I Have Man Boobs

No, not really. I just needed to lure y’all into my post here by using tittehs as my hook. Works like a charm every time–especially if you’re into men with breastesses.

(courtesy manboobsguide.com NOT. KIDDING.)

(courtesy manboobsguide.com NOT. KIDDING.)

Man boobs are very popular these days. I mean, I keep seeing stories about ’em all over the place. Nothing can contain them it seems.

Case in point:

From BBC.com

Increase in male breast reduction surgery

Apparently in the UK, men with squeeze boxes they wear on their chests don’t like wearing them no more. So, men are getting them taken down a cup size or two or three, and in 2011 roughly 790 of these surgeries were performed. This number has doubled in the past five years. In boring doctor terms, this condition is called gynaecomastia.

I guess men don’t like the nipple tenderness and the embarrassment the manly mams cause. Guess they don’t like having their tits stared at on an hourly basis EITHER. It’s like a mammary quid pro quo. I wish this surgery wasn’t an option for some men because then they’d have to deal with motor-boating jokes and nips that are allll about living the high-beam life.

Of course, now that men have boobs, modern medicine is jumping through worn out bras to figure out a way to help ’em get rid of them.

Huh. Most men spend their whole lives wanting to fondle the goods, but once the good lord has blessed them with a pair of their own, they no likey the jumblies so much anymore.

Have a piece of irony pie.

I have a rule I follow, wanna hear it? Sure you do: Never date a man whose boobs are bigger than yours. It’s just smart living.

Secksy.

Secksy.

Why were these invented?

What do you spake of, dearest Julia?

Oh. WHITE CHOCOLATE LIFE-SIZE BABY HEADS.

 

I hate chocolate now. (courtesy of Huffington Post)

I hate chocolate now. (courtesy of Huffington Post)

Some person who hates babies and grown-ups, felt they were necessary for the planet. Now, this person must be destroyed, or at least never, ever be let out in public again.

Wardrobe Malfunction

It’s time to retire this shirt.

An old friend.

I got this t-shirt while working on a film many years ago. We recorded actors in NYC, and the director bought one for each crew member. I went along to help out and had a blast because, after all, I was in New York City! We stayed at the Plaza, ate at the 21 Club–all on the studio’s dime. Most important part of the trip? I got to shop at Bloomingdale’s (that’s when I made a union wage, see). How could I possibly turn this shirt into a kitchen rag?

This t-shirt one of those pieces of clothing that gets better with age–everyone has a piece or two like this in their wardrobe. The more worn out it becomes, the more comfy it gets. It was worn for sleeping, working out, and tee-vee watching. In other words, it’s a knock-around shirt. This shirt has given me wonderful memories, and it’s wonderfully beat to shit.

This morning while getting ready for Bikram, I couldn’t find a shirt to wear, so I donned my old friend, some yoga pants and headed out the door. Little did I realize how beat to shit this t-shirt was until Standing Bow. While I was reluctantly watching my form in the mirror (so brutal the sight before my eyes–I’m semi-blind now), I noticed two things: This t-shirt makes me look bigger than I actually am, AND it has HUGE holes in the pits. We’re talking if I had really hairy-scary pits, the hair would’ve tumbled out of them kinda like Rapunzel’s braids. Yep–that big AND that gross. I hoped to dog that no one else noticed. I’m sure people did though–how could one not? I notice things about my fellow students all the time–mainly the creative tats on the necks, backs and legs of those practicing in front of me. Seriously–it’s hard NOT to notice sayings in Sanskrit, Arabic and Hebrew on the same body part. I get it–your body is a peace treaty from the days of yore. Rock out, my friend.

Back to the t-shirt. For the rest of the class, or until I was no longer to watch myself in the mirror, I obsessed about how shitty this shirt made me look and feel, and came to the realization that it was time to retire it. Not only would this Large Marge of a shirt be put out to the fabric pasture, all of his little friends would join him. I just can’t keep wearing clothing that screams Slobovian because my psyche can’t handle it any longer. My body image is already poor, so why add to the misery?

McCrabass Millicent

So, Wednesday, I’m hoping to debut this little number I bought at Costco.

Coming soon: Two pigs fightin' under a built-in bra.

I hope they don’t kick me out of class, OR have me arrested for indecent exposure because I wouldn’t be surprised if the room got an eyeful of nekkid boobage. Not a sight for sore eyes, trust me.

I’m already missing my old friend. Enjoy retirement, you’ve earned it.

Stay tuned.

To the Core

It’s been a while since I’ve done Bikram. Freelance work has kept me away from everything except the newsroom and regular household/life duties. Today I went back and while it was good to be back, it wasn’t good to be back. I felt old, out of shape, stiff, clumsy, beat up, and grody. These feelings brought tears to my eyes during the standing series–a common reaction for yoga practitioners. I couldn’t let go of these feelings of inadequacy and self-loathing due to my lack of fitness and mental anguish over my professional life (or lack thereof).

I managed to push on through and have the best session I could have today. This was accomplished by sitting out some of the poses and letting the energy of the room flow over me. Yes, you read that last bit correctly–hardass McCrabass actually allowed the energy of others pierce her dark, disturbed, bitch-filled core. What’s even more shocking is that it felt pretty damn good. I just let it go–the energy came in and the tears came tumbling down. It’s tough to be vulnerable like that and I don’t care for it at all. But, vulnerability has its charms and a purpose, or purposes. I have an idea as to what they are, but I want to experience them first before I expound on them further.

Until then, let’s talk about core strength. I am in desperate need of restructuring/retrofitting mine. As a result, I’ve been researching core strengthening exercises and the most effective one I’ve come across is The Plank Sure it looks easy, but it ain’t. I figured I need to mix it up a titch more, and noticed that my friend Shannon had posted a series of plank exercises on her Google+ page. Damn. I figure if I do these exercises 4-5 times a week plus Bikram 4-5 times a week as well, my core will be in passable shape by mid-October.  Why mid-October you ask? Because I signed up for a clinic at Bikram Yoga Andersonville with Mary Jarvis in October, and I don’t care to look like an Rush Limbaugh-esque fat idiot (redundant I know)  in front a Bikram legend.

Next on the list? Researching docs who will surgically wire my jaw shut so I can’t eat. Stay tuned.