Posts published during July, 2005

Today we bought a Jeep… again. We used to have a Jeep. It was black and cute and bubbly-looking. As a matter of fact, the Jeep we purchased today is pretty much the very same Jeep we used to have back in the day.

Today’s purchase marked the end of a year long bitch n’ moan session facilitated by Hänni House’s favorite hubby, Angelface. The story: In 2002 Angelface leases his first car, a very practical Toyota Echo. Three months into Angelface’s lease Hänni makes the mistake of calling the Echo a “clown car” (which was funny when you consider that the car was so teeny and its driver was a big, hulking giant of a man with size 15 feet. But whatevuh). Shortly after the Clown Car incident of ’02 Angelface attempts to redeem his masculinity by purchasing the rough and tumble Jeep Liberty.

It’s a story that’s as old as time. Boy and Liberty Meet. Boy and Liberty Fall in Love. Boy and Liberty live happily ever after until…

Gas skyrockets up to $1.75 a gallon! (Thanks mutha f*in Bush administration!)

Suddenly the Liberty lost some luster. On a whim, and doing what he believed was – in the words of Martha Stewart – a good thing, Angelface traded in his beloved Jeep for the more efficient (and thus slightly more affordable) Chrysler Sebring.

And about this mistake, Angelface has been kvetching incessantly ever since.

It’s really been annoying as shit.

You see true love never dies, and that’s what he had with the Liberty. She was his first, his last, his 4wheel thing. Hell, he even wept when giving away his leather wipes, the little chemical cloths that brought him so much pleasure when he detailed the Jeep fortnightly.

To add insult to injury, the Sebring really turned out to be a POS. It mysteriously started getting SUV mileage right about the time that gas prices rose in excess of two “holy freakin shit” dollars a gallon. Nice timing methinks. In addition, it also made a mysterious clunking noise (which I suspect was a bum transmission), and had unusually screechy breaks, headaches, nausea, oily anal discharge, and a partridge in a pear tree.

But I digress.

Long story short, even though I hate going to the dealership…Even though I’d rather go the gynecologist than spend one minute face to face with a skeezy, greezy salesman… Even though I’d rather go to the gynecologist and have her do a five-finger anal probe rather than spend one second of my day on a car lot… I was a good wifey and accompanied Angel on his trip to the showroom floor for what would turn out to be the happiest of days.

I’m happy because Angelface is smiling more, and whining less. He’s happy because today my friends, we purchased a black, cute, bubbly-looking Jeep…again.

——–
The secret. It really is coming.

5 comments

True Story

So I come home from work last night only to find an ungodly amount of what appears to be cat fur lying on the floor in the computer room.

Ungodly Amount of Mystery Chunks O Fur

Obviously this was distressing. But the cats seemed fine – they are jumping and leaping and licking and kicking just like always.

… In fact, Stinky Sphynxy is maybe a little more giddy than usual. I could hear him purping with wild abandon from the other room. I shit you not, when I walked into the kitchen to investigate, this is what I found:

Cat is playing with razor!

————————————————
Oh and in case you forgot, I have a secret. It’s still coming.

I have a White Trash Woman for a neighbor. She likes to leave her garbage piled up in the middle of the breezeway. I’ve never met her, but I can tell you that she uses cheap, see-through garbage bags and has an affinity for Wal-mart brand diet soda.

I presume that she has a daughter – that or she has a freaky obsession with re-living her psychotic, sugar-and-spice-and-everything-nice youth. In addition to her mounds of trash, she also has lodged, on her stoop, a permanent monument of peptol bismal pink plastic tchotchkes.

Each time I open my door and see the mountain of Barbie bikes, barbie hotels, and barbie beach bags, I get furious. I think to myself “I’d like to lodge something in her entry way alright.”

By her entry way, I mean her ass. And by lodge something, I mean my foot.

Anyway, I like to play this game. It’s called inventory White Trash Woman’s garbage and feel smug b/c the contents of your trash are of a much higher caliber.

You have to be all nonchalant about it, like just quickly glance towards the trash, but as mentioned previously she uses clear bags, so you can get a good looksee with minimal effort.

Today I noticed she had a ½ gal milk (generic), several 2 liter soda (generic sprite and root beer), several cans of diet coke (generic), bottle of misc. fruity soda drink (generic), 3 20 oz bottles of coke (brand name!), oreos (doublestuff), grape juice (glass bottle), chips (generic), garlic season all (generic), a slew of napkins, and a pork chop tray.

And I’m kind of amazed. What is this woman living off of? I can’t help but notice 75% of her garbage is beverages. This creature holds endless fascination for me – the white trash sodasaurus gives me something to contemplate. Can man really live off generic coke, oreos and pork chops alone?

Ponder this one folks while you wait in anticipation for The Secret to be revealed. It really is coming (promise).

2 comments

Deez Nutz

My coworker, Manuel, is trying to get healthy, and as such has made the excellent decision to go on a fruit and veggie fast. Having done this type of thing before, I know it’s not easy, so I wasn’t surprised to hear him exclaim “Goddamn donuts!” from the Very Hip Software Company kitchen.

Things can get pretty intense when you’re in a stare down with a big, old glazed crueler.

I told Manuel, don’t sweat the breakfast pastries. Don’t think “donuts” when you see those little circles of sweetness– instead, think “dog nuts”. And I think it helped Manuel. Dog nuts are not nearly as appetizing…unless you happen to be a Pomeranian in heat.

But I digress.

Oh yeah, and if you were wondering, that secret, it’s still coming.

by googling “Gonnoreah.”

I am disturbed.

PS it’s still coming.

So I’ve still got a secret, and no it isn’t that blogging is for dummies. Thank you Angelface for posting your message here on my blog… but in any event, yeah the secret is stil coming. And it will be divulged, all in good time my friends, all in good time.

In the interim I would like to take this opportunity to inform you of some really fantastic news. I’m an aunt… again!

Yesterday after 3.45 hours of labor, blonde haired, blue eyed, little Lilly Christensen, my darling baby niece was born. Maaa says she’s a keeper.

And as we’ve been preparing to welcome little Lilly into our fun and freaky family, I’ve had a lot of time to think about important things. I’ve been thinking about fertility and you and me and how we all got here.

And here we go!

So I’m not gonna sit here and lecture about the birds and the bees. I think we all had that health class in junior high. Everybody knows how babies are made – the stork brings them in the middle of the night, duh!

But seriously, if you think about it, to make you and me, all these criteria had to fall into place. It had to be at the right time, the right mood, and the right moves (if you know what I’m saying, heh.) It had to be right chemically and spiritually and physiologically.

In short, my friends, we are living, breathing miracles. You and I are wonderfully made.

And this is why I don’t understand things like war and racism. Let’s not hatorate, let’s appreciate…. each other. After all my friends, there were a whole lotta swimmies competing for the prize, but only one reigned victorious.

By virtue of our grand and glorious birthright, we are all champions. Yes, you and me we are winners in that great sperm race we call life.

Love you Lilly!

14 comments

It’s Coming

I’ve got a secret.

Yesterday, very randomly someone IM’d my yahoo, mwahahahanni. Initially I was v. excited b/c I figured it was a haus fan – someone who read the post where I messaged Manuel, and wanted to know more about me.

All access hannihaus, you could say.

But it became apparent two messages into the conversation that this person had other ideas. This Mr_Lover_Can was way more interested in my a/s/l than my b/r/ain.

Obviously, the conversation ended shortly thereafter, but it got me thinking. What can Mr. Lover do? (Besides cyber and annoy people who would otherwise be working).

Mr. Lover can dance the fandango?

Mr. Lover can curdle cheese from ten yards away with telekinesis?

Mr. Lover can make a shelter out of coconuts and kidney beans?

Mr. Lover can swoon, smile and beguile hairy-lipped lunch ladies?

Mr. Lover can whip up a souffle whilst simultaneously performing brain surgery?

Mr. Lover can get Lindsey’s boobs back?

Mr. Lover can wear a leather loincloth to church and a suit and tie to sleep in?

Mr. Lover can burp the alphabet, backward?

Mr. Lover can light his farts on fire and call it performance art?

??????????????????????????????????????????

Hannihaus readers, what do you think? For a good time, comment on what Mr. Lover can do. There’s a prize in it for you! Anyone who submits gets to be published on what is officially The. Best .Blog. Ever. (No, I’m not talking about Celebrity Smack, though that one gets an honorary mention. Any site that shows Beyonce’s panties is a-okay in my book.) But really, to clarify, Hannihaus is The. Best. Blog. Ever… so let’s post folks, and you can ride my coattails to infamy and beyond!

0 comments

Reason #423

Reason #423 to move out of apartments and buy a home in BFE: the neighbors.

I was having a bout of insomnia last night and was, for a brief time, able to drift off to la la land. That didn’t last too long though. After about 10 minutes I was quite rudely awakened by the unmistakable moan of a woman participating in unchaste activities.

And she was audibly unchaste for about six minutes.

I then drifted back to sleep for another 15 or so minutes before – you guessed it – Miss Sexpants started back in with the boffing bedlam.

And I tossed and I turned, trying to shut out the disquieting sexcapades that were being (loudly) played out in apartment 202.

Needless to say, I didn’t get too much sleep last night. Apparently, my neighbor, She-Who-Whinnies-While-Riding-The-Pony, didn’t catch too many z’s either.

The FDA is ordering that Viagra and other erectile dysfunction drugs include warnings about the possibility of vision loss due to blocked blood flow from the optic nerve.

I’m not surprised.

They always said it would make you go blind.