Posts published during February, 2003

February 28, 2003

Kanker Strike

I have had the *worst* kanker sore for about a week, and I totally suspect it is spreading. This freaks me out as I no longer have health insurance and a spreading of anything on my surface has serious freaky potential. I read online that beauty masks, of all things, can cause the sores. Apparently they push your lips into your gums or some junk, and wa la, a disgusting/painful kanker sore is born.

And this makes sense, because last Saturday (about a week ago) I went on a primping binge and applied said beauty mask – who knew it could be so hazardous. It came via post from france and had a lovely, fresh scent.

And I’m cringing, because I know that when this sore goes away, I will have to apply said mask one more time, just see if it is indeed the cause of the chaos.

Hey there’s a party in my mouth, and i’m miserable!

This kanker sore business is pretty serious – it’s a universal plague as evidenced by my search results in Yahoo. In addition to English pages on the subject, I found sites named “Medicijnen en kanker“, and “Lima Belas Cara Alami Untuk Mencegah Kanker Payudara”, etc, etc. Of course I think the latter may refer to a religious diety because I found a (seemingly) related page called “Praise Him – Kesaksian – s005 – Berkat dari kanker” that had a little girl praying on it.

And I’m praying to. Praying this cursed ulcer will free itself from the warm and pleasant confines of my mouth.

Why I gots to be all hospitable like that?

On a more serious note I would just like to say rest in peace Mr. Rogers. You made a difference in the lives on children and adults alike, and you will be missed.

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February 24, 2003

Lookin Pa ‘Nub In All Da Wrong Places

Long, long ago, in the early days of my get-free-stuff-from-the-internet obsession, I signed up with AmericanSingles. I didn’t sign up to find love online – I had already been enchanted by Angel. I believe the real reason I signed up was for points for a free coffee cup, or an inky black pen, or coupons for free shampoo.

Consequently, I recieve the weekly bulletin from AmericanSingles. The subject line always reads: “your matches from AmericanSingles”, and the email contains a list of names and faces of lonely hearts from the ‘burg. Occasionally, a face would seem familiar and I’d wonder if he was in my intro to poli sci class, or if I met him at an apartment party, or if he served me at the DQ.

This afternoon, much to my delight, when I clicked open my weekly A.S. email, I actually recognized someone. I believe he works on campus, and am surprised to see him advertising in the single’s pages, because, the last time I remember seeing him, this blacksburg romeo had an obvious admirer. This girl was all about him – like not even in a subtle way.

In other email-related news, today i have new email from “Patricia” telling me “nude women go crazy”, and from “MANUEL” who sings the praises of “GOLDSMITH natural penile enhancement.” …Yeah …

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February 21, 2003

Introducing, Whiteys

The world is changing, of that we can be sure. Case in point: Today, I spoke in public speaking without saying “Uhm” once – this is nothing short of miraculous, I , uhm, assure you. Also, I actually enjoyed being at my internship this afternoon – not for any particular reason, per se, but I did revel in the fact that my desk chair was sufficiently comfortable, so that if i had hemmoroids I’m sure the ass would be okay.

And most monumentally, today, I learned that it’s Girl Scout Cookie season, and the cookie’s names are a-changing again. What do I mean by this? Well, you all remember the days when carmel delights were samoas don’t you? And what about tag-alongs? What is that? – seriously, i can’t remember if they are the cookies with the chocolate covering and peanut butter in the middle (read: peanut butter patties), or if they are the old skool plain wafers with peanut butter in the middle… I think they are called “do-si-dos” or some crap.

Regardless, we all know that girl scout cookies used to have real names like the aforementioend “Peanut butter patty”, or the classic,”Shortbread,” etc. And how do I remember this? Well, I was a girlscout in the 80’s, and I sold hundreds of boxes of peanut butter patties, thin mints, and the elusive peanut- butter- wafer -cookies- that- I can’t- remember -the- names- of.

In the mid nineties they changed the name of my favorite cookies, the Carmel Delights, to “Samoas”, which disturbed me to no end. Consequently, I have seldom eaten a g.s. cookie since.

Plus, I am super cheap, and for the price of those cookies, they better be made of gold.

And I was always bothered by the Samoa name – like aren’t Samoans a group of people? I am at once disturbed and abhorred the girl scout’s equating this proud group of people with chocolate wafers and coconut.

It doesn’t help that samoans are in fact brown, like the wafers, and that they are indeed known for having large, fleshy bodies, which, if you think about it, can come from eating fatty foods like chocolate and coconut.

What’s next? Whiteys? Hey kids, try the all new Whiteys! With their fine cracker crust they’re destined to become a girl scout classic!

But the world is different today. Today, I am proud to report, the girl scouts of america are no longer selling Samaos. They are selling, again, the Carmel Delights.

Thank you political correctness for giving us back the Carmel D.

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February 20, 2003

The Kids are Alright, Really

I must have a bungled psychic connection with my family. Twice yesterday I got semi-frantic calls from my parental units. The calls came from S.K. Dad and Maaa who, many of you may know, have been divorced for well over 20 years now. Curiously, without consulting each other, and of their own accord, the two both tried to reach out and touch someone – aka me.

This is weird, because I haven’t called S.K. from Va since, oh, maybe last October? And Maaa never calls during the week – she is busy with church, class, etc. Maaa and I usually converse via email, and every other week we heat up the phone lines with our lengthy yammering sessions.

Maaa’s message came about 10pm HT (Hänni Time). As there is a four hour time zone difference, it was only about 6 MT (Maaa Time). She sounded very panicked on the phone, saying someone had called and left the lonely word, “Mom”, on her answering machine. It could have been either me or Spank, but she was sure it was me. She said I should call her this weekend.

She called me “precious girl”.

I love Mom.

So S.K. called earlier that day at like 2:30 HT, which if you do the math kids, it’s about 11:30 SKT. He called and said he “just felt” that he had to talk to me, and was hoping I was okay. In addition to S.K.’s excellent beer drinking, fishing, and kilt-wearing skills, S.K. has also been known to have psychic premonitions reminscent of America’s favorite clairvoyant, Miss Cleo.

Before hanging up S.K. called me “Sugar Pie”

I must be a precious sugar pie – type girl. Yay!

So anyway, as they both left phone messages, I haven’t talked to either in person. My life is not particularly heinous right now, save the fact that I am actually *excited* about eating at Diarreatrick tonight (for free brownie sundaes, wild horses couldn’t keep me away).

And now I’m all nervous from these calls. All these things are running through my head like is something going to happen to me? Why am I suddenly getting phone messages asking if I’m okay? Am i projecting negative energy? If so, can I learn to channel that energy to defeat my enemies? Can I learn to channel that energy into telekinesis? Will the telekinetic powers render me capable of reaching my remote control off the tv from the comfort of my twin-sized bed? Have I gone too far? Is this too much?

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February 13, 2003

Disgruntled by Disgruntled Postal Workers

Today, for the first time in months, I went to the post office. I had to. Apparently, the punishment for delinquent payment on my $2.22 phone bill is a referral to a collection agency of Virginia Tech’s choosing, and a nice little memo to the IRS.

That being said, I flew like an eagle to the nearest USPS.

While there I had a few other things to attend to, which I had also been putting off. The following is a list of items that includes, but is not limited to, the sum total of things sent by post this sunny Thurs.:

* Aunty Linda’s Christmas coasters (already two months late!)
* Kawamoto Otosan’s (Japanese host father) Alaska Magazine w/ complimentary calendar
* Engagement announcement to Anchorage Daily News
* Box o’ goodies to maaaa and popi in the frozen north
* $197.90 credit card bill for essentials (books and underwear from the UK)

The total expenditure for the shipping this pre St. Valentine?s Day Massacre: $23.55!

I don?t know what part of ?the cheapest shipping? the disgruntled postal worker, with her feathered hair do, couldn?t understand.

Because I forgot to tape maaa and popi?s box o? tricks at home, I had to use the priority tape lying on the counter at the USPS. Apparently, because it had said tape on it, the aforementioned box had to be shipped priority, at the ungodly rate of $6.00 for a box the size of a 10 pack of hostess cupcakes!

The same thing happened with Aunty Linda’s coasters, which, as previously mentioned, were already several months late.

In any event, the icing on the cake of disgust came when, upon asking for a new book of stamps, Feather-Fro slaps the “antique toy” collection down in front of me. I wanted something cute – the fruit, the botanicals, maybe even a special valentine stamp with cupid and hearts on it. What did I get? Ugly ass box-car looking things.

She didn?t even give me a choice. And I thought I lived in a freakin? democracy.

Am exhausted by my experience, and will now resign myself to the comfort of my velvet duvet, a cup of tea, and book where the heroine is even screwier than I am!

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February 10, 2003

Intern Blues

I updated my resume today to reflect my new internship, where I’m working on selling booth space for a career fair. As I perused the densely packed resume, I gasped in surprise. It seems my reported work experience consists almost exclusively of intern experiences. I found that ironic, as I am currently applying to be an intern at AOL.

And then it hits me: maybe i don’t need to worry about finding permanent employment post graduation.

Maybe I can just jack around and be an intern all my life.

I mean, it makes sense when you think about it. I’m sure we all know people who have been in college long past the anticipated graduation date. And of those who take so long to get through, a good portion find it hard to leave college town, U.S.A. and up sticking around, working as profs, assistants, and house managers.

What’s so bad about being a lifer-intern? I mean, yeah the internship I currently have doesn’t pay, but hey at least I’m not *spending* any money. Just think, if I were to spend another 3 years in college as an undergrad, I would actually be shelling out 15G’s a year! That’s 15,000 bank donuts down the drain!

the list of potential careers now reads: career intern,spy, feng shui master, mother to challenged child, medical experiment participant, naval officer, stripper, lawyer, and taco bell employee.

Yeah, this intern gig may not be too bad. But geez, I don’t know if I can take it if I have another day like today. Today at work I called all these people and none of them were the least bit interested in my sales pitch. That’s 2.5 hours of rejection people – constant rejection.

The lowest point of my day came about 3pm today when i’m trying to call some unpronounceable tech company. I call this place, because it’s on my list, and this Indian with a thick accent answers. I can’t understand the name of the company as he bellows it into the receiver.

I give my spiel about how his company should attend our career fair, yakety smackety, and he goes “hey how did you get this number? This is a small restaurant!” And so I’m like profusely apologizing, saying I dialed the wrong number (which is true), and he’s like “yeah right, … yeah right… you didn’t know this was a restaurant… yeah, right you didn’t know this was a restaurant…”

The high point of my day was hanging up on Rude Dude. And then having a good laugh at his expense. I mean, did he really think I purposely scouted him and his second-class dining facility out so I could *pretend* to not know where I was calling?

Give me a break jackass.

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February 7, 2003

The Way We Were

Tis’ the season to talk of such things as love and lasagne. For your viewing pleasure I present: The Way We Here: the Story of Angelface and Hänni

It was a very skanky evening.

We were flying in the mars when suddenly a loud buuuuurp broke the silence. I looked into your ear and knew you were the right plumber for me.

Little did we know that Cupid had fired a loopy fennel through our knees.

The magic of that moment will remain in my nostril until st. patricks day. But our love will remain until christmas.

Love,
Hänni

(make your own love story here)

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February 6, 2003

D – Tales

I got my first college “D” today. It’s sort of a big event, as this is the lowest grade I’ve had on a single assignment since I started at Tech in ‘99. And while I know I should be upset, – that I should be crying,screaming, and self medicating with cheesecake and TLC, – oddly, I am not even slightly perturbed.

It’s probably because I realize that this assignment is worth only a small fraction of my total Comm Law grade. In turn, my Comm Law grade is only small fraction of my cummulative grade. Coincidently, my cummulative grade will only play a small part in the entire scheme of my life.

If you think about it, this “D” assignment can be likened to a bit of skanky cheese.

Bear with me here: say you are making a delicious grilled cheese sandwhich. You go to slice up the kroger-brand cheddar, and notice it has a bit of mold on the edge. Now, everybody knows that you don’t throw out moldy cheese – cheese is, in fact, best when aged. As you’ve been taught to do, you scrape the mold off your brick – o – dairy, and you do it to the best of your ability. Then, you put the delicious cheese in your sammie and grill.

Now, there is the distinct possibility that a tiny, microscopic bit of that mold got into your sandwich. But as you put the perfectly browned, perfectly prepared sandwhich to your mouth, you only think one thing: “this is the best sandwhich I’ve ever eaten! I think I’ll have another.”

In deed, this is the greatest sammie in the world – the grand pubah of sandwhiches, if you will. Guess what, the moldy skank-cheese didn’t hurt the sandwhich after all!in fact, maybe, just maybe, the sandwhich was all the better for the nastiness – it gave it a bit of character.

in case I lost you: this has been a metaphorical description of my life wherein Hänni & Hänni’s future = grilled cheese sandwhich, and H䮮i’s “D” on Comm Law case brief = bit of moldy kraft single. Analysis: future = delicious, (metaphor for fabulous), despite bit o’ rank dairy (again, said “D”)

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February 2, 2003

Just Call Me Pigpen

Am wearing my bug pajamas – they are yellow and have grasshoppers, moths, beetles and other such creepy crawlies on them. Mom gave them to me before I went to college, along with a matching sheet and pillow case set. I like wearing them, because when I feel like being invisble, I can slip under my sheets and I’m instantly camoflauged. And I’m like *now you see me* *now you don’t*

I’m wearing the bugs cause I need comfort. Today has been a long, long day – and the next couple don’t look too hot either.

So I went to the gym today, thinking yoga could be the order of the day – my 90 minutes of peace amongst the storm. On my way to the gym I tromped through a huge pile of mud. There was so much mud in my jams that it seriously affected my balance. I felt like I had polio or something; felt like one leg was several inches taller than the other, which maybe it really was.

But then … I was like “oh god, now my shoes are dirty and they won’t let me into the studio with its polished, pale, wooden floors.” But then I remembered for yoga you always take off your shoes anyway. No harm, no foul.

But then … yoga class is full, and I’m not allowed entrance. Who goes to yoga on Sunday nights anyway? Freaks. Anywho, there I am in my clodhoppers, feeling like my name is Hansel and Gretel, as I leave a telling trail of brown stuff throughout the gym.

But then … the lady who says yoga is full, says she’ll give me a pass to reebok core instead. And then I’m giddy, cause I only paid for the economy fitness pass – the cheapy pass, the one which restricts you from taking cool classes like the ‘core. Suddenly, a wave of pure bliss spreads over me, and the idea of a *free* class temporarily shuts down all normal brain function.

And I forget about the mountains of mud stuck to my tootsies.

And then I learned the ‘core is a jumping around type of class.

And then, before I knew it, my board was encrusted with, and surrounded by, chunky pieces of dirt.

And I am *so* embarrased, cause it’s real obvious against the damn polished wood.

Then I am real embarrased when we do “step drills”, where the whole class feverently runs around in a path which – of course – is right infront of my dirtiness. Yes, the whole class is front and center to the trainwreck that is my personal core-sphere. And they all have clean sneaks.

Sometimes I feel like i’m that guy from roman mythology who is cursed to roll the stone up the mountain for all of eternity. He of course, never makes it anywhere.