I don’t really know what day it is because I’ve actually been working. Yep. I think I mentioned it before so I won’t go into the gory details. Wait..come to think of it..I can’t go into the gory details because I’d have to kill you all.
1) Apparently, scrotal lymphedema IS a real thing. See, I thought I was just being clever when I was a stripper in Greece and needed an authentic-sounding name. Via the DailyMail.
(via TLC/Las Vegas Review-Journal)
So, Wesley Warren Jr. had a …. wait for it …132 pound scrotum since he was a youngin. He could barely move, and he had to wear an oversized hoody upside down so his scrot could be covered. Plus, he had to lug around a plastic milk crate with him everywhere he went so he has something to place his sack on while he was chilling out. Long story short, he had it removed, but here’s the rub–turns out his wedding tackle is teeny, so he’s having a tough time finding love.
And that’s alllll I’m gonna say because if I say anymore, I’ll get into a heap o’ trouble.
Who knew that screeching like a cat caught in a washing machine with a wombat would actually scare would-be terrorists or pirates or whatever the term is these days?? Britain knows what to do. Their wit cannot be topped. They get it, and those of us across the pond can only give them a slow clap and an approving head nod.
We can’t top it. Seriously, it can’t be done.
I mean, we can but that would involve shooting the terrorists/pirates, but this way only their ears bleed and gets them scurrying from daylight–never to come out ever again.
I’ve never sat through at Britney song so I don’t know just how shrill she is…hmm…there’s no time like the present.
3) Um, I don’t know of a time when it hasn’t been cool for broads to toke up.
4) As for Banksy, I don’t care what he has to say about the WTC. He should just stick to making awesome scribbles on buildings n’ such. See, this is one of the many problems with the Internets–people who, in the pre-Internet age, wouldn’t get recognition are now getting lots of it. Sure, much of that recognition is good from some folks/causes, but for some, well… NO.
5) Time for a palate cleanser–need to get rid of that Britney mess from earlier.
Sorry I’ve been so quiet for the past week or so, but I’ve been busy…wait for it…WORKING. Yep, McCrabby managed to land herself a part-time–possibly temporary– gig. I can’t go into details just yet, BUT it does allow me share my gifts of writing, yapping and telling stories. Of course, the bottom could fall out and I’ll be back to keeping the couch down and yelling at kids to stay out of my liquor cabinet.
1) Ok, if I ever spied a man wearing such a tie, I’d have him arrested. This just screams douchebag.
A sampling courtesy of KickStarter.
Apparently, this new fangled neck wear is all the rage among …well… I don’t know who or what for that matter. Hmm..maybe I need another image. You know, one that shows the Shortti in action.
(courtesy KickStarter.com)
On second thought, I’m gonna have to slap on a big NO on this one.
Next!
2) Umm…..
(via Facebook/Business Insider)
I just got off the phone with my lawyer about going into the masturbation facility business. I’m gonna make a wad of cash building places where folks can quietly go blow their wads. And y’all thought I didn’t have any bidness sense. Haters.
Turns out our military industrial complex ain’t too keen on Marines choking the chicken and she-boppin’ all over Afghanistan. In fact, they’re so turned off by it that the powers-that-be concocted the above warning and posted it inside all of the porta-potties on the bases. Some on the inside think it’s a joke with one medic saying that you can’t get anything via semen (well one can get pregnant) unless an open wound happens to be in attendance. Eww. I couldn’t care less if Marines are playing with themselves..seriously. They’re in a shitty part of the world, fighting an even shittier war so why NOT let them diddle their puds every once in a while? Sheesh. It’s the least we can do.
3) I am very curious about this.
I’m morbidly curious. There, does that explanation sit better with you?
4) Oh goody. He’s single again.
(via altmalcontent.wordpress.com)
Too bad he didn’t have the cajones to JUST age gracefully. He looks like one of my Il Bisonte handbags.
5) You really wanna know why I’m easing into veganism? Here’s one of the many reasons. H/t to Mother Jones.
40 Percent of Your Chicken Nugget Is Meat. The Rest Is…
I’m tired and worn out from monitoring the shitfest that is Congress, so here’s a post before the lights go out. Yes, I love y’all that much.
Oh and there’s lots of salty language and general pissy-ness in this post due to what’s going on in D.C.
1) **Sarcastic slow clap for Congress.**
The shenanigans that have been going on during the past few days are completely ludicrous, embarrassing and yes, racist. Okay folks…lemme ‘splain one more time: We have a Black President, it’s time to get the fuck over it. The ACA is the law of the land, and acting like a bunch of whiny little pricks because you can’t control everything is so detrimental to this country and not to mention, democracy. What creases me is Congress–whose approval rating is hovering around 10 percent–is being controlled by a minority of dumbfuck ‘muricans who don’t know their assholes from their eyeballs. This seriously makes me wanna vomit.
I came across this excellent photo essay today via the Daily Mail/UK.
Ghosts of students past: Fascinating pictures of a derelict Detroit school… mixed with evocative images from its heyday
(via Detroiturbex.com)
Photos of Cass Technical High School in Detroit, Michigan, whose alumni include Diana Ross and Jack White
School moved to new building in 2005 which left original facility empty and it was later demolished last year
Largest school in Michigan by 1942 with 4,200 students attending eight-storey brick and limestone building
Click through this collection–the photos are stunning and humbling. The sad thing is, this could feasibly happen in every major city in the country if we’re not careful.
4) Hey, being born white is one helluva personal achievement. Where I fucked up is I WASN’T BORN MALE. What a filthy slut I am!
Via AutoStraddle and Jezebel.
Who’s Really to Blame for the Looming Government Shutdown? Sluts.
Yeah, a bunch of dried up white men with shriveled peens who probably haven’t had sex since Reagan was in power, are thinking about my cooch and how they can fuck with it without having to actually fuck it. Talk about a wasted hard-on, but in all seriousness, who would want to diddle these dudes? See, that’s why they’re pissed off–no self-respecting woman would EVAH see any of the conservative members’ members.
5) Apparently, there are folks out there who pay shit-tons of money to watch this.
(via ExtraLunchMoney.com)
It’s called CAKE SITTING. Yes. It is. True story. Do you really need me to explain it with words? I think not.
(via ixdaily.com)
I’ve been looking for new revenue outlets and this might be the one for me. I like to bake and I like to sit. Sounds like a match made in heaven to me!
Another work week has come to an end. While for me, the one who’s been unemployed for about 140 weeks, it’s just another day. To me, days just flow into one another. One doesn’t have more significance than another. They’re all the same to me.
I’m not being a Debbie Downer, it’s the truth. This is my life these days.
I’m living the dream, folks.
1) Who knew that Portland would have one of these?
(via CasaDiablo.org)
I haven’t considered working there–not yet. But, it is tempting. I didn’t find this whilst trolling for jobs in Portland, I found about it via the media. Turns out, New Jersey’s Great Hope to Save ‘Murica From Itselfhas been embroiled in a milquetoast imbroglio with a ‘stripper model weirdo’ who peels her clothes off for moola at a vegan strip club in Portland, Oregon.
Wait..what? Who cares about the politico having secksy time via Twitter with a woman he ain’t supposed to that’s been done too much and is now very boring. Yawn. But…um.. A VEGAN STRIP CLUB? Get the fuck out! Now, I do understand the allure of vegan restaurants, vegan grocery stores, vegan vacations…but a strip club? Like knowing that the peelers don’t wear animal products and that the food menu is vegan. Yeaa haa. Super. How PC. Very cool, very hip.
One question: Who goes to a strip club because it’s vegan.
You’re doing it wrong. Or, it’s so right that it just blew my mind.
Prof’s Former Student Arrested after Crush Turned to Stalking, Police Say
“COOK COUNTY CRIMINAL COURTHOUSE — A former Harold Washington College student’s crush turned criminal when she was arrested for stalking, authorities said.
Ghemeilia Butler, arrested 10 times for trespassing at the city college and for stalking her old teacher, “imagined in her mind that the two of them had a relationship.”
(via Chicago Police Department)
Ok, ok…I understand how some folks get all ‘hot for teacher’–I think that’s a very common occurrence. Those crushes usually disappear within a week, or by 4th period. But, this is a 34-year old woman, and she was in college and the whole thing is just stinkin’ weird–especially this part:
“Butler was a student of the unidentified professor for only half a semester in 2011, Assistant State’s Attorney Lorraine Scaduto said.
Scaduto said Butler has been arrested 10 times for trespassing and violating an order of protection the teacher has against her.
Butler also sent more than 500 pages of emails to the professor, at one point suggesting that the two “get married and live in the victim’s classroom,” Scaduto said.”
Yep, I’m still cringing too.
4) And I thought meth was bad.
via MoralLowGround.com
Flesh-Eating Drug Krokodil Hospitalizes 2 in Arizona
(DANGER WILL ROBINSON!! Extremely graphic video!)
“Medical authorities in Arizona have reported the arrival of a frightening flesh-eating drug that’s sent two people to the hospital with horrific injuries.
KLTV reports desomorphine, commonly called Krokodil, is very popular among the poor in Russia, but until now, there has been little or no reported use of the homemade drug in the United States.
Krokodil, a potentially deadly mix of codeine and hydrocarbons such as oil, gasoline, alcohol or paint thinner, causes flesh to rot from the inside out and can result in users developing festering sores that resemble crocodile skin, hence the drug’s name. Users inject it into their veins, which causes severe damage to blood vessels and tissue and, in some cases, rots flesh so completely that raw bone becomes exposed. Although Krokodil is boiled before injection, potentially lethal impurities remain.
According to KSAZ, doctors claim the average life expectancy of a Krokodil user is about three years, as the drug literally eats addicts alive.”
You take this drug and you rot from the inside out. Then, you die. Does anything else need to be said on the subject?
Monkey tears off tot’s testicle and EATS it during terrifying zoo attack
From The Mirror/UK.
The distressing attack took place at the Guiyang Qianling Wildlife Park in Guìyáng, the capital of Guizhou province in Southwest China
Distressing, yeah, that’s putting it mildly. Even though I don’t have a nutsack, I feel this tot’s pain and that’s quite an achievement.
“An eight month old baby is recovering in hospital after a monkey tore off one of his testicles before running away and eating it.
The distressing attack took place at the Guiyang Qianling Wildlife Park in Guìyáng, the capital of Guizhou province in Southwest China, according to reports.
The mother was changing her son’s nappy when the animal attacked, ripping off the testicle before dropping it onto the ground.
An elderly man then reportedly picked up the severed appendage but the monkey snatched it from his hand before scampering away and eating it.
The boy’s injury is not life-threatening, Chinese media reports.”
It must really suck being a baby in China. First, the fact that you were even born is a miracle since China is all about zero population growth, and your parents had to beg and bribe in order to become parents. Chinese women have a shit-ton of abortions too, and I wouldn’t be surprised if there are several actual Abortionplexes in China that operate 24/7.
I’m cringing yet again. The animal ripped the baby’s tender testicle off, slammed it on the ground and THEN ATE IT?
Good to know that monkeys buy into the 5-second rule. Or, maybe there’s a monkey version that we don’t know about that’s a titch longer and incorporates the use of old men’s hands. I don’t want to know about it either because that would mean I’d have to learn their ways, and I’m having a hard enough time learning the ways of humans. It ain’t pretty, but it has to be done or I’ll be sent to that special place. At least that’s what I’ve been told.
Oh fuck it, here’s a vidya about the story. Enjoy.
Oh, and accept no substitutes for my story. In this case, I don’t consider plagiarism a form of flattery. It’s quite the opposite, really.
Onward.
And we’re off!
My fellow Americans, China is kicking our ass when it comes to odd news. It’s embarrassing, but not surprising since China is the largest country on Earth. Odds are with the Chinese that they’re gonna have weird shit happen in their homeland, not just on a daily basis, but hourly too.
A big hat tip to ChinaSMACK for these stories. And to the Chinese for being as weird and whacky as the rest of the humans here.
First, I’d love to write the heds for this publication. I liken it to writing for the Chinese version of the New York Post or The Weekly World News.
When baby Hao Hao was born in June, his parents couldn’t be happier. He’s a male baby born in China after all! China IS the country that’s beaming with pride over its zero population growth, scorn for baby girls, one child policy, and sky-high abortion rate. So, when wee Hao Hao suddenly got sick, it was discovered that one of the nurses had an issue with the wee Asian bairn, and decided to inject him with something that caused him to hemorrhage. You know that’s bad, right? At some point after the injection, to the baby shitting hisself and getting sicker and sicker, the nurse taped the “Lump of shit” note on his noggin. According to the nurse, it was all a big, fat egg roll of a misunderstanding. Turns out, Chinese nurses dig on taping obnoxious notes on one another — you know– to pass the time before they’re forced to return to their gulag-esque living quarters. The baby got in the way and the rest is history. Gotta get your laughs somewhere I guess. Who knew that was even possible in China.
There are over a billion people in China, and they couldn’t find anything else to report on?
(courtesy of ChinaSMACK)
Not being married by a certain age is one of the few lifestyle choices that is not illegal in China. According to legal experts, what this old man was yammering about is a ‘moral issue.’
Good luck getting through this graf. It’s one helluva sentence.
“Recently, Beijing police, in cooperation with the Ministry of Public Security and in accordance with reports by the masses, began prosecution according to the law to bring down an internet marketing company that deliberately manufactures and disseminates rumors maliciously infringing upon other people’s reputations in order to illegally reap economic benefit — Beijing Erma Interactive Marketing Planning Limited Company (hereinafter referred to as Erma Ltd), and has arrested Qin Zhihui (online name “秦火火” [literally “Qin Hot Hot”, suggesting the ability to make things popular], male, 30 years old, born in Hunan Province Hengnan County Xianghua Village, high school education, and former Erma Ltd employee), Yang Xiuyu (online name “立二拆四” [literally “erect two demolish four”], male, 40 years old, born in Jilin Province Baishan City Qidaojiang Town, and founder of Erma Ltd), and another 4 members of the company.”
I wanna know what exactly “Erect Two Demolish Four” is erecting then demolishing. Hmm.
While the residents of Moore, Oklahoma are coming to grips with the horror that happened yesterday, their belovedSenators didn’t waste any time in boning them hard in the hoo-haa. Actually, Sen. Coburn would probably prefer to diddle the poor of this country as roughly as possible, but it looks like Sen. Inhofe isn’t sure if he’d like to aid in lubrication–granted it doesn’t cost too much and loosen up other parts of the body–so to speak.
A little rough for you? Too bad. If you’re offended by my salty language, you’re not paying attention.
See, if you haven’t noticed, the GOP has this thing about NOT helping the poor, and they’ll go to any lengths to do it–including stalling federal monies to help out disaster-ridden areasuntil cuts are made to OFF-SET the costs of disaster relief. Where are these cuts supposed to occur, you ask? Why, to programs that benefit the poor and under-served in this country, that’s where! C’mon guys! We allll know that the folks/entities who REALLY need our help are the 1 percent and big oil! Wee! (Like I had to tell you. If you don’t know, then once again, you ain’t paying attention.)
Sen. Tom Coburn (courtesy AP)
See, Coburn’s misguided and archaic conservative values are more important than actually helping his constituents, and he’ll get away with it because he’s retiring in 2016. He doesn’t have to worry about re-election so why the hell not?
The ideology of Coburn and his ilk is much more important than ensuring that US citizens are relatively safe and cared for. What’s even more disturbing is there isn’t any economic rationale for this choady behavior. In other words, they’re doing it just to be assholes.
What I find surprising is none of the pundits and other GOP mouthpieces haven’t come out in support of Coburn … yet. I’m hoping that maybe they’re just as in shock as the rest of us who care about our fellow Americans, and believe that we need to pull together when disaster strikes.
But, who knows.
However, if memory serves, his fellow conservative legislators will be toeing the Coburn line soon enough. Before that happens, I hope they all have the balls to watch some of the footage of survivors, and witness the anguish on the faces of those who lost loved ones in the twister.
I’ll even provide a smidgen of the footage for them to look at whilst yanking the puds of BP, Wall Street et al.
There’s a new movement afoot to get women to love their labias.
Why? Huh?
Because we women are supposed to feel like shit about our physical selves–even when we don’t–so some twink somewhere (probably a plastic surgeon) makes up a new neuroses for us gals to glom onto. Of course we do this since we women are also major people pleasers AND this society is allllll about promoting beauty over brains and brawn. What happens next? Our self-esteem takes a major hit, and we’re looking for the next beauty miracle to make us perfect instead of, oh I don’t know, maybe reading a good book that will make us a scosch smarter/wiser. Help us, Judy Blume!
Now, I was taken aback by this new love thyself no matter what proclamation because I had no idea that some women hate their labias.
Wait..clarification desperately needed here–90% of men don’t know what the LABIA is (no, it’s not the latest Italian sportscar, although most men ride it like it was –HEY O!), so I will do the honors of explaining to the menfolk just what AND where the labia is.
3 the folds of skin at the opening of the vagina. labial, adj.
Here’s the perfect graphic for show n’ tell: And to the dudes who read this blog–commit this image to memory–with particular attention paid to where the clitoris is. *AHEM*
(Courtesy of The Mayo Foundation)
Apparently, the hot trend these days–labiaplasty–is for women whose twats have had quite the workout birthing humans, riding horses, doing the splits during their Nadia Comaneci phase, and well, just by being a modern woman. That shit gets stretched out, see, and some women are uber-self conscious about their labias looking like elephant ears.
Huh?
Really?
This is where we get into trouble.
Ok, let’s walk through this one, mmkay? So, some woman, who has done her fair share of living (see above graf), suddenly feels like CRAP because she’s seen what the porn goddesses have and decide that them gals are the new high standard in pussy perfection.
(Side note: I’m sure most of this myth is perpetrated by men who never leave their parents’ basements.)
Yes, even though the only folks who will actually feast their peepers on her vajay, are her doc (hey, she/he has seen ’em all & they don’t care), her significant other, her lover, her mistress, and perhaps her waxologist–but she’s still quite self-conscious. Let’s be honest–any dude who is THAT LUCKY to get close to a labia–would be wise to shut his yap-yap about what it looks like or he’ll find that he is no longer welcome in that fleshy, magical, wonderful kingdom.
Apparently, and thanks to the world of social media, there are blogs, blogs and tumblrs & moretumblersand whatnot dedicated to celebrating the labia–no matter the size. Bravo to those broads who are all about putting puss pix out there for all the world to see. <golf clap>
This is what has me flummoxed: Women do the crux of the living and breathing in this society, and our bodies are the physical evidence. We’re the ones who keep this world from sliding deeper into the shitter. However, even though we are the ones made of sterner stuff, we’re still made to feel like shit if we don’t look absolutely fucking perfect all the live-long day.
To that nonsense I say “What the entire fuck??!”
In short, there is nothing wrong with you–you’re perfect.
Insomnia sucks for the most part, but what it doesn’t suck at is getting me to gaze into the deep, dark crevasses that make up what’s left of my soul. Some nights I think of fluff — like fuzzy kittens, soap scum and sweaters made out of love, merino wool and sunshine.
Then, there are the nights when I can’t get the frightening images of acid wash jeans, people who insist on wearing PJs out in public, post-WW1 German porn and the Dave Matthews Band out of my noggin.
Tonight is no exception and here’s what’s rattling around in what’s left of my once-semi-brilliant mind.
1) When the first-time writer of a hit movie tells an interviewer that he/she just simply sat down with a “How To Write A Screenplay In One Weekend” book, and wrote that semi-literate–but funny celluloid sensation–they’re lying to you.
Here’s what really happened: The studio wanted to work with this person because they’re popular and funny. So, these clueless execs buttered them up, then asked them for an idea and maybe a rough draft of a script. Upon first the reading, the must-hire D-girl who’s fucking the junior exec, quickly learned that this particular popular person is much better at doing late-night sketch comedy. Ahem–mum’s the word, see. So, the studio then hires a team of script doctors (at about $200k a pop) et voila–hit movie!
2) While I’m on the Hollywood trip, here’s another tidbit: When an actor/actress/singer thanks their assistant in their Oscar/Golden Globes/Emmy/Grammy acceptance speech, they’re really thanking their drug dealer. True story.
3) Bulimia never, ever goes away–it just manifests itself in other forms–like the urge to dye one’s hair purple, or start a blog, or build the original Roman Empire out of unused tampons.
4) Naming your children the correct name is vital to their future. Adorning them with monikers like Brittany, Tiff’ny, Zephyr, Madison, Schylur/Skylar, or Savannah, well, they’re bound to grow up to be total assholes, and will either yank their puds for money or spend a lot of time spinning nekkid around a steel pole at a dank truckstop bar on the interstate. I can’t believe that unimaginative parents in this country feel the need to sully the awesome reputations of two of my favorite cities by naming their sub-mental spawn “Madison/Madysun” or “Savannah” because both names are “unusual.” Get over yourselves because you’re only doing your kids a disservice by bestowing them with awful names. Stick with the classics.
5) If you insist on naming one of your kids Marquis, at least have the fucking sense to pronounce it correctly–it’s “Markee” not “Markwiss.”
6) The more I think about it, the more I believe that Stalin was just misunderstood.
7) Write Yiddish and cast British. Never fails. Ever.
8) Once I deem you to be a douchebag, there’s no way to recover. It’s just best to move on and realize that me calling you a douchebag is actually a gift–a kick in the ass of sorts–to get you to fix your douchebagness. Trust me on this–I’m a damn good judge of character.
9) OJ did it.
10) I’ve said this before, but there is no such thing as a social media/content management guru. If you introduce yourself to me as a social media/content management guru–and say it with a straight face–well, you’re about to be called a word that rhymes with schmoucheschmag. Gurus can only be found in ashrams in India, by the way.
11) My god–I love peonies.
12) You know, that rug really DID pull the room together.
13) I can really see a future with this gentleman. He’s all sorts of secksy in his thong, and not to mention his pathway to adventure, which has me a-quivering by the way.
Is that a cat?
14) There’s nothing wrong with nom-nomming on chocolate cake with chocolate buttercream frosting for breakfast, lunch and dindin. But you must realize that stuffing your face with all that chocolate goodness will cause you to resemble a mutant hamhock after about a day of this diet. Never fear monkehs–that’s why god invented eating disorders.
15) Everyone should own this album.
For those of you who have difficulty reading the above image, it’s Ben Harper’s “Fight For Your Mind.” It’s haunting, sensual and beautifully produced.
One of my fave songs ever–
You’re welcome.
16) Elvis is king–Costello, not Presley. Puh-leeze–I’ve never cared for that drug-addled twat.
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.
mccrabass 