Posts published during August, 2006

Like tomorrow. At 5:30 am.

Part of the reason I’m road tripping tomorrow is I’m unemployed and have nothing better to do. But the main reason I’m traveling the 1,000 miles from O-Town to H-Town is, I need an apartment.

That’s right, an apartment in Texas.

Yes dear hannihaus readers, in lieu of certain career-changing events (mine sort of sputtering, and Angel’s taking off—ha ha), the Family ‘Haus will be moving out west.

Bet you didn’t expect me to pull that rabbit out of my hat.

But I’ve been leaving clues. Never let it be said I don’t shake things up every once in a while. Keep your ear to the ground and you’ll see. I’m not always full of shit; sometimes I’m full of surprises.

Maaa always says you can pick your nose, and you can pick your friends, but you can’t pick your friend’s nose.

Now the nose thing is total bullshit. If I’ve learned anything in life, it’s that friends (and gynecologists) can stick their fingers wherever the hell they want. Case in point: Smug Ellie, my college roommate, has been putting her finger in my patooty for years.

“Time to check your oil,” she says before thrusting her pointer in my pucker.

Silly Smug. She never finds Valvoline. Just gas.

If someone asked me what I did today, I would say “nothing much … well, except I lost my job.”

Because I did.

But actually, I didn’t lose my job today. I was pinkslipped yesterday, around 2PM.

And then at 2:30PM I started drinking margaritas with the other kids who got cut.

And I didn’t stop drinking for quite some time.

Which explains why at 2PM today I was hungover, camped out on someone else’s couch, wearing someone else’s clothes, eating Papa John’s pizza, and watching E! True Hollywood Story: Paula Abdul.

15 comments

Switching Gears

I haven’t been writing much lately because there’s some stuff going on. And that stuff is kind of turning me all Sensitive Artist. And this blog is *not* about being a sensitive artist.

… But it is about being a sensitive smart ass.

And when it comes to being a smart ass, baby I’m the best.

But I digress.

One of the things I think about when I’m not writing posts on Britney, booty and boys- who-wear-makeup, is my job.

And boobs.

I actually spend quite a lot of time on the boobs thing.

But anyway, about my job—it pretty much kicks ass. It’s sweet that I get to make bank while doing what I love. And by “what I love,” I’m referring to writing—not eating organic raisins. Because while it’s true that organic raisins and I are romantically involved, my inability to make money off this union—like a pimp would a ho—makes having a day job necessary.

And so I write help files for a living.

The best thing about working in technology is the constant shift. It’s edgy, fast-paced, volatile. Entering the office each day, I don’t know what I’m going to tackle. Technology changes fast. To keep up with the changes, I have to be faster, smarter, better informed.

I’m not in aviation, but I’m pretty sure what I do each day is like working on a jet that’s in motion.

It’s always a crazy ride.

But with every thrill comes an element of uncertainty. The caged lion is a beautiful behind glass, but broken free, he can be a real killer.

And so it is with technology. To keep abreast of changing trends requires quick and constant adjustments. A lot of times these adjustments directly affect employees. A lot of times these adjustments mean people lose their jobs.

Working in this industry, it’s not unforeseeable that one day I’ll be handed a pink slip. I won’t take it personally—I’ve got mad skills and lots of ambition. I’m a square peg, you’re constructing a circle; it won’t be a surprise when I no longer fit.

Even so, switching gears would create *some* anxiety. Talking with SORM—who’s been through the tech-world shuffle and scuffle—has provided some insight.

“Well Hänni,” my dear friend told me, “if you get laid off, at least you’ll get severance.”

And that gave me comfort. Because after all, a nice package …

that’s all a girl ever really wants.

CNN reports today that Britney Spears’ second child was not planned.

Of the pregnancy, Brit sez, “It just kinda happened.”

Now I’m no expert, but I don’t think pregnancy “just kinda happens.”

… Unless of course your name is Mary, Holy Mother of God and you are prone to such things as immaculate conception.

Now if you’re name is Mary, Holy Mother of God and you are *not* prone to immaculate conception, then you’re parents are just cruel assholes.

But anyway, Brit needs to wise up! “Shit” may happen and “it” may happen, but babies don’t just materialize from thin air.

They materialize from that little bag the stork carries around … duh!

But seriously, I’m proposing a ban for all child-fearing couples of the haus.

I urge you, dear childless hannihaus readers, just say no …

to cheese puffs.

If Britney’s two pregnancies in a two-year period have taught us anything, it’s that cheetos are a potent aphrodisiac.

But I digress.

mad props to girlieerin for e-mailing this article
—-
Do uRock like iRock?

8 comments

Infomercial

i_rock.jpg

iRock. Will uRock too?

Today we interrupt our typical trash-talking, blither blathering, ice cream-mister whipple-wunky pickle-chicken nipple-type tomfoolery to bring you something *really* special.

No, I’m not talking about a super-secret duet between me and mr. hotpants. That shit’s strictly on the hush low, y’all.

What I’d like to talk about today, dear hannihaus readers, is my ass … or more specifically the state of my ass.

I’ve been seein’ a little ‘celly. Booty and belly need some working ooooooout.

It’s recently occurred to me that—while I’ve been rocking this blog like my name was Gwen StepHänni—I’ve been rockin’ my bod like my name was … well … Dom DeLuise.

But that all’s about to change. And I’ve got 21 days to prove it.

Twenty1days is one of my (many) new (and exciting!) blog projects. It’s an LJ community dedicated to starting some habits—specifically the good ones. The first tweny1day challenge will be to rock your body with 21 days of fitness.

For all who are interested, twenty1days to rock your body starts next Monday, August 21st. To participate, go here.

… And to tell me what a nerd I am for talking about my ass on the Internet, leave that love in comments.

Til next, dear hannihaus readers, adieu.

Today at the office we had career development day. As part of our workshop, we were required to make a list of professional goals.

Mine looked like this:

Hänni’s career development goals

* Start own company

* Freelance tech writing jobs

* Work in high technology

* Write a book

* Win an industry award—make name for self

* Become a rock star (oww oww!)

* Work hard

After we wrote down our goals, we were told to cross those items which should be deferred until a later time in lieu of pursuing the most prudent career path.

So then my goals looked like this:

Hänni’s career development goals

* Start own company

* Freelance tech writing jobs

* Work in high technology

* Write a book

* Win an industry award—make name for self

* Become a rock star (oww oww!)

* Work hard

While reviewing this list, I’m pretty sure the HR facilitator died inside a little. But I didn’t notice. I was too busy doing my best impression of Gwen Stefani.

Before I start, did I just write the best post title ever? I think so…

Anyway, I usually don’t give two shits about shoes, but recently I’ve had a little crushy crush on some Crocs.

pink_crocs.jpgpink crocs: the new black?

Gardening shoes—that’s what my coworker called them.

If you’re unfamiliar, Crocs are only slightly sexier than your grandma’s galoshes. Made of a foam-like material that’s resistant to both bacteria and odor, Crocs are an orthopedists dream. Available in a variety of garish colors and showing up everywhere from the beach to the bistro, Crocs are also a fashionista’s worst nightmare.

Love em? Hate em? There are plenty of folks on both sides of the fence.

Me, I’m a fan.

… Of course I’m also a fan of jewelry made from poop, so that’s not saying much. But I digress.

moose_nugget.jpgmoose nugget earrings: they’re the shit!

Anyway, I’ll admit it. I bought a pair of Crocs today. And I did it because they’re totally trendy.

Truth is, two weeks ago I thought Crocs were super fugly. But I’ve seen a lot of the controversial kicks since, and now I think they’re fab.

It’s funny how, if you see enough of something stupid, it starts to seem kind of sweet, kind of awesome.

Yeah … so anyone else totally stoked about Snakes on a Plane?

Heh.

But anyway, I’m kind of curious. What do you think dear hannihaus readers? Do we have any Crocophiles in the haus? Do we have haters interested in putting up a Croc block? Whether you’re like “oh hello” or “oh hell no,” I wanna hear what you have to say. Speak up in comments.

7 comments

Twisted Sister

My darling sis sent me and Maaa a link via e-mail. The subject line? “Awww Cute.”

And it was.

It was so very cute, I almost soiled my britches.

It was so very cute, Maaa nearly had a heart attack.

Know what else was so very cute? How Sis was thoughtful enough to give Maaa a call, after sending the link, so Sis could hear—direct from Mother’s mouth—the joy and delight which would undoubtedly ensue once she’d opened The Special Message.

Isn’t that sweet?

I want you to witness, dear hannihaus readers, just how sweet Sis is.

—->Click for Spanky’s Message O’ Love<----

Seriously–I swear to the flying spaghetti monster, sometimes my sis is so sweet I could just scream.