Because I'm in a Giving Christmas Spirit

Due to the obscene amount of cookie dough coating my hands at this moment, I will re-post a few hilarious outfit deconstructions from Go Fug Yourself. I laughed hysterically. However, I conveniently said "Bless Her Heart" previously. Therefore, it negates any evil spirited laughter I may or may not have been involved in, and my karma is safe. Please enjoy, Bless Hearts (first), then laugh along with me.

"This holiday season, I am thankful for many things: My health, my family, my Dr. Murad zit-blasting face wash, the fact that it's cold enough in Los Angeles to wear coats, mulled wine, fondue, the Pittsburgh Steelers defense, the fact that the hideously, brain-searingly, stabby-makingly awful Sears ad with that Five For Fighting song is seasonal and should therefore go off the air soon... the list is long.But on there, somewhere, is a note of gratitude that Michelle Stafford did not come upon this pattern in dress form:

For one thing, it's a rather ugly pattern, so the less of it assaulting my eyes, the better. But I'm also thankful she wore this outfit exactly as it is, because it's so AMUSING. I got a welcome laugh out of it this morning. It's ridiculous -- it's like wearing a turtleneck over your prom dress, or trying to repurpose your wedding gown by throwing on a t-shirt. She looks like a piece of furniture you'd find in the Titanic wreckage, right down to the presence of some mildew at the base. Oh, Phyllis. Why were you even AT the Valkyrie premiere? You just caught your husband making out with his ex-wife in Paris and your father-in-law VICTOR NEWMAN (whose name generally requires all-caps, as that's how everyone utters it on the show) is in prison for something he didn't do and your rich old friend is presumed dead but is actually suffering from the kind of amnesia that makes a girl color her hair and sling hash at a remote diner. You have PROBLEMS. You don't have TIME to waddle around in thigh-chafing baroque upholstery. I hope Santa puts some leg salve in your stocking."

Rihanna, I am flummoxed.

Are those boot-pants -- pantaboots? bootaloons? -- like, the adult version of footie pajamas? Where does one acquire such an item? Is it supposed to save you time when your shoes and your pants are one and the same? How do you hang those up in your closet without the show part weighing them down and making them fall off the hanger? How do you get them cleaned? Do you weather-treat the entire thing? When you go hang out at a friend's house and want to kick off your shoes, but can't, do you die a little inside? When you go to someone's home and that person asks that you kick off your shoes before entering, do you just take off the bootaloons altogether and swan around in your underwear? When you get blisters, does it take you half-an-hour to put Band-Aids on them? And does every inch of the bootaloons smell like feet, since they are essentially shoes with a crotch? Don't you ever get afraid you'll have to cut yourself out of them when you're drunk and they just won't budge?

Please advise.