I love a disco ball, but this bitch is crazy

First let me just say that I have never seen the Lopez Tonight Show, nor do I watch Ghost Whisper with JLove Hewitt, but when I heard about this insanity I had to look this shizzle up. Y'all know me. You know I love an embellishment. I love a disco ball, I love some bling (have you seen the watch I got for Christmas? it's fun). But — this bitch is crazy.

JlLove Hewitt has written a book. I know. There is a chapter titled "Vajazzling." Girl done bedazzled up her vajayjay and told George Lopez it looks like a disco ball "down there." Oh, and she had "a friend" do it for her. Now, I have some close friends. None are close enough to ask to bedazzle my vajayjay, no matter how many times they may ask.

Go to minute 2:40 for the disco moment.

Oh my.

Damn. I wrote about vajayjays again, didn't I? Ugh.

…and I can’t get a book published

All my life I've been a writer. I use that term loosely. I'm a writer-girl. When I was seven, I wrote and illustrated my first book; it was about a turtle, written on 17 sheets of yellow paper and written in blue ink. I've always written short stories, lots and lots of fiction, some non-fiction, journals, poetry, and a novel. And a blog.

While I've never pursued getting a literary agent (and honestly, now I'd have to do a major re-write on the entire novel), I did send copies of my book off years ago to the big publishing houses, only to get rejection form letters in return. So, I can't say that I didn't try, and it won't be the end of my writing career either. I have much more to say, whether I say it on this blog, where I make exactly zero dollaroonies, or if I have a novel published one day and make it to the top of the New York Times Bestsellers List. Seeing my name on a best anything list would be great.

I think about writing much of the time. To be a good writer you have to read, thus, I read quite a bit. I don't get to read as much fiction as I used to, but I read a good deal of news articles, essays, and blogs. I visit Neatorama just about everyday for fun as well and something they wrote about books caught my eye today. They mentioned The Weird Book Room at Abe Books. I read through the titles of the books on this site and kept thinking "and I can't get a book published." I'm assuming you haven't heard of these books either, so I feel it is my duty to show them to you as well.

It's really too bad Christmas has come and gone because How Green Were the Nazis? would have made a great gift for one of my good friends. I'm thinking with all the gassing and murdering in the Holocaust, the Nazis weren't all that green. But I could be wrong. Maybe they were driving electric cars and shit. Maybe Hitler was an 'effing vegan and only ate free range lettuces and used cruelty-free mustache wax. That's probably why he was so pissed off, he just wanted a burger. What are you going to tell me next? The Nazis were just misunderstood? They were all about lowering your carbon footprint? Look for my new book, How Much Does Al-Qaeda Love Kittens, due in bookstores this May!

If you've been reading this blog for a while, you know that I am nothing if not a sports nut (and that I am a fan of the sarcasm). What I love about this book is that it combines my love of bowling with hypnosis. How You Can Bowl Better Using Self-Hypnosis sounds like the most helpful of all the self-help books ever written. What's good about this book is that if you follow the directions to the letter, the best thing that could happen is that you could end up being the best bowler of our generation and make the big bucks on the pro tour and get hot chicks (hey, pro-bowlers can get hookers just like Tiger Woods, they just have to pay for them). The worst thing that could happen if you use this book is that every time you hear the sound of pins being reset you'll cluck like a chicken and you'd attract strange looks.

"But Kerry, I'm not a bowler," you say. Have I got the book for you. This is the book for everyone. Benjamin Franklin said, "The only things certain in life are death and taxes," and it goes without saying you know someone who will need a coffin at some point in the future. Why not start a new hobby? Do It Yourself Coffins for Pets and People will teach you what you need to know about building that perfect eternal resting place. A lot of people agonize over what to do over the loss of a pet, but with this book, you'd have a plan. I'm not sure what the coffin size range is, though. So, don't sue me if you can't make coffin for your pet dwarf hamster. Speaking of size ranges, be careful if you intend to give this coffin to a loved one as a gift. If she catches you measuring her shoulders, she might think you're getting her something cheesy, like a set of football pads. Nothing quite says "I care about you, alive or dead" than a coffin. You know, Valentine's Day is just around the corner, better get started.

Maybe you're thinking more about your eternal salvation than your eternal resting place. The Beverly Hillbillies Bible Study Guide may be just what you've always wanted, but never knew existed. Frankly, I find this blasphemous. Not about God, about the Beverly Hilbillies, that show was awesome. You may not know this, but I grew up in the lower-middle class, not even middle-middle, in a less than 1000 square foot, one bathroom house (in what is now pretty much the ghetto). When I was a kid, I was loved, and being a kid, I didn't know we were poor. That is until I saw the Beverly Hillbillies and their "cement pond." I didn't know anyone with a swimming pool until my grandparents got one (above ground, you know, I mean, they weren't MADE of money) when I was ten. I can only assume that the Hillbillies can teach you more about Jesus than any high falutin' gilded-eded Bible study book could.

While we're on the subject, you know, Jesus loves me (it's a song, look it up) and I love Him right back. I'd be Pope if I could, but alas, I'm a woman and I'm not Catholic, so that's out. But if
I were running for Pope, I'd definitely get this book, How to be Pope: What to Do And Where to Go Once You're In The Vatican. You'd think they'd just publish one or two of these and pass them down or something. I'm sure there is quite a bit to know about the job, seriously — can you imagine the training video? Good Lord. Anyway, I think this would be a good book just to have on hand if you're a Catholic male because you can never be too prepared, now can you? It could be like Publisher's Clearinghouse and they just show up at your door in Pasadena with the Popemobile and the giant hat and say, "come on, Rusty, it's your turn!" Plus, I'm no Vatican scholar, but I think it's about time there's been a Pope Rusty from Pasadena.

You know I've saved the most disturbing for last. 50 Ways to Use Feminine Hygiene Products in a Manly Manner is something I saw and said "and I can't get a book published."

A Mr. B. Koz wrote a book about how men can use pads and tampons to prove, essentially, how much testosterone men have. Please tell me men aren't shooting ducks with tampon bullets. That's what the cover looks like. "Woo-hoo! Hey, Carl — did you see how I put that Tampax Pearl in that mallard's ass? I love huntin' with these things! Carl, you DID pack the tea sandwiches, didn't you? For pete's sakes, I hope you used the cranberry mayo this time."

I repeat, and I can't get a book published.

this just in: I’ll see your Snuggie and raise you a Couch Dress

People, I dare you to buy one of these for a loved one this Christmas.

Your Snuggie is weak. The Couch Dess is afghantastic. Damn straight that's a word.

This is from the Pantalaine site:

The Pantalaine All-Handmade Couch Dress

Pantalaine will customize this item to fit you and any loveseat or sofa in your home
Two flower Broaches included with each dress – choose from many of our popular designs
New dress styles on the floor each season – come visit our store and see for yourself

THAT'S RIGHT, PEOPLE — TWO FLOWER BROACHES WITH EACH COUCH DRESS. That alone is worth the price of admission. But I have to ask — why sleeveless?

blog lost and found

Because I'm a blooming genius and never hit save until the end, I just lost a post I'd been writing for the past two hours, that was actually started on Friday. It was good. You're just going to have to go along with me on this one, trust me, it was some fine writing — highly entertaining and informative at the same time. Infotainment, if you will. But it's gone.

Just so you know, this is a dramatic reenactment of what I did upon realization that my post was lost.

what the hell Friday

There used to be a regular feature here on The Kerry Blog called What the Hell Friday, that for some reason I'd forgotten about, but today — back by no one's demand — it's What the Hell Friday.

It's a Friday night. You know what that means: par-tay! I'm going to watch the documentary Objectified (from the same people that brought you Helvetica, an entire feature-length doc about fonts!) because that's just how happenin' it is around my house. Look out, it's documentary night! Woo-hoo! Don't everyone rush over to join the fun at once, there is limited parking and we'll all have to gather around my laptop to watch. Oh, it's going to be a night. You never know, I may get wild later and listen to a podcast! It might get crazy around here and I may debate friends on Facebook over politics in my pajamas, you never know. I was going to color my roots, but that would bring a little too much excitement to the party. I mean, why not spread the fun throughout the weekend?

Before my wild night gets started, I thought I'd bust out something I came across on The Huffington Post this afternoon, which made me decide to bring back the Friday feature. It's Handerpants, underpants for your hands.

Yes, it's a real product. Perhaps intended as a joke, but a real product one can order nonetheless. They're touted as being ideal for night bloggers. I think I know what all my blogger friends are getting for Christmas. Nothing says "merry Christmas" like blogging with underpants on your hands.

one of those days

It's been one of those days. You know what I mean. I know you do. Shall I expound on my day? Okay.

Let's back up a moment. It's really a carry over from yesterday when the air conditioning was out (it's 90+ degrees here on the Northshore in South Louisiana even thought the calendar says it's October). It was hot. I am not a fan of heat. Like at all. Our a/c man is fantastic and the house started to cool around bedtime (not my bedtime, the children's bedtime), so I was in a much better mood last night.

I went to bed around one. Couldn't shake the static in my brain, of course. Woke up at 5 with a migraine, took some Judy Garland trailmix and tried to go back to bed 'til 6:15, otherwise known as "time to make the doughnuts" as I say every morning when I turn off the iPhone alarm and wake the kids to get ready for the bus. No, I've never made doughnuts.

After I got the kids off, my migraine and I went back to bed. If you've never had a migraine, let me illustrate the feeling: my senses were so heightened that I could smell colors and that made sense. At 9:45 I woke up and made coffee, took a shower, put on another pair of pjs, and sat down to the Macbook Pro for the ENTIRE day. I've been working on a friend's website for about a week and this morning I decided to publish it to the web so I could work out glitches and upload mp3s and all.

Unfortunately, the interwebs hates me.

I deleted the old site, uploaded the new one, but it wasn't there. The error message on the site said something to the effect of "error blah blah blah, this page does not exist on here, fool. Contact the webmaster." This made me laugh until I choked on my coffee and yelled "this shit is bananas," which became the phrase of the day. The webmaster is an idiot. I'd fire her if it were my site.

So, I called my good friend, Frugal Beth to tell her the story because I knew she'd laugh and she asks her professional webdesigner hubs what to do and we got it worked out. Something about publishing to some file blah blah blah awesome. Site was up, buggy, but up. More issues arose, the kids came home crazy, and my friend tells me he bought the new Photoshop Elements 8. Now, I bought PSE 6 a few months ago. This kind of thing makes me crazy. I hopped on apple.com and sho nuff, 8 is out. This shit is bananas.

After putting myself in timeout for a few minutes after telling the kids to stop asking for cookies for the brazillionth time, I returned to the kitchen to see they had eaten the entire bag of Chips Ahoy. I put myself in timeout again to avoid the screaming boiling up from within, then sent the kids upstairs, sat down to the computer again and continued day-o-web frustration.

And then I pondered dinner for at least ten seconds before putting a frozen pizza in the oven (because that's all I could muster up tonight). After calling the hubs' aunt and cousins to ask them to babysit next weekend, I realized I never took the pizza out. I burned the pizza. Nothing like extra crispy blackened pepperoni.

This was not my day.

After burning the pizza, I chatted with my friend while making at least a dozen blog banners for his blog, then finally got the right size. It was bananas. The first one was 20 times too big, then too small — it was like when I try on clothes. Typepad said it was supposed to be so many pixels, wrong. Whatev, they're smokin' crack. I again recited my phrase of the day.

It was about that time that I remembered I forgot to eat dinner, made myself some cereal, and watched Private Practice while trying to upload the mp3s. Two will not work. They must have gotten the memo that the interwebs hates me. It was at this moment that I went to You Tube for some Gwen Stefani. I'm not a fan of the Gwen, but this mix of "Hollaback Girl" with Queen's "Another One Bites the Dust" is the bomb, yo. After — no lie — playing this video 7 times, it's been a much better evening. And come on, this shit is bananas, b-a-n-a-n-a-s. Sing along with me.

public service announcement

It has come to this. I have to make a public service announcement for our friends out there who didn't get what I like to call "home training." You see, I ran a few errands yesterday and saw many crimes against humanity, at least of fashion humanity.

I'm not talking about wearing white after Labor Day.

I'm talking about what to wear in public. Or rather, what not to wear in public. For the remainder of this post, public will mean any place you go to where you have to get out of your car. Yes, even Walgreens.

New Rules for Public Attire

Wear a bra. You should know if you need one. Remember the pencil test from middle school when you put a pencil under your boob and if it stayed that meant you needed a bra? Okay, some of us could put a pencil case or a phone book under there. I'm not naming names or anything. Don't make me stand in front of Target with pencils.
Pajamas are for home, keep them there. Oh, what gave it away that those are pajama pants? Maybe the thin fabric and drawstring waist.
Keep the pants that say something on the behind at home too. There is nothing right about a 40 year old woman with "Juicy" written across her ass.
Slippers are not shoes.
A bluetooth ear-thingie is not a fashion accessory.

If further clarification is needed, please do not leave your house.

Friday night wrong roundup

It's Friday night. You know what that means — sexy times. Yep, I'm at home with some Nyquil (because I'm getting a cold), in pajamas, Kleenex within reach, with the trusty laptop blogging and catching up on Dexter to get ready for the season premier Sunday.

This evening I stumbled upon something so ridiculous I felt I needed we needed a Friday Night Wrong Roundup. I've done vast research for at least the past ten minutes to compile what I believe to be the utmost in wrong for you, dear readers. The only question is where to begin.

I am nothing if not an art lover, so first up in wrong is the porntastic sculptured furniture of Peter Rolfe. Are you in the market for a new nekkid lady sculpture/two-drawer dresser thing? Well, look no further.

Yeah. I'm getting you all one for Christmas. I can't help but notice the glaring design flaw. Why go to the trouble of making the she-drawer if you're not going to make the nipples drawer pulls? Hell, why not? It's already ridiculous.

Onto more wrong. Y'all know I'm nothing if not a fashionista (in my own mind), so I don't know how I missed this gem.

I love the idea of interactive clothing. It's brilliant. Very Project Runway. Not so sure if I want my ass winking at you though. Thank goodness they've got a patent on that, you don't want just anybody making winking ass pants.

Speaking of winking, I've been told I have expressive eyes. More to the point, I've been told not to do "that eye thing," which I think is my disapproving look, I'm not sure. I'm thinking I could really push the envelope with these.

That's right. Eyebrow weaves. I have blond eyebrows that are pretty much invisible, so I color them when I color my hair. I'm SO getting eyebrow weaves. Imagine how disapproving I could look with those. So fabulous.

Next up is something for the musician in your life. I'm simply a fan of good music, not a musician, so I don't know what an acoustic guitar should cost, but $3900 seems a bit high even for a Chanel, which is a fashion house, not an instrument company.

I really hope that includes the case, which I think would make a fantastic piece of luggage, but it does kind of look like the cozies the extra pieces of my china are in.

You know what musician types are fond of? Sunglasses. The name Bono ring a bell? He's never without shades. Do you think he has these?

That's right, they're on a roll of tape. They stick to your face. TO YOUR FACE. Yeah, you won't sit on them and break them, but you'll get them stuck in your hair. They're by Azumi and David, who are obviously geniuses, because guess what else they make?

Yes, they are watches. MADE OF TAPE.

I'll let that sink in for a minute.

Okay. You know why these are the most retarded thing in this post, right? THEY DO NOT TELL THE TIME. The only people these "watches" are good for are the blind and preschoolers. Oh, and THEY'RE FREAKIN' TAPE. Have you ever had a hair caught in a bracelet? That hurts. Pulling tape off your wrist? Why not just save yourself the trouble and wax your arms? While you're at it, wax your eyebrows because they're going to come off when you take off your tape sunglasses.

The Nyquil's kicking in. I'll probably dream of tape and nekkid people furniture and wake up screaming "THOSE AREN'T DRAWER PULLS!"

open letter to Lady Gaga

Dear Lady Gaga,

For the love of Jim Henson, stop. Just stop.

I didn't say anything when you appeared in my mailbox on the cover of Rolling Stone wearing bubbles.

I didn't say anything when you forgot to wear clothes under the blazer because you thought the flesh-colored unitard would suffice.

But not this time. Madam, this will not stand.

(yes, the video is in German, no I don't know what they're saying)

You cannot go around wearing an outfit made of Kermit the frogs. It's just wrong. It's unAmerican. Plus, Miss Piggy is not going to be after your skinny ass. And I wouldn't be surprised if PETA comes after you too. Now, go and put some damn clothes on.

Love,

Kerry

my breast friend

Once again, it's up to me to tell you about a product you didn't know you needed. Watch the one-minute video, then we'll discuss.

Okay, first, the woman in the beginning looks uncomfortable because of the get-up she's sleeping in, not her boobs.

Seriously. I'm speaking only for myself, but damn, if your boobs are the reason for your insomnia, maybe you should read the news and you'll have a bigger reason to lie awake at night. I'm just saying. Now, I've had big boobs forever and never have I been trying to get to sleep and thought "if only I had some sort of plastic boob separator I could get some sleep!"

Let's look at some of the FAQs from kushsupport.com.

Q. Is there an adjustment period for Kush?

A. Like knee pillows prescribed by orthopedic physicians and chiropractors,
there may be a brief period of adjustment for the first two or three nights.
However, most customers report being unaware that Kush is even there while
sleeping!

Q. How does Kush stay in place?

A. Kush offers a unique anatomically contoured design to fit comfortably between
the breasts. Made of a lightweight plastic that offers the firmness necessary
for breast support, the slip-resistant surface and contoured shape help keep
Kush in place as a woman rolls from one side to the other during sleep.

Q. Do I need to wear clothing with Kush?

A. No. You don't need to wear a bra, restrictive clothing or special garments.
You can sleep in nighties, T-shirts or in the nude, and Kush will stay in place
with its slip-resistant outer coating.

Q. Why is my Kush not staying in place?

A. We recommend that customers use Kush against clean, dry skin. The slip-resistant
quality of Kush can be negatively affected by nighttime perspiration associated
with menopause, or by perfumes, alcohol, oils, lotions or creams.

Really. I don't see how I could be unaware of the Kush while I'm sleeping, but sweet mother of insomnia, thank goodness the Kush is slip-resistant and I can sleep in the nude with it. I cannot sleep in the nude, I'm far too prudish for that. Plus, if there was an emergency, like a fire — if you sleep in the nude you'd have to throw some clothes on to run outside. At least I'd be on the lawn in my chemise waiting for the cute firemen to show up. Back to the Kush. It's slip-resistant is negatively affected by a few things, alcohol being one of them. I'm confused. Do they mean when you drink alcohol or if you pour a drink down your pajamas? 'cause I'm a klutz and am always spilling my booze at bedtime.

The Kush comes in 3 different sizes and plenty of colors. Now, I thought the colors were for various skintones, but then I noticed the blue, lilac, and green, so I assume they're making the Kush for aliens. This, of course means aliens have boobs and now I don't know if I'm more disturbed by the Kush or by aliens with boobs. I'm telling you, sometimes this blogging thing unearths some phobias I didn't know I had.

The sizes are freaky too. And they remind me of the little hand weights my mom used to have when she had the exercise mini-trampoline when I was kid, and since my boobs are weights themselves, I don't think they need competition. Plus, according to the site, I'd need the large size and I fail to see how I wouldn't notice it while sleeping as the FAQs suggest.

It's a weird and wacky world we live in, isn't it? Now if you'll excuse me, I have to get my junk together for a little scrapbook trip to the swamp tomorrow. Since I don't have a Kush, I guess I'll pack the cordless phone to put between my boobs. I don't think that's big enough, maybe the dustbuster or a roll of paper towels.