Posts published during November, 2006

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Write On!

So there’s something we need to talk about dear hannihaus readers. And this one’s pretty tough so I’m going to cut right to the chase:

I am a slack ass.

The frequency with which I’ve been posting is pretty lame. And you’ve probably been disappointed. It’s OK. I’ve been disappointed too …

Not so much with this blog mind you, but I’ve been disappointed with other things. For instance, the war in Iraq is pretty shitty. The American health care system sucks. And one time I hit a link that said “Click to see Britney Spears clam,” but all that displayed was her crotch. Frankly, I would’ve preferred to see a mollusk.

But anyway, dear hannihaus readers, apologies are in order and I want to say I’m sorry. This blog’s your mistress and I, the author, have been a lazy lover.

… But that all changes today.

nablopomo_120x90.jpgThis afternoon, whilst lurking the Net I came across a little something called NaBloPoMo. For those who are unfamiliar, NaBloPoMo is short for “National Blog Posting Month.” Both based in November, NaBloPoMo is the little sister to NaNoWriMo, a program that challenges writing nerds to crank out a novel in thirty days.

While I’m a writing nerd, I’m too lazy to pen a novel. Instead, I’d like to announce my participation in NaBloPoMo.

!!!

That’s right baby birds, I hope you had your mouths wide open because Mama just fed you a big, juicy worm.

This is a historic day. I, Hänni of the Haus, am promising you, dear readers—that no matter how arduous the task, no matter how much it sucks—I will write.

I will write like my blog depends on it, because for the purposes of NaBloPoMo, it does.

Indeed dear hannihaus readers, the era of lethargy has ended and the era of industry has arrived.

The dawn of daily posting is upon us–For every remaining November day left in this, the year of our lord 2006, I promise to post.

But I’m kind of tired right now. So I think I’ll start tomorrow.

Thursday—in celebration of Tofurkey Day—I took a trip.

And that trip—like the one our forefathers embarked on in 1620—led me to lands previously unknown

For the Pilgrims, the final destination was America.

For me, it was Fresno.

Yes Fresno, California. A place I’d been scared to visit for quite some time. Part of the trepidation lay in the fact that I’d never been; it was foreign. But mostly I was scared because I saw on E! True Hollywood Story: Britney and Kevin, that K-Fed is from there.

And it did not seem impossible—because it happens to everything he touches—that being in K-Fed’s hometown would result in the ruination of my pop star career and/or the impregnation of my ovaries.

Both bad things, I assure you.

So I went to Fresno where I stayed with Rockstar Brother. We had a great time! Fresno’s actually very charming with lots of good shopping, clean air and kempt lawns.

In deed, the only time I sensed the presence of K-Fed, we were on our way out of town. It was a false alarm anyway; it turns out the bad smell in Bakersfield is just manure.
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Thanksgiving has come and gone but the next major holiday is right around the corner kids! Saturday, December 2nd is the holiday we can look forward to all year long. Bigger than Christmas, more kick ass thank kwanza and more fun than the ‘Fourth, it’s my birthday! I’m totally stoked. After all, it’s not every year that I turn 21!

Oh wait. I have been turning 21 every year since 1999 …

Pshaw, details. The important thing is it’s almost my birthday! And I really like presents *hint, hint* Amazon Wishlist right here *hack hack*

I’m not real political but this shit is pissing me off.

In case anyone is wondering: IT IS NOT OK TO WRITE BOOKS DETAILING HOW YOU WOULD KILL YOUR WIFE, FATHER, MOTHER, SISTER, BROTHER, CAT, DOCTOR or DENTIST.

It is especially inappropriate to murder someone in writing when in fact your virtual victim died violently in real life. This is especially heinous when you are considered (by most) to be the killer.

Fox News is planning to air an interview with OJ Simpson. Do not watch it. Do not buy the book. Do not–I implore you–contribute to this man’s Campaign of Hate.

He is disgusting and has no respect for his surviving children or the deceased.

Because I couldn’t say it any better, please read this.

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Bippity Boppity Boo

Back when I was on the skids and unemployed, I took this class. And one of the things I learned was that 80% of people land jobs through networking.

This surprised me, because I’ve *never* gotten work this way. My last two jobs I got through the Internet. And statistically nobody gets work though the Internet—only freaks get work though the Internet. Like seriously, the success rate is about 5%.

The average person has a much better chance of contracting herpes from Hooker Paris Hilton than contracting work through Monster.com.

… But that’s not saying much.

So I thought I’d probably pull a hat trick—because I’m super freaky like that—and get a third position, my Texas gig, through the Jobternet.

But my friend DaReaVeRoFBiTS had a different idea. He submitted my resume to a co-worker and faster than you can say, “They liked me! They really liked me!” I was given a cubicle and a brand new-box of binder clips.

And then came the office slippers. For The Mother F*-ing Win.

Yes, that’s Office Slippers FTMFW.

Not only is that the name of DaReaVeRoFBiTS super cool blog, it’s also what dude likes to wear on his tootsies.

To celebrate my initiation into Another Very Hip Software Company, darling D mailed me my very own office slippers FTMFW.

slippers.jpgFlattered, I told him he shouldn’t have. He’d done so much, getting me a job and now the kick-ass kicks, well, they were just.too.awesome.

I told him I felt like Cinderella. He was my fairy godmother.

“Well,” DaReaVeRoFBiTS replied, “I have been told I am hot when I have my wings on, and when I wave my magic wand, everyone better look out!”

Now I’m not sure what DaReaVeRoFBiTS meant when he said “magic wand,” but if it’s what I’m thinking, then it’s just not kosher.

Like literally.

He’s not Jewish.
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Not Jewish, but still awesome—thanks DaReaVeRoFBiTS! And happy Monday dear hannihaus readers!

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Husband Of The Year

Not only did he take me to that Patchouli Den, but he also hung out for 65 minutes while I schmoozed with Houston’s finest—the hard-charging hippy chicks of the 281.

Last night—bless his heart—Angelface accompanied me to a Burt’s Bees seminar held at a granola barn called Nature’s Solutions.

An introduction to the wonderful world of hippy dippy hand creams, lip balms, and complexion enhancers, the estrogenfest was a New Age Mama’s dream and a Manwich-Lovin’ Straight Dude’s nightmare.

We may never have children … I’m fairly certain Angel’s twig and berries withered a little, just walking into that place.

But anywayz …

Angel, who is Mr. Anti-Organic, must know that Santa Claus is coming to town and she’s making a list, checking it twice because the hubs was *entirely* too well behaved last night.

I mean, he only flinched a little each time the older woman seated in front of him—heady with the ecstasy of organic eye cream—groaned desirously. I will admit, around the 45th outburst, Angel’s small flinch looked more like a nervous tic.

And then, when we were discussing the burden of ovulation and the androgenic acne it produces, Angel belied no discernable reaction … well, except his complexion changed from rosy to rigor mortis.

And when the topic of night creams was broached and someone went into detail about how mature skin wrinkles and puckers, I think Angel could relate. Subsequent to hearing a TMI testimony about rose creams being good for women’s “feelings” and “hormones,” I’m fairly certain Angel puckered on part of his body.

And it wasn’t his mouth.

I thought it was the best dirty hippy date ever. Angel (and his asshole) would probably disagree.

12 comments

So Funnee HAW-knee?

It’s happened again.

I totally busted out of my pants. Last week, after cinching a little too tight, my belt snapped clean in half. And in the aftermath only rubble, butt crack and the stares of my incredulous co-workers survived.

Because of course, this happened in the office.

I’m not sweating it though. When you’re thin around the middle, but you’ve got much back these things tend to happen, which is why I never blink an eye … or go commando.

But yeah, something did occur in the workplace that I actually found disconcerting.

Someone left kryptonite in the break room. And by kryptonite I mean homemade chocolate chip cookies. And by homemade chocolate chip cookies I mean, I homemade them get in my mouth. Like real fast. Like dangerously fast.

And oh yeah, also someone told me they found my blog.

Now I don’t give two figs if my co-workers find the haus. I’m not one of those doom-and-gloomers who are afraid to post for fear that the boss will read about my friend’s big balls , my date with the masterbaiter, or my ass-licking cats.

No, I’m not bothered when my co-workers read my blog.

I’m bothered by their reaction.

“Hänni,” they inevitably gush, “you’re soooo funny.”

They say it like it’s a surprise. They act like archeologists; they googled for gold and found fart jokes.

And I should be flattered, but the truth is every time this happens—and it happens a lot—I kind of get miffed. If everyone thinks I’m so funny after they’ve read my blog, then I have to wonder, what did they think before?

Did they think I was boring, lukewarm or lame? Did they think I lacked spirit, sass or charm? Did they believe I had an unnatural obsession with bootys, burritos, and boys who wear makeup?

… Because if they thought the last three things, they’d be right.

But yeah, I have *no idea* what people think of me IRL. I could go back and forth, describing interactions to the most minute detail.

… But the truth is I’m no good at splitting hairs. Let’s face it–my expertise is in splitting pants.