Percheron Pate anyone?

Recently, Congress quietly lifted the 5-year ban on the funding of horse meat inspections, which means horse butchering could start up again in the states in the next month. While I find this completely reprehensible since I adore horses, I’m not surprised. The economy is in the shitter, and Congress is doing piddly-shit crap like this as a lame attempt to jump-start it without having to raise taxes on the disgustingly wealthy. What’s weird is the USDA doesn’t have the budget to do these inspections at the moment, but I’m sure they’ll figure something out eventually.

My feelings about this are contradictory: I find it appalling because of my personal history with horses, and I see the comic material as well. This got me thinking about the names of possible equine dishes at some of the fine and not-so-fine dining establishments in this country. Thanks to Laura Bong, Paul Sloth, Jeff Myers, Ajit Samudra and Jill Weiss for their contributions.

Here we go (with apologies to Lucky Lady, Buttsy, Filly, Thunder, Sesame Street, Desiree, Lady Bug, Charlie and all of the horses I have come in contact with in my lifetime.)

Coming soon to a menu near you!

Shetland Pony Pie

Connemara Cutlets with a lovely Belgian Bechamel sauce

Gelding Goulash with Paso Fino Paprika

Palomino Pancakes with Secretariat syrup

House-made Hoof Hash

Clydesdale Clambake

Man O’ War-wich

Trigger Tri-Tip

Mustang Masala

Lippizan Lasagna

Chincoteague Pony Cheesecake with a Goldolphin Ganache

Selle Francais Chopped Salad

Shire Sherbert

Alydar a la Mode

Welsh Pony Rarebit

Risotto del Ruffian

Burro Burritos

Zuppa del Zenyatta

and finally, Seabiscuit.

It’s safe to assume that I’ll be in horse hell where I’ll be stomped, bitten and shat on for eternity.

You can go home again

So I waddled back to Bikram today after about a month-long hiatus. In my defense though, most of the month I was causing trouble in Los Angeles, and the rest of the time I was too damn lazy to remove my carcass from the couch to get all sweaty and Namaste-y. Piss on that notion, monkehs, was my response to inquiries about my once-vibrant-now-non-existent Bikram practice.

However, I couldn’t delay the inevitable any longer — I had to get back because I really dig Bikram, and it has helped my constitution considerably. Plus, I’m still unemployed and if I sit around the house too much, I’ll end up painting every square inch of this dump none more black, and toy with the idea of becoming a mime. Then there was the incident yesterday when I got winded using my remote. Not. Good.

Yeah, that’s a sign that it’s time to do something.

After I donned my yoga pants, bullet bra, huge t-shirt, coat and Uggs, I started up the POS rice burner of an automobile, and headed to Bikram Yoga Andersonville where I was greeted warmly by both the owner Jessica Rask, and the teacher, Liz. I have never been happier to see two people in my life — it was as if someone had thrown me the coolest life preserver ever.

It was as if I had never left.

That’s the kind of feeling one should have when doing yoga, or exercise or stripping. Simply put, it’s the feeling you should experience when you’re meant to do something. See how touchy-feely, granola-y and Prius-y I just got there? Yep, that thought kinda gave me an erection too. Just go with it folks, it’s okay.

After exchanging snark-filled pleasantries with the fabulous Stephanie Sack in the locker room (no, there weren’t any towels snapped at bare, tattooed asses, pervs), it was gut-check time. The first few poses progressed well and with little pain. I’m even making huge progress on Standing Head to Knee pose.

Not McCrabass, but close.

My back strength is still intact, as is my balance. My flexibility has regressed a bit, but give me a few days — I’ll be all bendy soon. Could it be true? Could all of this mumbo-jumbo chin music about how yoga is good for you actually be true?? I’d say that’s a big, fat, farmer YES. What surprises me is the fact I trusted something I  went into blindly. Sure, I did my Bikram research, but you really don’t know how your body is going to react to something as intense as this kind of yoga. Sure, you can read all you want, listen to testimonials of your fellow students, but the only way to really be certain is to get off your keester and find out for yourself.

So glad I did just that.

Post-holiday news bloat

There are definitely advantages to living in a semi-booming metropolis. One of those advantages is news stories such as this one.

From the Chicago Tribune:

Crossdressing muggers charged in Lincoln Park assaults

There’s nothing wrong with your reading skills, you read that correctly: Dudes who look like ladies are swiping the personal belongings off of unsuspecting folks as they stroll through one of the hoitier ‘hoods of Chicago.

Read on…

“Two men dressed as women were charged with mugging a teenage girl Friday as she walked near Lincoln Park Zoo, only minutes after they allegedly assaulted another pedestrian and tried to take his wallet, prosecutors said.

Brandon Arnold, 24, of the 6800 block of South Aberdeen Street, and roommate Michael Burns, 21, appeared in Cook County Central Bond Court charged with robbery and attempted armed robbery, both sporting long, styled hair and gray leggings. Their bond was set at $100,000 each.”

My, what handsome ladies.

Gray leggings? I do hope they were wearing long enough tops to cover their man bits because the only place I want to see a dude wearing leggings is if he’s channelling his inner-Balanchine by mincing and prancing about on stage with the Joffrey Ballet. If that’s not the scenario, then it’s time learn about, love and wear a codpiece. Or, better yet, be a man and go get your pud snipped off by a professional.

Continue, please.

“Court records say the pair approached a 16-year-old girl as she walked past an alley in the 2300 block of North Lincoln Park West around 2:24 p.m.

Arnold asked the girl for directions, then raised a can of pepper spray and said, “Give me your camera or I’ll mace you.” The girl gave up her camera, then Arnold allegedly demanded the girl’s iPhone and ran off with Brandon down Fullerton Avenue.

Five minutes earlier, prosecutors said Arnold and Burns had attacked a man about half a mile away in the 2600 block of North Cannon Drive.”

I know this area well since I used to live a bit north of the crime scenes. Crossdressers are not an unusual sight at all.

“Five minutes earlier, prosecutors said Arnold and Burns had attacked a man about half a mile away in the 2600 block of North Cannon Drive.

The victim said one of the men grabbed him from behind and tried to take his wallet, but the man was able to wrestle free.”

Maybe he busted one of the alleged mugger’s sculpted nails.

” ‘When I turned around, one was holding the can of mace, but it must have jammed or it didn’t work,” the victim said.

 The man took off running with Arnold and Burns giving chase. The two alleged muggers gave up as the victim outran them. When he had enough distance from this attackers, the man called police on his cell phone.

The teenage victim was following her attackers down Fullerton when a squad car responding to the first victim’s call arrived. Burns and Arnold dropped the phone and camera in some bushes, then dropped the can of pepper spray, court records said.

“It wasn’t funny at all,” the male victim said Saturday. “These guys attacked two people, minutes apart, in broad daylight in the park.’ “

Okayokayokay — it isn’t funny — a teenager got mugged. Well the truth is,  it is kinda funny. I did laugh and so did you. I mean, really, crossdressing muggers are the new black in my book. I give them huge credit for wearing leggings in public and for daring to wear titty-pink lipstick north of the Mason-Dixon. But, mugging during the day in a popular area? Fucking dumbasses.

I must admit, however, I do like the hairdo of the one on the bottom.

The tour continues below.

It’s safe to say that McCrabass is a huge, news junkie. I read everything. I have a voracious appetite for information — especially the weird. Below, we have the apex of strange.

Courtesy of the Guardian.

Reborns: dolls so lifelike you could mistake them for real infants

Sidenote: Dolls in general really make me uneasy. They’re up there with mimes, clowns and contortionists. Mimes because the whole ‘trapped in a box’ bit makes me want to pick the boxed-mime up and toss him over a bridge into the icy water below, then watch him mime for help. Clowns equal evil — ’nuff said. As for contortionists, I need a little bit more space between the sun and the moon if you catch my drift.

Now, reborns? They’re dolls that look and sorta feel like real babies. However, some people treat them like real babies by dressing them up in real baby clothes, cooing at them with real cooing sounds and trot them out in public as if they were real babies.

According to photographer Rebecca Martinez, these dolls have a real place in real society.

Read. (I edited it a bit because after reading this, it’s obvious the Guardian doesn’t employ editors.)

” ‘If I go out and I hold this doll in any way other than you would a real baby, people get mad. I cannot just hold it casually, like by one arm or whatever, because people will go, ‘It’s not right, you can’t do that.’ They go crazy. Even though the rational self knows it’s a doll.’ “

Before I continue, I must disclose that McCrabass does not have children. I like kids, but I never felt the need to breed. Not selfish, not physically incapable, I just never wanted kids. Kids are great, but not great enough for McCrabass. Plus, I would be the worst mom — I could never curb my salty language and fart jokes. Plus, I’d let them eat anything they wanted, so it’s for the betterment of society that McCrabass only has cats.

I get the idea of using one of these reborns to temporarily help a parent get over the loss of a child, or as a teaching tool. But, to cart the fake wee bairn around as if it’s a real live breathing, eating, screaming and crapping baby is a titch too much even for open-minded me.

Continue …

“Martinez is full of stories about the way people react to a Reborn doll – the people who get freaked out and won’t touch them, the people who seem to feel neutral towards them and yet start rocking them as if they were real, the men who play pranks with them. But before we consider the reactions of bystanders, the experiences of people who make and buy them are fascinating.

Claire Hughes and Min Li, two UK-based Reborn creators, are very upbeat and straightforward that this is an act of craft, with a burgeoning and busy market. Hughes remarks on the power of the dolls, but the vignettes she describes seem to underscore the fact that it’s illusory: “My mum works in a care home with old people. If I take one of the dolls in, they love it. They think it’s real, it calms them right down. The manager can’t even look at them.” She likens it to eccentric male hobbies – playing with train sets, or sitting for three hours by a riverbank, waiting to catch a fish.”

Playing with TOY trains is considered an eccentric male hobby? I’m gonna need a judge’s ruling on that claim.

“Martinez has observed the reactions these dolls get in many different scenarios, with friends and strangers, in different countries and cultures. “People say they want to hold the baby, then they get surprised, because the baby is made to feel as real as possible. Often, they’ll start rocking the baby and cooing at it. And they’ll realise what they’re doing and they’ll get embarrassed. They know on one level it’s not real, and sometimes they’re ashamed that they feel like that, that they’ve been fooled. It’s something very deep and biological in people, something instinctive we have, that they’re automatically comforting their baby. Some people are just delighted; they’ll kiss the baby and not want to give it back. One time I had a man and he grabbed it and his body just tensed up, and he threw it on the ground. And I was upset, I said, ‘Hey, that’s a very expensive item, how dare you do that?’ And he was so into what he was doing, he was so stiff, he wouldn’t move for several minutes. He was trembling.”

Cooing at a doll? Seriously? Not wanting to give it back? Kissing it? Are these people fuckin’ half-wits or what?

“Duh… tell me about the rabbits, George.”

Perhaps most of these folks are hoping these dolls will grow up to be one of these.

No wonder this world is in the shitter.

However, PSAs such as this one give me hope that society is sliding down Crap Mountain at a glacial pace rather than at high speed:

Tongue tired

A few days ago, I was on the phone with a friend discussing job stuff. As always in conversations with me, the topic shifted from the sublime to the ridiculous.

Then, it segued into Douche-speak when he said, “Well, you know Julia, I’ve always been a cunning linguist, heh heh.”

I put my hand to my forehead and gave it a deep rub, then let out a big, and very audible, sigh.

“What?” I said, exasperated.

“You know, a “cunning linguist”, get it? GET IT? Heh heh! I just made that up too!” He was very proud of himself. I swore I heard him patting himself on the back.

“No, no you didn’t make that up.” I said. Now I was getting irritated.

“Yeah, I did. I really did,” he countered.

“No, you didn’t, you really didn’t,” I shot back.

“Did too,” He said.

“Did not,” I yelled into the phone, waking Linus. “Trust me, you did NOT make “cunning linguist’ up. I’ve heard it over and over and over through the years, and each time I do, the person saying it acts like they made it up.”

“Oh,” he said. He sounded so defeated. Tough shit, I thought. This is one of those life-lessons we all need to learn. You know, the types of life lessons that made Oprah rich just by suggesting we need to learn them.

After this particular back-and-forth, I’ve decided to put a stop to the “cunning linguist” nonsense by re-classifying it as unoriginal and banning it from all things McCrabass. However, you do get a pass the first time you say it around me, but the next time is verboten.

It doesn’t matter where this phrase came from. I know what it means — it’s a play on cunnilingus. Yes, it is clever and witty — the first time it’s uttered. But, uttering it more than once makes the one saying it look like he just earned a certificate from an online douchebag school — the type advertised during “Manswers.”

Also, I have a theory that most men who do say this, don’t know the meanings of either “cunning” or “linguist.” They just think it sounds clever and dirty — like maybe something they’d read in Penthouse Forum, or in a book they skimmed for a required lit class in college. OR, they do know the meanings of the words, and are going for the easy laugh.

After giving it some thought, I agree with what my pal Alice said about those who claim they’re “cunning linguists” — You’re probably horrible at cunnilingus.

That’s more like it.

No job? I need an intern!

As of today, I’ve been unemployed for about ten months, so I need to do something drastic: I’m gonna hire an intern.

No, not like Kramer did on “Seinfeld”–give me a little more creative credit, folks.

Also, I think “hire” is the wrong term.

For those of you interested in applying, I have some strict rules. The main one is, you can’t be under 30. Actually, 30 is pushing it, so it’s best to be closer to the mid- to late-30s. You’re not allowed to wear skinny jeans, Converse All-Stars tennis shoes, have ironic facial hair, wear patchouli, or have a hairstyle that even remotely resembles this:

Horrible, just horrible.

Or, this:

It’s simple: McCrabass has good hair and so should you.

Other requirements: You’re over 30, therefore, you should not be into either Zac Efron or Justin Bieber. If you are, go away. Now. Your kids can be into them, but their pre-moisty tastes do not give you permission to follow suit.

Also, you must have a great & wicked sense of humor, must not be a prude, be politically left-leaning (ha-DOY-YOY-YOY, but I don’t mind moderates), be well read, don’t mind cats and have your own computer. Oh and you must find those damn Jared Gallery of Jewelry tee vee ads as annoying as I do.

Typical day:

Arrive around 11:30am. I’ll just be getting home from Bikram, so you can occupy yourself for a bit while I go through the de-stinking process. Help yourself to all the coffee, Splenda and Coffee Mate French Vanilla creamer you can cram down your gullet because that combo brings all those who indulge in it great happiness.

Noon: Ummm…lunchtime. Hmm. We’ll either forage through the fridge for morsels, OR we’ll mosey on over to Budacki’s for burgers & the best fries in Chicago, or Ba Le for sammiches. During our treks to and from those places, your job will be to keep the press away from me. You have my permission to use both salty language and capoeira to protect me.

1:30ish: Nap time, but you’ll need your own drool cup. I’ll supply the hot cocoa, cookies and bankies.

2:00-2:15: Wake up, or whatever.

2:30: Surf the ‘net for a bit. Then, we’ll watch either “Better Off Ted” on my DVR, or work on my Charles Nelson Reilly Appreciation Seminar.

3:00: Time for 2 hours of “Friends”* on TBS! This is where the real work is done. Your job is type up every funny line (it’s not that tough–Joey, Phoebe and Chandler usually have the best lines–with Phoebe leading the way), then we’ll discuss the merits of each line and rate them on some sort of “White People Who Are Living Unrealistic/Unattainable Lifestyles in the Village Humor Scale” (working title–your job is to come up with a better, snappier title). During this time, more web surfing is not only encouraged, but required. This is the best time to look for the best/worst amateur porn the Web has to offer. Trust me on this.

* Shows may vary, depending on my mood and the tee vee schedule. If it’s summer, we’ll watch Wimbledon. If it’s an Olympic year, the Olympics, etc. You know what I mean.

3:30: Pre-cocktail cocktail hour. Find the raunchiest porn vid and post it a prudish friend’s FB page. They’ll thank you for it later. Also, work on your Barbara Stanwyck impression–we’ll get into why this important in Week 3.

4:00: Lead the discussion about which lines you’ve found to be the funniest so far. Be focused and be able to back up your findings. My friend/neighbor, Melissa, will join us from time to time and she has already agreed to weigh in on your final eval. During this time, I’ll be mixing up a pitcher of Long Island Ice Teas in the kitchen–do NOT disturb me.

5:00: You’re free to go for the day, OR stay and watch an hour of “King of Queens.”

A taste:


It’s your choice. I’ll see you in a couple of days, or next week. Whenever.

Things not mundane

I’m under the weather mentally and physically, but I came across a few gems that I must weigh in on.

First and foremost, why would anyone want this man holding this nation’s highest office when he has such contempt for women and his fellow, less financially fortunate Americans? Let’s put aside, for a moment, how incredibly dumb he is about all things presidential, and focus on how much of a misogynistic choad he is. The sexual harassment accusations aside, there’s this lil’ quip about former House Speaker Nancy Pelosi.

From the New York Times:

“While answering a question at the Republican presidential debate Wednesday night, the candidate referred dismissively to Representative Nancy Pelosi, the House Democratic leader, as “Princess Nancy.”

His campaign sent the quip out on Twitter almost immediately, to drive home the point in case anybody had missed it. But the public response was not as the campaign might have expected.”

I must preface this by saying I’m not a huge fan of Nancy Pelosi’s — I think she’s okay, and her accomplishments are to be commended, but sometimes her demeanor is a bit to be desired. However, Mr. Cain was way out of line with his poorly thought out joke. The last sentence above speaks volumes– it shows the arrogance and mind-numbing ignorance of his campaign staff. I’m not surprised his campaign expected different results from Mr. Cain’s comment since they’re a direct reflection of him. I know that Mr. Cain referred to Speaker Pelosi as a princess on his radio show in the past, and that speaks volumes on his lack of political knowledge and how he’s completely unfit to run for any type of public office. Then, there was his comment about Anita Hill.

Pathetic, but not as pathetic as those who find Mr. Cain’s comments acceptable. It’s time for the boor to go, and leave the comedy and gummint work to the pros. He’s not even fit to clean up after Gallagher.

Now, let’s have some fun!

More on my fascination with spiders.

From the Mother Nature Network & LiveScience:

Underwater spider uses air bubble as oxygen tank

My heart just skipped a beat. I read that headline again just now and am now in need of a nitroglycerin spray in me mouth.

Om shanti shanti .. om.. Much better now. Good thing the vodka bottle is within reach too.

“The only spider to spend almost all of its life underwater creates a bubble of air in its web, which actually extracts oxygen from the surrounding water. This allows the spiders to stay in their aquatic webs for more than a day at a time.”

Super. Just super. So, I could be swimming along some day in my local swimmin’ hole and have a run in with one of these lil’ cretins.

Hey aqualung ...


“Like eight-legged scuba divers, some spiders can breathe underwater using an air bubble as an oxygen tank of sorts. Now, scientists have figured out some of the fascinating details of this arachnid diving bell, including that it can give the spiders more than a day’s worth of air.

While scientists knew diving bell spiders (Argyroneta aquatica) — spanning just 10 to 15 millimeters in length — used an air bubble to breathe underwater in lakes and ponds, this is the first study that measures exactly how that happens and calculates how long the spider could stay underwater before resurfacing to replenish its bubble with fresh air.

We were surprised how low the oxygen in the bubble could get before the spiders venture to the surface,” study researcher Roger Seymour, of the University of Adelaide, told LiveScience.’ “

Before I continue on about the creepiness of this discovery, I gotta give these industrious arachnids some major props for learning how to freak people out not only on dry land, but underwater too! That’s a huge accomplishment! Snakes and other animals are capable of succeeding on the amphibious tour of terror, but for me, nothing is as cringe-inducing as a spider that can live on land and is capable of using an air bubble to chill out underwater for kicks. (Before you get all science-y on me, I’m well aware that spiders are not amphibians.)

“Diving bells

Seymour and Stefan Hetz from Humboldt University in Germany, brought diving spiders into the lab, placing them into tanks mimicking conditions of a stagnant pond on a hot summer’s day — revealing how the animals fare in extreme, low-oxygen conditions.

Immediately, most of the spiders constructed webs between the pondweeds and aquarium sides. Then each spider came to the surface to collect a large air bubble held between the hydrophobic (water-repelling) hairs on its abdomen and its rear legs. Webbing was placed around the lower sides of this gas chamber, which the spiders entered from the bottom.

Some spiders created chambers just large enough to enclose their abdomens, leaving their rears and rear legs hanging out; others had larger bubbles that enclosed their entire bodies. 

Blah blah blah blah… these animals fare well in extreme, low-oxygen conditions. Blah blah..hoo hoo haa… and can construct webs between pondweeds and aquarium sides. Tweedle tweedle tweedle … blah blah … the air chambers leave their asses and hind legs sticking out …. eww…so kinky. Spider ass in the air say ho! HO! Woot! Woot!

Before you get all up in here, there’s more. This’ll bring you down to Earth.

For instance, the spiders would enlarge the bubble by laying down more web and adding air before pulling just-snagged prey into the chamber.

Tiny sensors measured oxygen levels inside the bubbles and in the surrounding water, finding that the spiders extracted oxygen from the water as if it were a gill; the sensors also showed that the spiders could survive on very low oxygen levels.”

They just had to go talk about huntin’ & killin’ prey in their chambers no less.

<shudder> Aaaaand I’m done with the underwater spider–even though there’s plenty of material in this article.

Luxury sex toys anyone?

I’d be allll over these if I had some disposable income AND kinked-out friends. This particular item caught my eye because I believe it has multipurpose uses. I could wear it for my next job interview, then maybe when I go out to Trader Joe’s to give the uppity Lakeview denizens something to envy. The silver unicorn butt plug is great for awakening your inner-wizard or mystic or whatever you kids are into these days. I’m just speculating here since wizards and the lot are too middle Earth for me. I have a tough enough time dealing with the real Earth, why would I want to waste time imagining life with hobbits and their creepy feet?

This looks good.

Finally, an OWS sign I can get behind.







Murky future

First, a video clip to help set up today’s post (apologies for the cruddy quality).

For those of you who haven’t seen “The Town,” I highly recommend that you do. Jeremy Renner has such great physical presence that when he’s on screen, you can’t take your eyes off of him. He plays a real shit, but he does it so well he’s fun to watch. Plus, he’s the best actor in the film. If you don’t care for any of the actors, just watch it for the accents–they’re priceless.

This particular scene resonates with me because countless times over the past year I’ve wanted to confide in someone about causing harm (though I never would in reality), and their only response would be “Who’s cah we gonna take?”

The fact that I was even thinking about causing harm is a really bad thing. It’s not like me at all. I may be a McCrabass, but a violent thug I am not. Far from it, actually. However, I think a lot of peace-loving, easy-going folks feel this way and have entertained the thought of causing harm to another in the past year or so. I bet it’s a perfectly natural feeling.

Since returning from LA, I’ve been contemplating my future and it looks like I’ll be spending a couple of months pounding the pavement for work come January 2012. As I’ve stated before, LA ain’t perfect, but it’s a plan — something to shoot for. The feeling of hopelessness is starting to fade and it feels quite good. Breaking up with Chicago won’t be easy should things work out with LA, but if my predictions about Chicago are correct, she won’t give a shit.

And now onto more depressing news.

I hate reading shit like this–from TPM/Pew Research:

Long Term Unemployment Is A Huge Problem —

Especially If You’re Old

Oh this is juuuuuuust suuuuuperrr…..

Read on, please.

“The economy is showing modest signs of improvement, but probably not enough to help the people who’ve taken the biggest hit: the long-term unemployed.”

This isn’t new. It sucks, but it isn’t shocking. Those of us who have been unemployed for some time have given up. I mean, can you really fault us for this? We want to work but work doesn’t want us or need us. Plus, they want the youngins. Don’t believe me? Read on.

“The number of people who’ve been out of work for over a year has skyrocketed since the financial crisis and ensuing recession to the point where Fed Chairman Ben Bernanke has called it a “national crisis” — employers are reluctant to hire people who haven’t been on the job in months, and after such long stretches peoples’ skills deteriorate and they become genuinely less marketable.

How bad is it? Extremely bad — and even worse if you’re old.”

Here’s Pew’s report.

But to sum it up:

“Not only is long-term unemployment much higher now than at any time since the government’s started keeping data on the issue, but if you’re old, you’re really out of luck. Old workers are less likely overall to be unemployed than young workers. But if you’re old and you lose your job, you’re much more likely to end up in this unfortunate category — just when your health is failing and cost of insurance is peaking.”

This is where companies that hire younger workers because of their youth, are really gonna end up screwing themselves. Yes, we live in a youth-obsessed culture, but being young doesn’t mean you’re necessarily better-qualified for any job (pre-moisty singer fan club president maybe but that’s about it), it just means you’re very malleable. Eventually, the higher-ups at some companies are gonna get fed up with the entitlement generation’s attitudes and realize that maybe they should have hired that person who may be a bit older, but has the life experience and the maturity to get the job done. I can’t count how many times I’ve come up against this type of pushback over the past year. In interviews, I’ve been asked how old I am, the year I graduated from high school, what music was popular when I was in high school, where I was when Kennedy was shot (“Ted Kennedy was shot?!?”), and a plethora of other sneaky questions. When I flat-out told the interviewers that what they were asking was illegal, the response was “So?”

This is what it’s come to. Uneducated HR folks (wait! REDUNDANT!) can get away with asking such questions because, well, they can! The job market is so horrible right now that companies can be as picky and as nasty as they want to be. Friends have asked why I don’t report these illegal tactics. What’s the point, is my answer. What good will it do? It would be my unemployed ass against theirs, so it’s already a lose-lose situation.

So, I chalk it up as a learning experience. I figure karma will get them in the end. I just hope I hear about it.

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.