Yeah. My parents recently visited the ‘Sparkler – and let’s just say they were not happy about the way they were portrayed in my little rants. Dad seemed to have mixed emotions. He was both horrified at his depiction as a Creative Genius freakydeaky, but also interested in my creative process.

Mom simply sent me an email that read:
“Saw your site. It sucks. Love you precious girl, Mom”

I just pray that Gpa didn’t visit and see that I linked Gma’s hospitalization to a bad bout of gas – the green wind, if you will. He def. wouldn’t talk to me for years if he read that junk.

Apparently sis didn’t like my reference of her beloved Matt as “the loser-boyfriend”, so I doubt she will be visiting me this summer as I’d hoped.

Damn, damn, damn – all apologizes mi familia.

And how did they get the url for my blog? Why, I emailed it to them! Yeah get this junk. So I made this website for class (international house of hänni), and brainlessly emailed it out to my address book. Well, the fam is on the book. Of course they linked to this blog.

Of course – I am an idiot.

So for now, I am hiding out – bbye

Mom emailed yesterday. She wrote that Spanky (my sis) is working at the greenhouse, The Boy (my bro) is finished with finals, and the dogrun in the backyard has now become “the proverbial swamp sponge” and is filled with poo.

Yes, she made a point to mention that the dog shit in the backyard is thawing.

I love Mom.

Mom also related that her and Creative-Genius-Dad (step dad) had been away on a counselling weekend. My parents love counselling. Therapy is like a hobby for them – CG Dad even has therapy friends – people he sees at his “group” meeting every week. Mom hates group, but she does enjoy unravelling the mysteries of her childhood with her shrink, of which she has an abundance.

Dad does this thing every so often – it’s called “weekend intensive” – which is a nice way of saying 72 hours of lovey-dovey, lets-cry-about-our-pain group therapy. I’m not sure what happens at these things, but CG Dad comes back with these crazy revelations about the state of God, love and rotini pasta. Ma joined him for one of his beloved weekend sessions, and although she wouldn’t give details, she did say she’d rather have been doing something more worthwhile – something like scratching her ass.

Well actually, mom would never say anything like she’d rather be scratching her ass. She is a lady. I added that last part.

Also, Mom forwarded some emails from Gpa entitled “Don’t worry yet”, and “Mother Fixer”. Apparently Gma was in the hospital, cause they thought she had a heart attack. But actually, Gma just had really bad “acid reflux”, which really is a polite way of saying Gma had perilous gas.

I know how Gma must be feeling – I get that same “acid reflux” every once in a while – mostly after dining at Dietrick.

It’s a dangerous game to eat a place with both “die” and “trick” in the name.

File this under: Mother Fixer sounds like Mother F-er – my family’s funny!

Do you know why the nomadic hunters, the Pardis, wish to align themselves with the Hindu majority in India? Do you know how the majority came to be constructed in the wake of partitioned India?

Do you care at all?

Not even a little?

Not even a tiny bit?

Yeah, me either. Unfortunately, I have to turn in a paper on this very topic. Ain’t I the lucky one? So this is what I have been doing all weekend; contemplating the state of Indian affairs. I have such a glamorous and thrilling life.

As you, my faithful blog readers know – the whole two of you – S.K. Dad will be here tonight! Am v. excited. Perhaps tomorrow we will traipse through the cascades, and spend a few lazy hours fishing the James River. Wow, it sort of feels like summer all the sudden. Only three more weeks of classes!

Summer time

and the livin’s easy.

it seems that I have been presenting Serial Killer Dad to be some sort of freaky psycho. Zackypants tells me he’s afraid to speak to Dad, lest he experience some unforseen wrath. I just want to let you kids know that dad is v. nice, and decidely not scary. This is a funny story about S.K. Dad: one time we went bowling, and I can’t remember why, but Dad stuck his hand in the floor panels of the alley – you know the panels where the ball shoots through on it’s way to the return? Well, this ball came flying through, and dad broke his finger.

Dad was laughing. It was actually pretty funny, except blood was spraying everywhere, making a little picasso scene on bowl-o-ramas shiny floor. Step Mom was being a little loud, yelling “you stupid german bastard!” repeatedly at the top of her booming lungs.

Also, S.K. Dad sleeps in a nightgown. Granted, it’s a men’s nightgown, but it’s a nightgown nonetheless. How scary is that?

file this under: Badass daddy and his cute little nighty

I’ve had the “New IHOH” link up in my profile for a while now, and let’s face there hasn’t been anything new at the IHOH for about a week now. Blogger has been F’ing up hardstyle lately – but of course, that isn’t the only reason for my silence. Mostly, I’ve just been busy as nuts. i’m working like crazy to get the new IHOH ready to launch sometime this month. Hurrah!

Lots of new news of the familial sort. Serial Killer Dad is making an appearance on the East coast Friday, when he goes to New York for some mass bagpipe rally. Apparently, 10,000 pipers from all over the world are going to march through New York this Saturday, making bag pipe history! History will again be made Saturday night as 10,000 kilted men pass out drunk en masse in the gutters of the Big Apple.

I can see it now, rosy-faced men lining the streets for as far as the eye can see – their bonny hats all askew, their kilts dangerously threatening to reveal their contents, while men fall ass over teakettle like scottish dominoes.

Oh! Oh! just to let you know, S.K. Dad will be in the ‘burg – undoubtedly hungover from his night of partying doon – April 8th! For a good time with a burly man, come by O’H䮮isey next week.

Speaking of family members in bands, I’m proud to announce that my bro, Tommyboy had his first shows last weekend. His band, Nothingless, also have their own website, which is v. sweet. As a note, their photo is hilarious. I can tell it was like ten below that day, cause my brother (orange jacket) has that little it’s-cold-as-balls face on. Yeah, Alaskan winter.

Well seeing as I have a test in the am, which i have not studied for, I should probably use this time productively and go to sleep. (no, am not slacking. will get up v. early tomorrow morning to read my notes on topics such as “why people remain single” and “what colonist dating was really like” – it’s thrilling, I assure you.)

Until next we meet, ta!

Dude, the smelliest man in Blacksburg sat in front of me on the bus today. His odor was a little like boiled dumplings and sour cream. And since boiled dumpling and sour cream smells a lot like pit funk, one could deduce that the smell was not pleasant. It sort of reminded me of Nickolai.

Serial Killer Dad met Nickolai soon after his illegal immigration into the U.S. Nickolai had been a wealthy artisan in Russia, but in Alaska he was just a poor carpenter with a thick accent. One day Nickolai invited the fam over to his and Olga’s place for dinner. We dined on boiled meats – very smelly boiled meats. To chase down the meal, Nickolai brought out his jar of Kimchee he had buried in the yard months before. Again, the food was smelly. Of course, the grand finale involved many many shots of Vodka – we were dining with the Russians after all.

Poor Serial Killer Dad and Step Mom – they like honey liquers, box wine and imported beer – they are not exactly the straight-no-chaser vodka crowd. The problem of course, is that to refuse “wadka” from a Russian host is practically sacrilegious. So I watched as Dad grimaced and gulped, drink after drink. Then, he slowly turned pink, and a little bit giddy. This was somewhat distrubing, considering Daddy-O typically appears stern and imposing with his wild tangle of black hair, dark european features, and enormous biceps.

In fact, at one point, Dad, in an effort to look more villanous, had Step Mom draw several versions of “Evil Goatees” on his chin with her eyeliner pencil. After consulting with us kids about which version of the E. Goattee made him look the most like a serial killer, (hence the nickname), Dad began to grow said goattee. And what a scary Dad he became! But not really.

Anyway, the whole point of this story is that the Russian food smelled, so did the dude on the bus. Also Dad got drunk, and his goattee made him look like Disney’s Jafar.

file this under: the sweet smell of reminiscence

well kids i’m back to school. Break was the greatest. I spent lots of time with the fam, which just enforced my belief that I am not the weirdest person in the world. Some cases in point:

My step mother made split pea soup with the express purpose of launching “fart wars” against my dad, and was disappointed when the potency of the peas was only moderate at best.

My older brother tells me he is decorating his living room with snowboards – yes, snowboards. Older brother’s wife thinks this is the greatest idea since canned chicken, of which they have a whole one (yes, a whole chicken that has been canned) sitting atop their fridge.

Little sister tells me as normal as anything, that her boyfriend, who has dropped out of highschool, will be coming back to school full time next semester. “This is great,” I say, “now he can finish off that one last semester and get his degree.” My sister corrects me, “Noooooo. He is not going to get his highschool degree! He will try to get his G.E.D. sometime. He is just coming to school to see me.” And like I had made the dumbest assumption in the world, Spank reinforces her point by raising her immaculate eyebrows and growling, “He has friends to hang out with, you know?” No, I don’t know, but am afraid to challenge my sis and her evil eyebrows.

Darling mother, or MaCate as she has come to be known by those in the smuggest circles (ie at ellies house ) is a gem when it comes to weirdness. She’s seemingly the most normal person you will meet. She works at a telephone company, likes getting her hair done, and enjoys folk art. Beneath her earthy and natural exterior lies the eccentric model from which i derive my quirkiness. Ma tells me she is learning to dance in church, and wave banners at the same time. Ma loves our charismatic church. It’s a bit extreme for my tastes, as the congregation frequently is urged to stand up and belt out tunes or prayers, while facing the person next to them, or to dance freely in the aisles. Anyway, mom tells me she is waving banners in church now, but would like to dance while waving banners. She is taking lessons, but told me they haven’t been so succesful, as she is prone to wack empty metal chairs and walls while she is piroutteing. She hopes to dance and wave during church, but is afraid she will hit people who fill the metal chairs during services.

Ma is not a big fan of Baby Riley, Aka “the devil” -you know, the red puppy who sank his little pointy teeth into my supple calve? Well, she takes care of him though. She took him outside to relieve himself, and came back in announcing “Well, i threw his poo over the fence right away. Didn’t want to leave any tasty snacks for lizzy!” Lizzy is Spank’s irish setter. Lizzy’s nickname is “poo eater,” and is well deserved. You do the math. Macate is funny.

Alright, it’s been fun reminscing, but think i have to go be a bathing beauty. I heard the shower water is brown today, and the temp has not fallen below a scalding 5000 degrees as yet. Stupid dorm showers. Time to dance naked in the hottest showers east of the missippi!

family ranking on the weird-o-meter: 98% (Hey ozzy osborne’s family has got me beat. He eats the heads of flying vermin, and his kids look like wednesday and pugsly . Aren’t they the cutest?)