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.