situated in the room. The teacher, Satchi, had a very thick Japanese accent which was tough to decipher at times, but I liked her style — she knew her stuff and got after me (and rightly so) for my fidgeting between poses. I’m a major league fidgeter —  I don’t do “still” very well. My new pal, Indira, told me today that as soon as she stopped with the fidgeting, her mind cleared and her practice improved exponentially. Oh how I hope that works for me too. I think it will once I learn to leave the bullshit cerebral crap at the front door but in my defense, turning off my brain ain’t one of my strengths.

I held my own for the most part, but I still can’t do Standing Head to Knee because my core is weak.

Time to crank out planks a couple times a day and stop eating, you know, food, and I’ll have the posture under my control by the end of February.

My choice of wardrobe didn’t help my mood either — my lovely threads made me look like a pitted-out Newt Gingrich in an auburn wig <shudder>. So, it’s off to Target to purchase some yoga clothes that don’t make me look like a blowhard twink from Georgia.

You know, more like a McCrabass.

 

 

I don’t know why sometimes I get frightened ….

For those of you who are into music from the days of yore, why yes, I am quoting a Split Enz song. Can’t help it — it’s one of my fave songs from back in the day, and I’ve heard it on the radio at least 5 times since arriving in LA. However, there is a reason why I’m referencing this tune and it has to do with where my life is at this very moment. Even though the song is about obsessive love, most of the lyrics are quite pertinent to my situation.

Let’s have a look, shall we?

“I got you – that’s all I want
I won’t forget – that’s a whole lot
I don’t go out – now that you’re in
Sometimes we shout – but that’s no problem”

I shout all right, but not at anyone in particular. Well, maybe me. Whilst looking at myself in the bathroom mirror.

“I don’t know why sometimes I get frightened
You can see my eyes, you can tell that I’m not lyin’

Look at you – you’re a pageant
You’re everything – that I’ve imagined
Something’s wrong – I feel uneasy
You show me – tell me you’re not teasin’ “

The “I don’t know why sometimes I get frightened …” That’s a no-brainer, if you ask me. Here I am, at a major crossroads in my life with a murky future ahead of me. It could go either way. What I’m doing out here could be a complete disaster of Michael Dukakis presidential campaign proportions. Or I could succeed beyond my wildest expectations. I doubt either will happen — it’ll likely be something in between.

The first two lines of the second verse are heaven. I wonder what it’s like to be told “You’re everything that I’ve imagined.” Simply put, hearing those words by someone I adore would take my breath away. Total sweetness.

Enough with the romantic crap and back to the issue at hand.

Something’s wrong — no shit — but I’ve covered this already. It’s being remedied I hope and it’s just gonna take some time. I’m tattooing that on my forehead in the morning.

Until then, enjoy the video.

*****************************

Favorite Things 2011 — The McCrabass Version

2011 has been a heartbreaking year for me and other folks too.

Horribly so.

However, there were a few highlights that made me stop in my tracks more than once. Some made me raise my eyebrows, laugh and some caused my eyes to roll so much my eyes ached for a day or so. It was a memorable year in many ways — it forced me to grow up some, cry a great deal, laugh a lot and swear alllll the damn time.

On a the public side, 2011 brought to the forefront a real messed up election process that is spotlighting some of the most ignorant and dangerous candidates ever to star in the presidential election theater. It’s going to get worse before it gets better folks, but it makes for great article and blog fodder — not to mention all of the great comedy this upcoming election year will produce. Personally, I can’t wait even though I am dreading the headaches I’ll get from banging my head on the wall in frustration each time Newt Gingrich et al says something asinine — which will be always. I’m gonna need a lot of Aleve in 2012.

2011 also showed the world what a motivated, angry populace can do. What happened in Egypt, Libya, Syria and Tunisia (granted, the Tunisian uprising began in December 2010) stoked the fires of people everywhere. People are fed up with being shat upon and 2011 was the year they just weren’t gonna take it anymore. The Occupy Movement that’s happening in this country and elsewhere is inspiring and sad. Sad because people shouldn’t have to hold protests for basic human rights like food, clothing, education, healthcare and shelter. The arrogance of those in charge is appalling — especially in the U.S.

This country is not about shitting on those less fortunate while celebrating your success. Especially since laws here helped those folks achieve all they have.

As George Costanza so eloquently said, “We’re living in a SOCIETY!” Who knew that the fictional short, stocky bald man’s words uttered in the mid-90s would be so prescient.

So, my favorite things. It’s an homage of sorts to Oprah (remember her?), but no one is getting any donated gifts from sponsors here. Hopefully, you’ll laugh a bit, nod your head in agreement and keep coming back for more McCrabass in 2012.

These favorite things are in no particular order.

1) The GOP Presidential candidates. These folks help to keep me engaged, they make me want to educate myself further and help to deepen my liberal beliefs.

There is so much material here that I don’t know where to begin, so I’ll just say this: Anyone who thinks any of these candidates could run this country need to have their head examined. ‘Nuff said.

I’m sure I’ll be repeating myself in a few days. You’ll see.

2) Louis C.K. Now, I know Louis has been around for a long time, but in 2011, he found his voice. His tee vee show “Louie” is great stuff — it’s funny, heart warming and original. He doesn’t steal material like the insufferable and extremely unfunny Dane Cook. Louis reminds me of the brilliant George Carlin, and I think he’s going to get better and better with age.

Take a gander … Both clips are from a couple of years ago, but you get the idea.

And here …

3) Bikram yoga. It’s safe to say that I wouldn’t have made it through 2011 without Bikram yoga. Say what you want about Bikram Choudhury and his brand of yoga, but it works for me and countless others. To me, it’s not the same routine in every class because I’m not the same person in every class.

Bikram-Choudhury

Bikram haters — rest your sphincters. This isn’t your time to comment about how Bikram yoga isn’t yoga or that your brand of yoga is “better,” or to debate me. This is the time to shuttie yer yap yap and appreciate and respect the fact that your friend is alive today because of this yoga. Even if I’m not your friend, zip it.

4) Moroccan Oil. Again, this product has been around for some time, but 2011 is the year that McCrabass discovered it. My god this stuff is fucking awesome and it has made my lovely locks even lovelier. It’s liquid crack for the hair. Try it — you’ll be hooked.

5) Never having heard a Justin Bieber song.  I consider myself truly blessed.

6) Thundersnow. I’ve written about this before, but here’s the video of Jim Cantore freaking out again. It’s worth watching over and over and over.

7) Madison, Wisconsin. I have never been prouder of the city that houses my alma mater. But, I am miffed at Wisconsinians for electing such a heartless douchebag in the first place. Y’all were sold a bill of goods and you shoulda done your homework. Nevertheless, the coolest capital in the country made me proud once again, and it’s the only city north of Chicago I’d ever consider living in.

My heart belongs to Madison.

8) “Game of Thrones” series on HBO. I’m not a huge fan of fantasy tee vee shows, books or movies but GOT grabbed me from frame one. Not only did have a stellar cast, but the story lines were actually interesting. Plus, from a film making standpoint, it was technically brilliant. Can’t wait for season two which airs in spring 2012.

Two words: Peter Dinklage.

Three words: Jason Momoa = DAMN.

9) Writing. Finally, something I’m decent at. Let’s hope I can make some money off of it in the coming years.

10) Social Media. Say what you want about social media, but it’s here to stay. I love it. Twitter is like writing your own personal headline in 140 characters or less. Social media kept up with the protests in the Middle East and informs followers as to what else is happening in the world. It’s a wonderful tool with so much potential that shouldn’t be shunned, but embraced by everyone — no matter what your age is.

The beauty of it is, you can make it what you want. You can be as open or as private as you want. However, if you’re all about privacy, don’t bitch on Facebook about how you want folks to remove your info from their newsfeeds because you feel like your privacy is being invaded.

Give me a break.

If you’re that concerned about privacy, get the fuck off of Facebook and buy good stationary,  a decent pen and start writing letters. Until you decide to do just that, shut the hell up about how you feel your privacy is being violated on Facebook because someone isn’t hiding your comments from their newsfeed. Leave Facebook to those who can handle it and who realize that there’s really no such thing as pure privacy anymore. Newsflash: There never was such a thing.

Also, no one gives a shit about your comments. Seriously. They’re too concerned with their own lives and with trying to guilt their Facebook friends into writing inane status updates “proving” that they hate cancer, pedophiles, pollution and Republicans.

Me? Well, I use social media mostly for fun. I find it to be a wonderful tool for story ideas, keeping in touch with family and both old and new friends, and for wasting time.

It’s the coffee klatch for the new world.

Finally …

11) President Barack Obama.

Coming soon: My Least Favorite Things of 2011.

The beauty of unemployment

Believe it or not, being unemployed has many advantages–at least that’s what I keep telling myself so I won’t throw myself off the end of Navy Pier whilst wearing ceeee-ment shoes. There are many things I don’t have to worry about doing on a daily, or even weekly, basis and I’m finding great comfort and joy in that revelation.

1) No daily shower. Unless I do Bikram of course. However, I don’t shower right away because I like to wander around in small, enclosed public spaces with horrible ventilation & opium den-esque lighting to let the common folk bathe in my aura and aroma. Since I’m quite the social butterfly and can extract an actual conversation from the meanest of souls, I make sure my breath is extra-stanky and my skin extra-ruddy. This is their punishment for any previous nefarious acts. Hey, that ‘thing you smell’ is what they get for being bullies, or Teabaggers or whatever.

2) No makeup. One of the great things about being blessed with decent skin is I don’t need to wear a pound of makeup when I leave the house. At this age, about 1/2 pound is sufficient since I don’t garner all that much attention from my fellow humans on any given day. If anyone does pay attention to me, it’s because the drag queen scared them, and they need to see what meh looks like in order to get on with their lives. I happen to like somewhat expensive makeup because I believe you get what you pay for. The cheap stuff just slides off my visage and isn’t worth it in the long run. The downside to applying makeup after a long hiatus is I have to re-learn how to put makeup on. Sometimes I look at my eyelash curler and am reminded of the time a roommate in college used one as a roach clip. This memory causes me to giggle, of course. But then I have to try to remember how to use the eyelash curler PROPERLY. That, my friends, takes some serious thought.

3) Braless–All day, everyday. Or until it really starts to hurt, or until my boobs are brushing against my knees whilst standing up straight. Kudos to Ms. Jenni Spinner for reminding me about the wonderful world of going sans bra. It truly is a magical experience until it’s time for my daily break dancing practice, then I gotta bundle the gals up.

4) Schedule-free zone. This is both good and bad. If I don’t have some sort of plan for the day, I’ll just sit on my ass and futz around on the computer and watch “Teen Mom”, or my new fave “Monster In-Laws.” Or, I watch amateur Bulgarian porn but even that gets frustrating after some time because the poor production value drives me NUTS. I mean, c’mon! It’s so cheap to make movies these days, you’d think these porn auteurs would put some actual thought into lighting, camera angles, editing and sound, but NOOO. They can’t be bothered. Why can’t anything good ever come out of any of the former-Eastern Bloc countries? It’s been–what–about 12 years since the fall of the Iron Curtain, correct? One would think that would be enough time for the denizens of those countries to take a tour of the rest of Europe in their Yugos and realize just how easy it is to make porn. Maybe they’re too busy mourning the death of Yakov Smirnoff’s career.

Wait…where was I? Right–not having to adhere to any type of schedule. The only thing I have to do each day is go to Bikram. It may not be much, but it gets me out of the house AND gets me my daily dosage of Vitamin K.

5) No wardrobe malfunction. When McCrabass ain’t gracing some newsroom with her presence, she’s dressed from head to toe in sweats–usually something from Target and my alma mater. The bigger and more unflattering the better. And big socks if it’s cold out. And some sort of beanie on my head–usually the one I bought at the Sundance Film Fest a few years ago. Who am I trying to impress? The missing link who lives across the street? My motto is, if it’s relatively clean and BO/peanut butter smell is faint, it’s my uniform for the day. It saves on wear and tear, and money on dry cleaning. Plus, I don’t need to buy new threads for work.

6) Agoraphobic by choice. As I’ve aged, I’ve come to the conclusion that the less interaction I have with the citizenry of this fine city, the better for both of us. Plus, this is a rotten time of year to be unemployed with all of the holiday crap being shoved down our throats by way of cheery window displays, garlands/sparkly stuff hanging from lamp posts, red and green crap everywhere and insipid holiday music. I don’t need the constant reminder of how I can’t afford gifts for family and friends because I don’t have a job, money or prospects. I’m succeeding beautifully at that task all by my lonesome, thankyouverymuch. It’s just best that I remain inside my apartment, keeping the couch down and watching movies on my eyelids.

The Versatile Blogger Award

I would like to thank whomever thought of this award, and for giving a kid from a West suburban, upper-middle class background a chance! I don’t know where I’d be without a stable family, a good education and the opportunities awarded to someone of my class.

Today, I sit at my MacBook Pro before my two cats, a messy apartment, “The Town” showing on HBO for the gazillionth time, a winner of the Versatile Blogger Award. Who is responsible for bestowing this honor upon McCrabass? Why it’s none other than the fabulous Sandra who writes the faboo blog, She Can’t Be Serious.  This also means that someone chose my blog as one of their 15 featured blogs. My mission, along with walking the Earth and ridding it all things bad with my Ouiser Boudreaux wisdom, is to pay it forward by honoring 15 blogs I find to be apex of awesome.

During my tenure as an award recipient, I must agree to the following conditions:

1) Thank the person who gave me this award and link them back to their post.

2) Share 7 things about myself.

3) Pass this award along to 15 recently discovered blogs and let them know about it!

First, about McCrabass..

1) I worked in Hollywood for a long time in post-production. I actually worked in the field I got my degree it–a first for many and very rare in this day and age. I left because I got tired of being treated like crap by a handful of people who had all the power–undeserved power. Being yelled at by someone because their Starbuck’s wasn’t foamy enough is a big bowl of wrong. I don’t care how many men you blew to get your job.

2) I’ve had the chicken pox twice, and have been bitten by a Black Widow Spider once.

3) When I say no, I mean it.

4) Contrary to what the public seems to think, I don’t think clipped cat hair would make a good sweater.

5) I could watch “Godfather Pts I & II” over and over again. Same with “Just Wright.” Somewhere between those three choices is sanity.

6) The most unusual job I ever had was editing porn.

7) If you tell my parents about #6, I’ll have to hunt you down and cover you in cock rings.

Now, for the blogs I dig and are now also worthy recipients of the Versatile Blogger Award. Some are funny, some more serious, but they’re all worth a look. Please check them out–I know you’ll find something within them you enjoy. If not, you’re dead inside.

Geneva Daily Photo

Squathole 

If Weather Was a Dick, It’d be …

Candy Coated Rose Petals

Office Crap

Tortoise off On a Wild Hare!

Robert Loerzel 

Samalamadingdong

Poorly Dressed People 

Lame Adventures

Sally Duros

Throw Grammar From the Train

What’s With *Today* Today

Bindy Fry’s Itty Bitty Brain Basket

MarkCz

I’ll probably add more over the next few days. Until then, please read them. Hell, even subscribe to them. They’re worth it. Trust me!

La la la la la la live for today

On this somber day, I could go on and on about the 10th anniversary of the attacks on NYC and DC, and the hijacking of Flt. 93, but who really cares what I think? These attacks have cloaked our country and national psyche in darkness for 10 years and for well into the future. ‘Tis a different world, a different life–gotta get used to it & stop waxing rhapsodic about a life that once was since that kind of thinking just conjures up feelings of angst, bitterness and sadness.

Today, I give you a distraction. I bet this young lassie practices Bikram.

I don’t know how she does it either.

Live for today, folks. That’s what I’m doing.