Posts archived in Food

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With a Rebel Yell

The days keep coming without fail, and as I inch closer to *the* day, the graduation day, things seem to be getting more bizarre. The residents are getting a little testy, (I could write a whole blog on this, calling it, “adventures in babysitting”), and the internship coordinators, like Jesus on the third day, keep rising from the tomb of my memory (where I wish to keep their experience), to tell me I need to eat burgers and do surveys for them.

Additionally, I’m in a last ditch race to become Greek – i know, don’t condemn me – it’s not what you think. Also, I have oft found myself these days a weeping willow each time that sad “goodbye, i’m leaving soon” commercial for Dawsons Creek comes on.

Someone dies in the last three episodes of DC by the way. A core character. I already told Angelface he’s on alert – I’m gonna be an absolute wreck. My throat is getting all tight at this very moment. Must. Stop. talking about beloved Dawsons and it’s ultimate, and untimely end.

In other news of the weird, ZP has had some run ins with the housekeepers in his building. I must preface with a story from last year. Last year in O’Hännisey, I became good friends with ZP who was also an RA at the time. ZP had some bad boys. One night the group decided to steal all the erase boards on the floor, throw them in the bathroom and then piss on them. ZP, unaware of these festivities, was alerted to them by the housekeepers, whose job it is to clean up these messes, should they occur.

Here’s how ZP found out: ZP gets home from class to see a nice note on his door saying something to the effect of “holy lord, there’s piss all over the bathroom floor. Have fun cleaning it up.” They left a lonely pair of plastic gloves on his door knob.

Now in case you don’t know, RAs are not allowed to touch what we call “body spills.” In fact, should we see the aforementioned body spill, we are to alert the housekeepers post haste. Because they have been trained to do so, housekeepers are the only people authorized to clean piss off the floor.

As you can imagine, ZP was very angry.

Cut to this wacky week. ZPs RA has posted a bulletin board, it’s one of those “gripe if you will” boards. Some resident had written “the elevators are too slow.” This is a very inocuous remark from a hall full of testosterone-filled eighteen year olds. Plus it’s true, those elevators are slow as crap.

Regardless, the next day there is a note tacked on to elevator comment which reads, “at least they work.” Yep, it was in the housekeepers’ scrawl. The housekeepers were defending their castle.

ZP, recognizing the housekeepers commentary wrote next to “at least they work”… “Yeah, unlike some lazy asses who sit around watching daytime tv and eating junk food instead of doing their jobs.”

This is not a defamatory comment, because it is the truth. Those housekeepers are Laaaaazy.

The next day, ZPs comment has been conventiallly ripped off the butcher paper board. Uh oh, housekeeper ladies are angry.

How will it all end? No one can say. All I can say is that these are the days my friend, let’s hope the bizareness never ends!

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Game Day

Today is the Tech game against Pittsburg.
Of course we are going to win, but the anticipation is lovely.

Am currently extremely nervous – not about Pitt
but about the “tailgate” I will be attending before the game.
I was introduced to an alumni dude at the beginning of
the semester via email. I haven’t really met him though.
Today he’s here with his friends for the game, and my
presence has been requested at Top of the Stairs.

Am sure to dress very hokie-esque with VT shirt
layered over a maroon long sleeve deal. I think Alumni
would like the hokie dress.

Am making Smug Ellie go with me for the alumni junx.
Hope she doesn’t still have pink hair from Halloween.
She was kelly F*ing Osbourne -

Great costume, don’t you think? Our friend Beth K, unbenownst
to us was also K. Osbourne. Lots of F words flew between
Smug and Beth K that night – it was all in good fun.

Nobody got that I was hildi from trading spaces, and i shuddered
in horror. Wondered if people thought my gawdy walmart pearls
and plastic strappy shoes were my fashion statement. Oh, yes
I had hildi’s bad hair part too … but only girls would notice that
sort of thing anyway.

Well must quit rambling and prep for the alumni meeting – ugh
why am i so fabulous?

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C’est Halloween

Well I haven’t been blogging, because it really bothers me that the formatting on my page is screwed up. Screeeewww Yooooou Blogger!
But fish said the annoying formatting would go away after i got enough journal entries to bump it off.
Please bear with me.

In related news, I dreamed that sorm were gay lovers living together.
(they are both male). Oddly, Fish was having sorm’s baby. Fish kept grimacing and complaining about his aching back.
Sorm kept telling me he had to get away from fish’s constant nagging.

I didn’t really interact. Just kept analyzing the formica table top
(maybe this is because I will be hildi santos tomas of Tryeating Spices fame for Halloween)

Anyway, when i told sorm about my dream, he told me it wasn’t gaydar or anything. He said that in actuality,
it represented the “extended family” we had going in the past year, before the graduation of fish and sorm,
when we’d sit around and watch kubrik films on the weekends. I wasn’t getting it.

Then sorm said that him and fish were my parents, at least psychologically. And the baby? Well that represented my “biological clock was ticking”

At that moment I wondered if sorm had taken up smoking crack.

We all know I hate babies. Why the hell is fish’s pregnancy thrown on me? I feel that sorm’s biological clock is ticking.

Oh thought this was funny, because I find myself to be more like spiderbear, or evilbear, but am cheerbear
See what Care Bear you are.

Frightening – and somehow, appropriate on this scariest of halloweens! BOO

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Greeks and Geeks

Last night I attended my second ever Jew party. H䮮ihouse readers will probably remember last spring when Smug Ellie and I, on a whim, decided to play lesbian at one of their parties. There was no touchy-feely stuff – Smug and I just did what we always do: call each other ‘lover’ and ‘dumpling’, while chatting on the patio.

Apparently, our scandalous legacy has not been forgotten. Well, I guess good things don’t always have to come to an end.

Last night I learned so much! Who says parties and mischief can’t be educational? Last night I heard my first ever Star Wars gangsta rap. The song had a repeating loop with an angry blackman projecting into a gritty mic: “I am your faaather,” “I am your faather.” How great/nerdy is that?

And here I deviate from the talk about geeks and greeks, because I am reminded of a very special rap song I learned as a youngun. When we were little Mom used to take us to Shalom Christian Bookstore, and allow us kids to pick out any tape we want. (Yeah, this was in the age of dinosaurs – before you had things like CDs.) Anyway, my 10 year-old-self selected the tape in the shiny orange wrapper called “O. T. Raps.”

And I still remember the chorus with fondness: OT raps, just doin’ those OT raps. OT raps, Old Testament Raps.

And now back to Star Wars … Last night I also learned that there is Star Wars techno – but that figures. Techno is nerdy. I’m sorry SORM – I know you love it. But I just can’t get into that obscure, repition of electronic screeching. Give me a good rock song with a hard-ass chorus anyday – or at least a gangsta rap about Ewoks and the Force.

Finally, I was pleased to see Larry in a new light. Last night I saw Larry “who let the jew out” Leventhall, not merely as my computer-programming friend, but as a frat brother. In loyalty to his AEPI peeps, he traded in his wrinkled cargo shorts and faded t-shirt for something very hip.

Lare broke out something far cooler than I have ever seen him wear. Laste night he wore cargo pants and a shirt that read “Mountain Jew”, mocking the Mountain Dew logo. The back of his shirt read: “Do the jew.” Mad props for bringing the crazyness, Lare.

And now, as I am sitting in my underwear with a towel on my head, dear H䮮ihouse readers, I must bid you adieu. Adieu, Adieu to you and you and you…

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Brunch Member

I love brunch. And now for your reading pleasure, a hännihouse haiku dedicated to my favorite meal time. I call it, Ode to Brunch. Enjoy!

Ode to Brunch:
Sunday brunch is yummy.
Whether eggs, bacon,or toast
that junk is all good

I had brunch with ZP today. We each ate the usual: I chomped down a mountain of grease-drenched hashbrowns, while ZP went for the big drink and biscuits. We had a lovely conversation – mostly about blogging material, boxing and nipple piercings.

The place was pretty dead, except for the group of skanky looking frat-boy types sitting next to the h䮮ihouse table. There was probably four of ‘em in oversized t’s and cargo shorts visiting over their plates of scrambled eggs and pancakes. I didn’t pay much attention, but was sure to keep my voice lowered when talking about such controversal subjects as the aforementioned nip. piercing.

some things,after all, are just not polite to say in public.

And then it happened… during a brief break in ZP and I’s heated discussion, from the frat boy table I heard, dude do you shave your balls? I sat stunned for 2.5 seconds. Then i started chortling – it was all very polite chortling. You know, I kept the noise down to a minimum and was careful not to shake my shoulders too much.

But then they did it again.

frat boy 1: dude, do you really shave your balls?
frat boy 2 (nonchalantly): yeah man

At this point I excused myself from the table and made a beeline for the tray return. All the while I trying to be polite and not snort too loudly. But the fact is when someone’s talking about shaving their business at brunch, well you can’t help but laugh.

And I did laugh. I laughed like it was my job. I laughed like I was gettin paid, baby.

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Lady Killer, Part II

Oh god, the ants keep coming back. I think they are caffeine addicts, cause they won’t stay off my coffee maker. That’s cool. I like to turn on the pot and then flick them onto the burning plate. They melt.

ZP tried to cheer me about the whole incident. He said, “just think, you have an antfarm. A free antfarm.”

Oh no he di’int. He abused my favorite four-letter word. “Free” is henceforth only to be used in conjunction with good things like, free icecream, free socks, free crab boil. And it will be so, because I, the Queen of Free declare it so.

In response to ZP’s comment about the ant farm, I had only this to say: Well ZP, I’m pretty sure I could get gonnoreah for free too. – but I don’t think i need to go there.

no definetly not going to gonnoreah-ville.

Well I’m back. I’m alive. I’m listening to the new Weezer cd. S.C. was pretty great. It only took four hours to get down there – to get to the Kmart that Nolie’s grandma told me to call from. I was v. pleased that I made it to S.C. with very little trouble, and called Nolie’s Pops. Her Pops is kind of a jackass – but he did feed me and house me for the weekend, so it is all good.

So Pops was like “oh your’e at Kmart? Didn’t you go on mapquest and get directions to our house? No? Okay here’s the directions…” and from there I went into blah blah mode. There were too many lefts and rights and bypasses for my taste. Well, he finishes telling me and he’s like “can you make it”. I said no, and could he come get me and I’d follow? Well he didn’t want to, but eventually he decided to head to the ‘Mart.

I followed him back to his four story plantation-style home, only to be greeted by the smell of a turkey farm. Yes, 22,000 turkeys reside in Nolie’s pop’s backyard! I met the dad’s boys – one shy little violet named Chris, and the biggest chatterbox ever, Tyler. Tyler showed me a paper bag puppet that looked like a cat with no ears. He made it talk, and then was sure to inform me that the paperbag cat wasn’t a real feline, and that in fact, he, tyler, was making it talk with his own voice.

I got that. But I let chatty cathy give me the full explanation. Kid loves to hear his own voice. It’s cute.

Nolie and I had a good time watching Kevin Smith movies, sitting by the pool, shopping, and gossiping. I didn’t want to leave her there. She has a real shaky relationship with Pops, and was missing Aaron – her B.F. of three years, who will one day be her husband! And on her wedding day, I will be the maid of honor! And I will wear lemon chiffon and blue eyeliner – i’ll look just horrible, but that’s how bridesmaids are supposed to look. The only hitch to this deal: Nolie’s not exactly engaged, and we have never actually discussed my status as the M.O.H. These are minor details.

Anyway, I left for VA on Memorial day. It took me 7 hours – I kept getting lost. But it was oh -so -sweet when I pulled onto Strawfield Circle where Angelface was having a cookout with the fam. He pulled me to him, a big stupid, I-missed-you grin on his face and said “you’re home now.” I think he’s releived that I actually made it back to VA, and wasn’t lost somewhere in Florida.

The american highways and byways are my kingdom (thanks ZP), and we all know I am a princess.

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Sand Trap

So, it’s the day before summer vacation. You’ve finished all your finals, and packed all your posters. You have just one more day to spend with those crazy kids from your hall, before it’s adios for three summery months. You want to make the most of this day. So the chorus of Blink’s “first date” rolls around in your head – forever, and ever. let’s make this last forever…. And what do you do with those last precious moments?

Answer: go metal detecting in the volleyball courts, in hopes of finding treasure.

ZP, Captain Strange and I did just that last week. We scoured four volleyball courts and found a grand total of $1.21 + 1 bent ring, and a few forks. Not a bad find, really.

file this under: argh.. me precious booty, or the kids return to the sandbox.

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A New Look

Hooray for fresh starts! As I’m sure you noticed I have once again revamped the ‘Sparkler. Kudos to my design expert, fancy pants, Smug Elle, and her vision of purple decadence. (be sure to check out her new revamp as well – it’s very red, and it has pants) Also much love goes out to Smug Ellie’s kitty, Cleo, who officially endorses IHOH on this page in the left magenta column. Cleetiepie deserves some recognition. She says to send fancy feast.

The school year has finally come to an end, and I have been enjoying cable television and food that doesn’t originate in a cafeteria setting. I start my summer job tomorrow, and have been moving into my new apartment. It is, for lack of a better wording, musty and decrepit – a regular den of dankness.

While moving in I noticed the following atrocities:
a.there is a green, chunky pile of something stuck to the floor in the bedroom. I imagine it’s some sort of split pea soup, but Drewby pointed out it looked more like vomit. Is possible that said green pile is actually pea soup that has been vomited onto the rug.
b.the smoke detector was lying on the floor, completely useless.
c.the stopper on the bathtub – a huge piece of metal from the sixties – is only superficially attached to the tub, and falls off at whim. Another useless item.
d.even if the tub had proper drainage (which it doesn’t), it would be indecent to shower, as there is no curtain.
e.the ceiling fan/light in the main room does not function. As there is no AC in this apartment, this is quite disturbing. Also, as the only other means of lighting the living room involves table lamps with shades that look like they’ve been on fire, am hesitant to enter living room, period.
f.desk chair looks fine and unsoiled, but when sitting it pops off it’s little rails, making it another useless peicer.
g.the place smells like old mothballs. Am afraid to light candles, as the smoke detector is lying on the floor.

Besides these atrocities, it is quite lovely. Most importantly, however, said musty/rank/dank apartment is 100% free. And as I always say “if it’s for free, it’s for me.” Oh the burdens of being cheap and content. I am a freestuff whore.

Well, must tidy up at chez Hänni. Til next we meet, ta!

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Whimsical Weekend

Question: How many artsy fartsy coffee-house kids can you fit in a one bedroom apartment on a Friday night?

Friday was the Back Alley Dirt Fashion Show, and it was incredible. At this party there were kids with afros and dreadlocks, kids with precarious piercings, kids with faces slashed with black charcoal. At this party there were kids spinning vinyl Michael Jackson on the turn table, and kids spinning in stilleto heels atop orange milk crates.

One girl danced with the wall, the floor, and anybody she could get her hands on. (This included me, and Smug Ell!) This girl’s black and white dress could make J-Lo blush, with it’s open back and deep cuts on the sides. Many times during the night this scandalous frock threatened to reveal the contents of it’s model, as the redheaded whirling dervish flailed her way about the apartment. The flight of the carrot-top bumble bee has been voyeristically documented by friends, and will be available online soon for your viewing pleasure.

The CT showed up to photograph models in torrid embraces, and models moving like go-go dancers under red wall hangings. And SORM showed up to do some photographs for the IHOH. Witness for yourself the mayhem at the BADFS friday night! (Please note, the toilet photo was a featured attraction at the event, and was posted in a prominent location. Consequently, I became known as “that girl in the toilet photo.” I feel almost famous.)

In addition to the craziness of Friday night, I also had a v. unique experience Saturday when I attended the BYOM (Bring Your Own Meat) BBQ. I ended up spending an evening with the Smug One eating grilled hot dogs, and discussing such topics as fly fishing, child birth, revolution, and the virtues of dating girls from Christian Schools. I met lots of fascinating/ uncomfortably strange people including a male nurse with pierced nipples and a tattoo that read, “Punk Rock Forever,” and a guy who farted a tribute to Tech Tow.

I am not making any of this stuff up.

The hottest point of the evening came, quite literally, when a kid singed his eyelashes off. Although we had eaten earlier in the evening, this kid, we will call him “Maku,” decided to restart the old grill at about midnight. When the coals didn’t get hot enough to cook his bananas and corn, Maku decided to douse the grill with lighting fluid. Then, peering over the grill, Maku lit a match. Flames sprung up, like a fiery fountain, and singed Maku’s eyelashes off.

Maku confided, it was no big deal. He had burned the hair off his body before. Apparently on Easter there was an incident and Maku’s arm hair melted.

Again, I am not making any of this stuff up. Honest.

File this under: the most bizarre two days of 2001