Henny Binn

I could go on and on about Benny Hinn, about how I think he's a money hungry fraud, about how I think his theology is turdy and far from Biblical.

But what I really want to talk about is his hair. I'd like to surf it.

Cowabunga.

As of this moment in time

My three favorite words to say (or write) are:

Subsequent

Marsupials

Jaundice



Thank you and goodnight.

Snap your fingers and your crotch

News: Bodysuits are back.

My favorite thing about growing up when I did (late eighties/early nineties) was the fact that I could wear hot pink bodysuits. I used to think bodysuits were the coolest- kind of awkward to snap, but they stayed nicely tucked and never bunched in the top of my pants like my other tops. Plus, what could possibly look more fly than a hot pink bodysuit under some lime green stirrup pants? I topped off my stylin' look with my huge blue plastic-frame glasses and buck teeth. Hot.

Another plus of the bodysuit is the fact that donning one made it very easy to pretend to be a gymnast. I could strap on ye' old leotard/bodysuit and do a floor routine that would make your headspin. Just call me Shannon Miller. Granted, my routine was full of somersaults and dorky turns. I couldn't do a cool handstand like this girl:

(I am giving her bonus points for executing this move on a gradient. It's hard enough to do on the ground, but man- balancing yourself on a soft mauve gradient must be crazy.)

Anyway, American Apparel is bringing bodysuits back and they're selling like hotcakes. This girl's rockin' it:

I think bodysuits rule, and I want to wear them again. There's just one problem- my middle. It's a little doughy. In fact, my body kind of reminds me of a biscuit can that has been popped open in the center. My legs and upper body are nice, but that gut- yikes. I really have no right to complain about it since I haven't modified my diet or really worked out in ages.

Needless to stay, the bodysuit dream will just swing in my mind like a tiny gymnast on the uneven bars.

Excuse me ma'am, can I ask you a question? Are your nails natural?

Last night my husband took me to Golden Corral. The one we went to (like all of them) was kind of janky and full of bums and hobos and other people who haven't bathed lately. But I was a great sport and didn't even comment on the fact that a woman at the table next to us was not wearing shoes (just toe socks.) I don't think I would feel comfortable standing in the buffet line with just sweaty, macaroni encrusted socks on, but hey, whatev. Her call. To each her own.

Of course we both ate TONS of food, because that's what you do at Golden Corral. We left stuffed, and decided to walk our bloated selves around a nearby mall to burn at least fifty of the eight thousand calories we had just consumed. And I mean eight thosand each.

This is where I encountered my pet peeve. Even worse than macaroni and cheese on someone's exposed toe socks. You know the Dead Sea Cosmetics kiosks? I. Hate. Those. Salespeople. The are insane. They will do whatever it takes to get in your face and ask if your nails are natural. You zig, they zig. You zag, they zag. They will follow you into a store if they have to. They will physically separate a couple walking together. They are rabid. They want to buff your nails into the glossiest shine of your life. Which would be okay, but they are so annoying I want to throw them in the Dead Sea itself with cinder blocks tied to their obnoxious, pushy ankles. I've been in retail sales, and a part of me really wants to pity them- but if they could back off a little bit, I might buy the nail kit. I won't until they do.

And they have three kiosks in every mall in America. You can't escape. They set up in the narrowest corridor so they can badger at close range. Contrary to all logic, I now try to go the mall during their busiest weekend and holiday hours, just so there's less of a chance of a DSCSD (Dead Sea Cosmetics Sales Demon) attacking my face.

Here's to a holiday shopping season of generosity, peace, and trying not to kill the DSCSDs.

Requisite brief post focusing on pop culture

If this doesn't scare the hell out of you...

check your pulse.

It's a chilly 65 degrees in Dallas

So the Stars show on Halloween was great fun. Of course there were quite a few costumes (my favorite was the giant eyeball), and most people were dressed up as hipsters. Or they were possibly real hipsters, and appearing judgmental wasn't a part of the costume. I couldn't tell.

Magnet opened the show, and was warming up the house with some loop station ethereal concoctions. I like that dude.

Stars came on. Amy Millan wore an old wedding dress and threw bubble gum, candy, and silk flowers into the crowd frequently throughout the show. I caught some gum and blew bubbles all night. I blew some pretty impressive (almost face-sized) bubbles, until the inevitable bursts which lead to my chin and nose being covered in sticky pink goo and looking pretty ridiculous.

Anyway, I found out that Torq is a really pretty good trumpet player, I want to live in Genova Heights, and Elevator Love Letter will always be the perfect pretty pop song.

As expected, they played mostly from the new album and some songs from Set Yourself on Fire and even a couple from Heart. Nothing from Nightsongs. I am pretty obsessed with all four albums, so they could have played anything and I wouldn't have been disappointed.

I may have even made a Stars fan out of my metalhead husband, who went with me.

The only crappy thing about the evening was the parking ticket adorning my windshield after the show.

Aftermath

I have never been a very lucky person.

Case in point- It came to my attention late last night that Dog the Bounty Hunter has joined the ranks of Michael Richards and Mel Gibson. In other words, he went on a racist tirade.

Way to tarnish the integrity of my Halloween costume, Dog. Way to make me look like a jerk. I was just trying to imitate your toughness and incredible skill with a tazer- not your backwards, bigoted attitude. Next time you decide to say horrible, inappropriate things, try to wait a few weeks from the day I dress up as you.

Maybe next year I'll laugh it off and say 'Oh hey, remember last Halloween when I accidentally dressed up as a hate monger? That was unfortunate.'

From now on, all celebrities planning on doing something stupid should be required to submit a form detailing the stupidity several weeks in advance. KThnx.

Corn Dog.

So this is how my costume turned out. Wearing this really made me feel powerful. I almost tazed someone just for fun. In fact, I don't think I'm going to stop dressing this way. Ever. Duane Chapman (Dog) should go back to jail or suffocate in his wife's bosom. Move over, Dog- I'm here to stay.

In other news, I'm excited because I get to see my favorite band tonight. I'm sure I'll put up photos from the show tomorrow.

Toothpaste for Dinner.

I recently found a web comic that I love. Apparently, I'm out of the loop because it's several years old- check it out. I don't think I'm quite nerdy enough to get all the jokes, but I am nerdy enough to get most of them. Which I am proud of.

If you don't get the jokes, go ask an IT guy. He can help. If he refuses to help, bribe him. I know what nerds like:

Comic books
Renaissance Fair(e)s
Socks + Sandals
Living with their parents at age 35
RPGs (I didn't know what that was until I saw this video.)
Editing Wikipedia entries
Babylon 5
Illegal downloading
World of Warcraft
Math
Pwning n00bz
Pet tarantulas
Shirts with dragons on them
Using message boards prove their superiority over other dorks
Calories

Disclaimer: I love nerds! They're adorkable. Plus I'm pretty sure blogging about nerds and nerdy web comics makes me much nerdier than anyone else I know. How many times can I say 'nerd'? Nerdy McNerdensteinerNerdsonvilleburgerNerdmanbacher.

Ween. Halloween.

I think I am too old to dress up for Halloween. I kinda don't want to. On the other hand, dressing up means one less day I have to wear business clothes to work. I kinda don't like business clothes. I find it difficult to wear shoes on a regular basis, much less the whole corporate getup.

At my office, HR made a point of letting everyone know that if you're going to dress up, you have to really dress in costume, you can't just wear sweats and be a punk and say 'oh I'm a casually dressed comfortable employee' on Halloween. So there goes my plan.

Plan B: Dog the Bounty Hunter.

All I really need is an awesome mullet wig with beads and a wicked attitude. Check and check.

Surely this will be better than last year when I was an emo poptart.

That's me on the far right, obvi.

Yo Duggety.

Let's talk about the Duggar family. You know, those jumper-clad Arkansas people with 17 children?


Oops, wrong photo.



That's better. I like the Duggars. Why? Part of my interest in them comes from the fact that I grew up pretty differently. I'm an only child, a product of public schools, and my mom worked a full time job while I was growing up. Thus, they probably think I'm going to hell- I'm just glad I didn't spend my childhood days changing my brother's poopy diapers, being forced to play the Gaither Vocal Band's greatest hits on piano and churning butter.

Another cool thing is the mom's gravity defying bangs.


They look kind of soft despite their shape. I bet she hides babies in there sometimes. Plus, mom Michelle is creative. She came up with 17 'J' names for those kids. Okay, so Jebediah and Jedediah could get confusing, and Jinger is a stretch, but still- kudos to her for thinking of all those names.

You know what else is a stretch? Michelle Duggar's UTERUS.

It will be fascinating to see what this family is like twenty years from now. When you have that many children, your chance that some of them will be freaks as adults goes way up. I just can't wait for the book release Jinger's Story: My Journey Out of Conservative Middle America and in to Transsexual Nazi Hooker Scientology.

MCI (More Conrad Interaction)

Tonight is Hills night. I am excited. I love this show. I hate that I love it, but still.

Is it just me, or is it a little weird that Lauren's sister has never been in an episode of The Hills? Breanna Conrad was on season three of Laguna, and I figured the producers would stage a little phone call or lunch date every now and then on The Hills, but no such. I like Breanna and I think a little Conrad sisterly love would be great to watch. Breanna's face is somewhat unfortunate, but other than that she seems like a cool kid sis.

Maybe 'unfortunate' was a little harsh. Breanna's handsome.

Three questions for BC:

1) Is it hard for you to hide your weiner when you wear those short skirts on the beach?
2) Will you be my boyfriend?
3) Can you introduce me to Whitney? I want to be Whitney.

My favorite Newton is Olivia Newton John...

I've noticed a lot of women blog about cosmetics. Since I can't seem to figure out what to write about, I think I'll try it.

One problem I have with makeup is that I can't seem to find any foundation pale enough for me. Do they make a clear one with blue veins in it? Because that's what my face looks like. Maybe I'll just start using flour as face powder, no one will no the difference.

These are both too dark for me. Is the makeup industry discriminating against albinism? I might have to put on my suing pants.

You know who should be sued for being kind of awesome? Wayne Newton. Even though he is my exact opposite, I love him. He's a jewel.

Here's a chart I made about it. Click to enlarge.



Also, I want to find out what kind of eyeliner Wayne uses. It's beautiful. See?



Wayne Newton, if you read my blog (which you probably do, because you are a shining beacon of personal greatness), please teach me the way of the smoky eye. You're obviously the master. You look like a soft puppet. Do you use your own chest hair to exfoliate your face? Cool.

Rainbows, guilt trips back in time

I bought the new Radiohead album for zero dollars, which is a steal of a deal because:

1) the album is pretty fahreeking excellent.
2) zero dollars, by definition, is a steal of a deal.

I feel the need to write a sheepish letter to Thom Yorke that's all like,

'Hey, I really appreciate you, and I'm so sorry I didn't give you any money for In Rainbows- but it's okay because I gave you dollars for lots of other albums (couch cushion money/money from saving my lunch change nonetheless) and even though I think you're great, I also think it's great when things are free because I'm not a rockstar like you, so sorry, but thanks again. You're the best.'

In other news, I think I might miss Oklahoma.

Kind of weird.

Also, as of today, I've been married for two months.

Takin' it to the streets...

This afternoon, I got a little excited when I saw that I had an email from my husband that featured ALL CAPS. Eric is a very mellow guy, so I knew the use of ALL CAPS meant something huge was coming. I was right. It read:

MICHAEL MCDONALD in Dallas LIVE!!!!!!!!!!!!! Oct 17

I happen to love the brothers Doobie. Eric likes the Doobie Brothers jokingly, but I am a real fan. In fact, the only thing I even remotely despise about Mr. McDonald is his beard, and that’s only because it slightly muffles that soulful voice. And even that beard is cool. I bet it tastes like cotton candy.

I am awestruck at the possibility of attending this concert. I mean, this is the man- nay, The Man- who taught me what a fool believes.

Is my life coming to this?

Nothing like kicking off a new blog with a discourse on poop. Don't worry, I promise each post will not be quite as uncouth.

Basically, I adore this product:

Everyone poops. Now, I'm not one of these communist hipster crazies who wants to take away the stall doors or smear turds on a canvas- but I can acknowledge that part of being human is this little jewel of a restroom activity. Even the daintiest old ladies take craps that would scare Beowulf.

The urge to poop can be really sudden and that's scary when you're at someone else's home. You never know how much oomph any given domestic toilet will put into it's flush. Pooping in an unfamiliar bathroom is truly an adventure. My hope is that you, me, and all our friends avoid any horrible scenarios that could- God forbid it- arise. There's nothing worse than a trip to the inlaws that ends in 'OhMyDearSweetHolyGoodnessWhereDoTheyKeepThePlungerMyFecesIsRising' crashing through your head over and over.

But now, because of this product, Febreze Air Effects, there's one less thing to worry about. Sure, it freshens as well as Oust or any other commodity. But the real beauty is in the design of the can. See the spout? It delicately releases a quiet mist of air freshener.

Quiet.

This is fantastic news for people like me, who, have lived with years of taking every precaution (sink running, toilet paper in first) to not have anyone EVER hear a plop, only to be given away by the telltale KSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH of some cheap ass can of Glade (or Equate Air Freshener, compare to Glade) letting everyone in an acre radius know that I just dropped a deuce. (As if me being in there for ten solid minutes didn't. I digress.)

I urge each and every one of you (which is mostly just my mom because she is the only person reading this) to grab a can today. Your guests with spontaneous bowel needs will appreciate your forethought.

Also, if you read this whole thing, your attention span is excellent.