Posts published during August, 2005

August 30, 2005

Haus Warming

Okay so…

The Secret is this site. This is Haus 1.0. We’re 1.0 because we’ve still got a few things to tweak, so look for a few neat changes in the coming weeks.

The Story
For a good while now, I’ve been encouraged by those close to me to take this blog to the next level, to write more, and house that writing in a special space, a space more interesting than what’s available via blogspot’s cookie cutter templates. I think I’ve accomplished this goal, but not without much coaching, cursing, and help from my friends.

I apologize for all my talk of secrets, for all the suspense. Really, I never meant to lead you along. Truly we were so close to finishing this site so many times when…

House moves delayed critical projects
Files got lost somewhere in cyberspace
Lightening struck and destroyed the designer’s monitor (true story)

The Dream
Last week I dreamt I was in purgatory. I sat at a desk with my head between my hands watching other people laugh, and shop and wander the streets. This dream was a metaphor for what I have been experiencing in creating this site. Things didn’t go as fast as I’d wanted. Something happened in the interim between inspiration and implementation – a little something called life. And if you’ve been a reader for any amount of time, you know my life is a walking gag real, so I guess I should’ve expected the exploding electronics.

The Sparkler
Four years ago we opened our doors as the 10Cent Sparkler on-what was then-a fledgling site called Blogger. Today we’re bidding adieu to the Sparkler, and welcoming in its place, hannihaus. I admit I’m a little bit sad. The Sparkler is where I cut my teeth, found my voice, and unleashed my wicked sense of humor to the cheers and jeers of you, my fabulous audience.

My Thanks
What we do here is called creativity without constraint. Thank you, dear hannihaus readers, for being a part of the madness.

And a big thank you to those who were privy to the secret, my crack team of experts:
Bob at Phyrephly hosting, Chris our graphic designer extraordinaire from Gobagu, and SORM our very beloved hannihaus admin. A special thanks goes out to Angelface who has given up a significant chunk of Hännitime in order that I might craft this site. I love you!

So that’s it. The Secret’s out. I’m glad you’re here. Take off your shoes and stay a while.
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Help our designer

In addition to his fantastic work here at the haus, Chris has also been working on creating a series of t-shirt designs for his “pawn, the underdog” project. If he gets enough votes, his t-shirt will go to print and his ego will be appeased. Woo hoo! His design will only be live for a few days. If you love the haus, then you love Chris (b/c this is his design). Show your love and vote 5 for his fabulous t-shirt. Dunke.

1 comments

August 29, 2005

The Truth

I always say I have no cash, and ask “will you take a card,” knowing that you won’t. The truth is, while I’m sitting in the parking lot, preparing for my entrance, I take all my greenbacks and put them in the change purse. That way, when I open my wallet to get my library card, you won’t see that I can *indeed* pay the $4.65 I’ve acquired in late fees. The truth is, the books you let me check out today-despite not having paid for past indiscretions-will probably be late too. I won’t pay those fees either.

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Dear hannihaus readers, care to share your truth? C-O-M-M-E-N-T and come clean.

4 comments

August 27, 2005

TP

Some use it to wipe their ass.

Others hijack it from beneath the bathroom sink, desecrate it, and then leave it on display like some sort of glorious and scatological art piece.

The TP in question

Either way, when your last roll of Charmin has been filched by your felines and you’re too lazy to go the store for reinforcements, well, it’s quite simply the shits.

4 comments

August 25, 2005

Keep It In Your Pants

I have many fears. Amongst them I count birds (greedy, beady eyes), small spaces (too teeny, too scary), stepping on frogs (ewww), and those miracle-of-birth reality TV shows (I like to keep my gratuitous cursing/blood and guts viewing restricted to Tarantino flicks, thanks).

One thing I’m also really afraid of is wearing a skirt in crowded public places lest some pervert decide to snap a candid of my pantalones with his camera phone 3000. This stuff is real. Angelface told me he saw a segment about it on Oprah.

Yeah, my man watches Oprah. Jealousssss?

Anyway, I ran across something interesting today. A lady vigilante is turning the camera back around on perverts. A quick thinking victim used her celly to snap a pic of a creepazoid displaying his wee willy winky to her on an NYC subway. Said smart thinking lady then posted the pic with full description on the popular photo sharing site, flickr, thereby exposing the pervert who exposed his jimmy junx so rudely to her.

And now, we expose said exposer:

can you beleive this guy?

(To see the full monty unedited, click here).

Her story’s been picked up by the hottest sites on the Internet-including of course, this fine piece of blog-in hopes that Mr. Rock-Out-With-His-Cock-Out will get recognized and then promptly tarred and feathered.

This just goes to show, you don’t have to be a guy to have balls. For your retribution-seeking pluck Ms. Vigilante, we salute you.

0 comments

August 24, 2005

The Truth Unveiled

With all my talk of secrets, I thought it only fair to come clean to you dear hannihaus readers. No, I’m not ready to reveal The Secret (it really is coming), but I am going to announce a new segment of this site called The Truth. The Truth will be my confessional, a place to share, for all you voyeurs out there, my best kept secrets. It’s kind of a post secret type thing, but without the post cards and of course, there’s no anonymity. At the end of each post, I will ask you, gentle readers, to tell your Truth, should you feel the need for catharsis. Of course, you can post anonymously.

So let me show you how it’s done.

The Truth

I acted all nice when you sweetly inquired if my treadmill was broken, but the truth is, inside I was mad, mad, mad. I’m fairly sure, before I entered the gym, that you tried “my treadmill”, found it wasn’t working, and picked the other one for your morning speed walk. Then, when I came in, looking like a dolt in my booty shorts and pink sweatbands, you let me fiddle helplessly with the broken treadmill for a few minutes before addressing me, pretending not to know that it wouldn’t start up. I’m fairly certain you did this, because I did the very same thing to some other girl last week.

3 comments

August 23, 2005

Now With Increased Hipness

We took a brief respite from our breakneck programming, testing, selling, supporting and writing to party doon at A Very Hip Software Company yesterday. It was an amazing day, but now I’m sad because I think I’ve peaked. I’m pretty suspicious that I just had the Best. Work Day. Ever. And I fear that like the loss of Lindsey Lohan’s boobs, it’s all down hill from here.

The atmosphere of said party, alone, was ridiculous. The helium-balloon-to-employee-ratio was probably 5:1 and the $80 spent on donuts, bagels and various other bad-for-you baked goods was probably overkill considering we also had catered lunch, candy, chocolate bars, chocolate milk, champagne, brownies, cookies, milk, etc.

And in the name of excess at work, I rode that sugary, caffeine-laced, faux-food train all the way babies. In retrospect, this was probably a mistake. I realize now that this gluttony is merely a one-way ticket to fat ass ville. Plus, now I’m all constipated.

In case you were wondering, it sucks.

The best part of the party was probably the grand finale, wherein said festivities took a more action-packed turn as a massive rubber band fight ensued. Rubber band fights are nothing new at A Very Hip Software Company. Part of the company culture, just about every day of the week, at some point in the day, I’ll hear the snap of a crisp band as it hits some poor schmuck right in the keester.

And then I hobble back to my desk, trying to look cool, like it didn’t really hurt when I got that stretchy missile lobbed at my voluptuous, easy-target of an ass.

But I digress.

But yesterday’s rubber band fight was the greatest I’ve ever witnessed. Employees from every department and level snapped bands like their lives depended on it. A regular war zone, rubber bands sailed through the air like kamikaze jet fighters, crashing into their targets with no remorse. We even had a bit of a matrix moment when rubber bands, caught in streamers hung from helium balloons, slowed their flight, producing futuristic, psychedelic tri-color waves.

Above the din of said fighing, a lone voice could be heard shouting gleefully, “Productivity is at an all time low!”

And that, my friends, is why I love my job.

0 comments

August 21, 2005

No Woah

Q. Why, pray tell, is my 7lb kitten on a restricted portion diet?

A. Because left to his own stealth-like, food filching devices he does things like this:

Peek-a-boo I see you...

It is Mommy’s great fear that if she doesn’t do a better job of hiding the kibble, she’ll find him one day, bloated, purple, dead on the toilet with a ham sammy clenched in his greedy, little fist.

Or, scenario #2 is that one morning I’ll walk into the kitchen and find that my darling kitten has turned into something like this:

A particularly grotesque looking Jabba - the effen - hut

But I digress.
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Oh Secrets. I tire so of keeping them. *Le sigh*.

4 comments

August 19, 2005

Concept-a-Bitch

So, I was at the natural pet food store the other day purchasing a high quality, human-grade (but reasonably priced) bag of cat food when I came across this supplement used by dog breeders. It’s called Concept-a-Bitch and contains progesterone-rich wild yams to facilitate a healthy pregnancy.

And I wasn’t surprised by this product. I’ve read about wild yams before, and know that some women take it as an alternative to hormonal birth control. And for those who don’t know how this all works, I bring you the Sex Ed portion of this post:

Wild yam works like this: it pumps you full of progesterone, effectively tricking your body into thinking you’re “with child”/ got a “bun in the oven,”/are “preggers”/whatever. Because you’re “knocked up” you stop ovulating. If you’re not ovulating, then you’re not making babies. In short: taking wild yams hypothetically means that no swimmies will find safe harbor on your shores, no spunk will play house in your stomach.

And even though I know the mechanics of how this very useful supplement works, I still had to giggle at the little doggy vitaminks, because a) they had “bitch” on the label, and b) I am an unsophisticated cull.

Well at work today somebody put an away message up that said, “Who let the dogs out?”

I really wanted to IM back, “I have no Concept…a-bitch!”

Get it? Dogs? Bitches? No Concept?

Well, I thought it was funny, but I didn’t end up messaging. My coworker probably wouldn’t have gotten the joke anyway. He’s not like me. He’s normal.
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Secret. Coming. Hit by lightning, therefore experiencing small delay. I ask your patience dear friends of the haus.

2 comments

August 18, 2005

Aristocats

If you haven’t figured this out yet, I’m a hippy who is obsessed with my two furry children, Bella Donna Bad Girl and Stinky Sphynxy.

I *heart* my kittinks

Because I love my babes (and have an affinity for all things organic), I spend a lot of time at the natural pet food store. You’ll remember a few weeks back, when in a moment of sheer insanity I bought my naughty kittinks – its like “kitten” with a Russian accent –fancy schmancy $7/lb cat food? Well they loved it… and then… as cats do… they shat it out.

One night, they even went so far as to, inexplicably, expel their expensive vittles with great gusto in a maelstrom of diarrhea-type activity. Yeah, that kind of got my panties in a twist. A 20 minute curse-and-mopfest is not really my idea of a good time…

But I digress.

So yeah, as predicted, the cats enjoyed their high-dollar cuisine, and then thanked me by making some nice deposits into the bank of gritty kitty… Well, that’s not entirely accurate, because my cats don’t dig their tootsies in regular, gritty cat litter. I am a New Age Mama and accordingly, my cats poo in wheat. Yes, I’m serious. No, I am not retarded.

In any event, I’ve recently come to my senses. And by “come to my senses” I mean I’m still wackier than your av-er-age bear, but I’m currently feeling just mildly eccentric, rather than full-on, buy-the-caviar-of-kibble, wildly eccentric. As such, I’ve decided to purchase more inexpensive food, because let’s face it…

Ritzy-a$$ cat food is really, at the end of the day, just a precursor to poop.
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My secret got struck by lightning! It’s coming, just needs mending.

1 comments

August 17, 2005

Hallelujah and Pass the Porn

Does anyone else find it pee-your-pants funny that Gdub has his panties all in a knot about ICAAN’s proposed .xxx domain?

Call me crazy, but I like the idea of porn being banished to its own dirty little corner of the Net. Maybe I’m alone on this one, but it seriously irks me when I’m surfing around all innocent-like when – suddenly– I’ve got Tara Reid’s greasy boobs staring me smack in the face.

Now, please don’t mistake, I love celebrity gossip, and I’m definitely a fan of celebrity boobs, but I want to solicit my own sex. I will find Tara’s boobs. I don’t need Tara’s boobs finding me whilst I’m doing a search for “Granny Smith Apples” or “California Melons.”

And another thing is, doesn’t Bush have more pressing issues to attend to? Shouldn’t ending the war, lowering gas prices, and strengthening the economy take precedence over Suzy McSlut’s .xxx domain?

Give me a break, Gdub. Give me an effing break!

In the meantime Rabid Christians, rejoice! El Presidente is doing his very best to keep porn where it belongs –not in a definitive, family-friendly locale, but rather scattered willy nilly throughout the entire annals of the Internet! Woo hoo for that!
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Got Secrets? I do.