If anyone wants to hang with us or has suggestions for eats and entertainment, let me know.

Post from: Hannihaus

So, Today I’ll be Rocking the Lady Speed Stick

And she’s right. As a New Age Mama/hardcore Nutrition Nazi, the *last* thing I should do is flood my veins with alcohol.

After all, I hear shooting organic raisins intravenously is much more fun.

But yeah, I love my sis so much. And I really value what she has to say.

Sure I was jealous of her when we were small. Back in 1985, when we didn’t have running water, I had to do it like they do on the Discovery Channel and drop trau in an Alaskan outhouse. My sister, on the other hand—the baby of the family—got to do her bizness indoors.

That’s mostly because she was always crapping her pants in the house.

… But she was in diapers in 1985 so I digress.

And it’s true, as we grew older there was some division between us. Although she always wanted to, I didn’t hang with Spank much when I was a teenyrocker.

When I was 15, she was 10 and her little jacket pockets were just too small to hold the amount of contraband needed to effectively toilet paper a high school parking lot. Because you don’t wanna squeeze the Charmin, I had to hang with kids my own age—they had roomier pockets.

These days, now that we’re adults (don’t laugh), Spanky and I are like lemon and lime. And I don’t wanna do anything she doesn’t want me too…

But there again, I do remember the time I made her eat dog food. Sis *definitely* wasn’t into that…

but I’ll be damned if I didn’t enjoy it!

That being said, you know I love you sis, but the Internet has spoken. Every day thousands, hundreds, ten a couple of you vote in my poll. And I appreciate that. Plus, I rarely miss an opportunity to do something that will likely result in me freak dancing with strangers.

AI Countdown to Cocktails is oooon. The finale is May 24th and I hope you all will join me in my debauchery by playing at home. Game details will be posted soon.

Post from: Hannihaus

The Show Must Go On!

If you are a New Age Mama who makes your own skincare products, it’s probably a good idea to keep your organic, rosemary-infused vinegar-based astringent from areas that are sensitive to this sort of concoction.

Specifically, areas like your eyeballs.

Even if you think it’s a great idea—even if you feel so totally compelled to do it—even if you decide it’s entirely Albert Einsteinesque in its genius—*do not* hold a cotton ball near your cornea if it’s been soaked in a highly-antiseptic elixir.

And then do not—I repeat, do not—give said cotton ball a satisfying squeeze.

If you fail to yield my advice you will suffer. Yes, you should be prepared for a veritable tsunami of six-weeks’ fermented vinegar sloshing in and stinging your eye sockets.

Britney Spears: Oops she did it again.

In case you’re wondering, this is a bad thing.

… Unless of course you’ve been subjected to pictures of an “oh-no-she-di’int” nature, like those showing Britney Spears is preggers again.

*shudder*

In this case, rendering yourself blind by way of acidic beauty brew is the only reasonable reaction.

But I digress…
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Have you voted today? AI Cocktail Countdown—it’s more fun than pouring vinaigrette in your pretty little peepers.Trust me on this one.

Post from: Hannihaus

Eat Your Heart Out Teri Hatcher

Yikes.

Having done some research recently myself, I hope that I do not befall the same google-diagnosed fate as that which afflicted Kristine at Random and Odd. I am scared, dear hannihaus readers, because I, your mistress, am not well.

No, I’m not referring to my mental status. I’m always ¾ to cuckoo – that’s my M.O. There’s actually been something else bothering me the last few months. You see, I had an accident … it involved pilates and required endurance and grace (both of which I lack).

I just knew I shouldn’t have attempted the position. I really did know better. Somewhere deep inside me I knew that if I did this crazy thing, shit was going to go down, and it was going to go down in a big way.

And as I sat in my living room that sunny weekend morning, bent up like two sides of an isosceles triangle, I thought “Maybe this is a bad idea.” With my legs raised in the air – raised high as hands in church, and with arms outstretched toward legs, I found I could balance my entire weight on my tailbone. “Eureka!” I cried… and then, 10 seconds later, I felt a sharp pain in my posterior – a discomfort in my derriere, if you will.

“Oh crap,” I thought, “I just effed up my ass!”

So yeah, I’ve been struggling with my ass ache since at least June, and I recently decided I should probably figure out how to fix it. So I googled “butt pain in my ass crack” (or something similar, anyway), and I came across this horrifying forum where hundreds of people had written in about their funked up fannies.

I had to stop after reading about this woman who had a hindquarter headache that sounded a lot like mine. After months of suffering she went to a chiropractor who told her she had a condition where her tailbone was slightly curved. To provide some relief, the doctor needed to adjust (read: crack) the curvature bi-annually.

I was reading this story, thinking, “There’s no way I’m going to drop trau in a chiropractor’s office, so he can reach between my cheeks and do some snippy snaps.”

“There’s just no way,” I thought, “that when the receptionist asks ‘and what are you having done today?’ I’m gonna say ‘I’m here for my annual butt crack, please.”

Having had the bejeesus scared out of me by the butt crack scenario, and being a New Age Mama, I opted for a more natural alternative that does not require I drive to, and then pay for, someone to put their hands in my patooty.

And that’s why, now three times a day, I’ve been slathering an herbal extract in the far reaches of my rump.

I’m using something called Knitbone Extract, which is really just comfrey, an herb that has been used to speed up the healing of burns, bruises, fractures, etc. for ages.

The comfrey has definitely provided me some relief, but still, I think it’s not a permanent solution. Angelface, sick of my constant moaning and groaning has offered his diagnosis by saying, “I think you have hemorrhoids.”

I am completely disgruntled by his assertion that just because there’s a little boo-boo something on my ba-dunk-a-dunk-dunk, the only probable cause is swollen anal veins.

Next time he brings it up, I’m just gonna say “Of course I have hemorrhoids, precious. If you’re saying having hemorrhoids is synonymous with ‘pain the ass’, well then I have three – two of them are the cats, and the third one, why, that’s you!”

So yeah, long story short: my butt hurts. How about you, dear hannihaus readers? Let’s talk about ass, specifically, yours.

Post from: Hannihaus

Pain in the Ass

It was rude, and highly uncouth, and totally misrepresentative of who I am and what this blog is about. It was one of those things that seemed like a good idea at the time, but then, eight hours later when you wake up, and your brain is all foggy from some misspent monkeyshines, you realize that you have been a Grade-A Jackass.

Note to self: If you ever have the notion of “I think I might regret this in the morning” then DON’T EFFING POST IT.

I’m so sorry, dear hannihaus readers. For my trespasses, I hope you can forgive.

So, I’m not sure how to make this right, except maybe we can do a little trash talking.

Let’s talk about me and my toes.

My 10 little piggys, they are entirely hairy. And when I say hairy, I’m not talking about a cute little poof, no I’m talking full-on, werewolf lady, kids-mistaking-them-for-fuzzy-black-caterpillars hairy.

And … I’ve never said this here before, but if I don’t take care of it, the same can be said of my upper lip.

Ooh, what do we think about that?

And yeah, while we’re at it, let’s add my enormous eyebrows to this scary-hairy discussion.

You know, I read online that like an umbrella shields us from the rain, our eyebrows shield our eyes from excessive sweat. I guess that’s a good thing for me that they’re huge,because I sweat like a pig at a luau when I’m running… or driving… or let’s face it, I’ve got tide pools forming in my armpits this very second!

And guess what folks, (this one should really gross you out), I hardly ever wear deodorant!

Yeah, it’s disgusting. I mean, it’s freakin’ 90 degrees out every day, and I’m going au natural. You know why? Because I have the worst hygiene habits ever, and sometimes I forget.

And even worse, at other times, I just don’t feel like giving the effort.

And you know what, when I actually do make an attempt to address my armpits, I’m not wearing deodorant! Too much aluminum, too many harmful chemicals too close to my tiny boobs. I am a hippy, and as such, I rub my pits with a salt crystal.

No joke.

I am also having a really bad about of acne right now, and there’s a volcanic-looking eruption right in the center of my forehead.

I have chronic halitosis.

I jut in front of people at the grocery store.

I am scum.

I was wrong.

I am sorry.

Post from: Hannihaus

Eating Crow

I can’t say I didn’t see this one coming. I don’t usually drink milk, but when offered the beverage by a saintly, dinner party hostess, well, how could I refuse?

With the immortal 80’s hit, Highway to the Danger Zone playing in my head, I grasped the cool, white glass, and then, like it was my job, like I was first string on a competitive milk drinking circuit, I chugged that bitch.

…And then, predictably, all hell broke loose in the abdominal region of my body.

Now, because I’m a New Age Mama, I ingest things that most folks might find unusual, maybe even a bit concerting. Colostrum, I suspect, is one of those things.

Dictionary.com defines colostrum as the following:

The thin yellowish fluid secreted by the mammary glands at the time of parturition that is rich in antibodies and minerals, and precedes the production of true milk. Also called foremilk.

It is this “foremilk” that my ND recommended I take to appease my wicked 72-hour stomach ache.

(Don’t worry dear hannihaus readers, I didn’t have to find a lactating breast. You can buy colostrum over the counter. Joy!)

Per the instructions, I emptied one capsule of colostrum into a small bit of Evian (my beverage of choice). Eager to experience some sweet relief from the o’ achiest of stomachs, I brought the cup to my lips, but before I could complete the mission, so to speak, something made me pause.

That something was a smell.

That smell was, unmistakably, baby puke.

Even though it smelled like spit up, I still gulped down the colostrum. Yes, I’m hardcore. And yes it works. Stomach has been subdued… but now I have another problem…

Aye carumba. Will I never win?

Post from: Hannihaus

New Age Mama Channels Burping Baby

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.

Post from: Hannihaus

Concept-a-Bitch