The Scent of Love?

Let me put it this way–for Valentine’s Day, I’d rather have a case of the clap than a case of this here perfume.

(courtesy NY Daily News)

(courtesy NY Daily News)

Turns out, our friendly neighbors to the north, found it necessary to invent perfume that smells like pizza. No, no..they couldn’t do something fun and useful like conjure up Eau de Geddy or a Maggie Trudeau Blow-Up Doll, they had to be all stinkin’ weird and marry one of my most favorite products in the world–perfume–with shit-tastic Pizza Hut pizza.

Kurt Kane, CMO of Pizza Hut, said: “Eau de Pizza Hut is one of the most sought-after and rarest of scents available.”

Sure it is–and not to mention–the most heinous.

Wankers.

However, the Canucks are not alone in creating crappy perfume (I’m looking at you, deader-than-dead Elizabeth Taylor and your Eau de Trailerpark-White Diamonds). The French–the arbiters of great taste, cheese, making B.O & hairy armpits on ladies sexy and haute couture, have really created a real sandwich a la merde. One of my fave parfumeurs, L’Artisan Parfumeurs created a scent–Dzing!–that smells like the circus. Apparently, it’s a soupcon of carny sweat, crazy, elephant dung (top notes), and lion semen, cotton candy and rotting hay (bottom notes). Of course, I don’t know if these really are the actual scents in this potion, but I refuse to go within a block of a bottle of this stuff. I mean, YUCK. Picture 8I hope my ultimate fave, Jo Malone, doesn’t follow suit.

Pizza stank isn’t the only scent that has been bottled and sold to the sheeple. Breathe in this one, folks.

Eau de Black Angus Anus anyone?

Picture 9

I’ve never been a fan of Valentine’s Day, and my reasons are a-plenty, and I won’t go into them here. The only redeeming quality this day has is it shares the same month as my birthday, which means I usually get half-price Valentine’s candy for birthday presents. Yep, I’m really winning in that respect.

I think Valentine’s Day is the champion of making all people–singletons, marrieds and smug marrieds–feel like crap. People rarely get what they want on Valentine’s Day, and not everyone looks good in red.

But, I’ll probably celebrate it in that inimitable McCrabass style: By going to a nice restaurant, getting my drink on then flashing mah boobs at my fellow patrons. And, if they don’t like it well, tough titties.

Ladies & gents, Madame Weebles

A must-read post by one of my fave bloggers evah, Madame Weebles.

I couldn’t have said it better myself.

Also, I strongly suggest you read, follow and worship her blog–totally worth it and you’ll get that warm feeling down there when you do.
Peace and love,
Julia

Fear No Weebles

[Disclaimer: This is not aimed at my Republican buddies here, who are intelligent, thoughtful human beings.  This is for the members of the GOP who are hell-bent on fomenting hatred and encouraging discrimination, among other things.  Anyone who is offended by this, however, is exactly the type of person I’m referring to below and should be offended.]

[Note: I’m not generally a politics person.  I will probably never write another political post, so I wanted to make this one count.  I’m coming out swinging.  I might lose some readers, and that’s okay.]

Hey, wingnuts.  You don’t know me but you hate me.

I’m from New York City.  To you guys, that’s just another name for Sodom.  Y’all hate us city slickers because we’re not honest, hard-workin’, church-goin’, “real” Amuricans.  Yet my city, along with 3,000 people, took a big hit for you 11 years ago.  Fuck you.

I believe that a…

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Objects in Mirror Are Larger Than They Appear

It’ll be interesting to see if I am able to compose a coherent post today. First, I did Bikram, then I came home and did some of this workout. Yes, ’tis true. I got sucked into the infomercial vortex a few days ago and since I’m a sucker for innocents named Ryan with Canadian accents, well you can figure out the rest.

I’m waiting for the required mocking to stop. Any time now would be just perfect. Seriously. Stop. Now.

As for the liking innocent Canadians named Ryan, I don’t know where that came from either. Do yourself a favor and stop trying to figure it out.

So, Bikram was brutal and I did the thing that all American women do–compared my bod to the other women in the class. Now, before you say “Not ALL women do that, McCrabass.” Um, yeaaaah…. you do. Imma gonna call you out on your bullshit. Of course you do it. Yes, stop denying it because you’re full of shit. You do. It’s okay to admit it. Comparing ourselves to our fellow American females citizens is a national past time.

Now that that’s settled, back to the body comparison. I felt good that I wasn’t the fattest in class today–or the weakest–that’s a win in my book. I give myself a lot of credit for doing Bikram in the first place since I’m usually one of the older ones in class, but I look about 8-10 years than my actual age. For that accomplishment, kudos to great genes (see photo below of mum & one of mah seesters), drinking lots of water, wearing a lead blanket as sunscreen and Bikram yoga.

The beautiful ones.

Sadly, my youthful appearance hasn’t helped me land a job, which has me forced me to set aside a plastic surgery change jar. Each day, I toss the day’s accumulated change into it, and with each ping of the coins hitting the glass, I feel safe and hopeful about my future. I should have enough scratch saved by the time I really need a facelift. Until then, Bikram, good genes, SPF 500 and copious amounts of water will have to do. Oh and probably Botox. Sometimes I wish this country was a place where women were accepted for their intelligence and wit, rather than for their dress size. I’ve harped on this subject before, so I won’t open up that old thread again since it doesn’t do any good AND it just makes me a titch sad. The thing is, I think women in this country are forced to compare ourselves to others OR we run the wrath of being labelled a bitch. I already am a bitch and am damn proud of it, so having confidence in the way I look shouldn’t be an issue for me. But it is.

Back to comparing my physical self to others. I can’t help it. I’ll be doing it until I draw my last breath. So, until that day comes … meh…I’m too damn tired to finish that thought.