Posts archived in Family

In order to make a fresh start, one must often discard the old and look to the new. And like Christinia Aguilera trading in her Disney good looks for Xtina’s skanky, peirced grunge, I have decided to change things up as well – I’m reformatting my harddrive today.

While looking through the hundreds of files on my computer, I came across a few gems that I thought I’d share here today. The following excerpts came from papers that I actually composed and submitted at some point during my distinguished years as an undergrad at Virginia Tech. And now, without further ado, and for your viewing pleasure, I present the college collection:

“Viagra makes the impotent man a magician as he *poof * pulls a bottle of wine from his hat, then * shazam* pulls a piece of wood out of his trousers.” April 2001 on gender and technology:

“Some women fear that video games will cheapen the way that men treat them. I happen to think that if a man can’t comprehend the difference between reality and a game, than humanity has bigger problems on its hands than Panty Raider.” April 2001 on gender and technology.

“I have learned that basically, it comes down to marketing. The fragrance producers tell us that women should smell like raspberries, so ladies immerse themselves in berry gels and lotions. In fact, if producers told us that women were meant to smell like cow manure, you can bet every Suzie Q. in America would shop Wal-Mart for poo pomades and bovine body creams. I am frightened by the idea that my lilac body spritzer is only feminine because corporations say so. I just thank God that marketers chose fruits and flower scents for women, as opposed to smells like sweat socks or pepperoni pizza.” April 2001 on gender and fragrance.

“I guess my being ‘unique’ or ‘weird’ is pretty interchangeable. If someone likes me, I am ‘unique’, if someone doesn’t I am ‘weird.’” January 2001 on being me.

“Because I walk the same way I did when I was small, with heavy, shifting steps, people know when I am walking down the hall as my hairy, mint slippers scratch at the tiles.” January 2001 on being me.

“I spent New Years Eve 1999 huddled on my couch watching Dick Clark count down the final seconds, of what I thought were the last minutes of civilization. However, the world didn’t end at midnight, and the only Y2K malfunction occurred on a slot machine in Delaware. To be, or not to be disappointed. That was the question.” February 2001 on Millenium madness.

“In the spirit of sports vernacular, I would like to propose a new word to express sports enthusiasm in America. Let it be said, America’s athletic obsession is simply, sportacular.” February 2001 on the Super Bowl spectacle.

“I feel a little skeptical of Palmer’s critique of Forte’s Trilobite! Most of Palmer’s review discusses the scientific importance of the trilobite in an enthusiastic manner. I feel that Palmer has a distinct love for trilobites that bias her report, as she describes fossils as an ‘unending source of pleasure.’” February 2001 on a book review:

“The proximity between the men leads me to believe that perhaps they are in a relationship with each other, or at least that there is some romantic tension between them. I imagine the latter, that perhaps they are straight boys who enjoy football and beer, and are having a hard time denying the curiosity. Maybe there is inquisitiveness in the two boys that can only be cured by a good sexual romp behind bedroom doors. I imagine the two want each other that way.” February 2002 on PDA.

“I love Enola, my best friend, and a domestic wonder, who makes the most fabulous chocolate chip cookies ever, so gooey, so rich, and thoroughly decadent. Enola is giving me wrinkles, the kind you get around your mouth – from making me smile all the time.” March 2002 on my best friend.

“I love Mom. Above all else I love Mom. She calls me ‘precious girl’ or ‘pumpkin’ or ‘cupcake.’ She lets me follow my dreams, even when they take me far from her, to places like Japan and Virginia.” March 2002 on Mom.

“And I love Blake, my boyfriend, my angelface, my confidante, and my future husband?” (*Who could predict that when these words were written in March 2002 that we would be engaged by December?)

“The possibility that a killer half breed whale and walrus can rise from the frothy depths of the ocean to inflict bloody murder on mankind is what makes this type of story so frightening and so effective.”April 2002, on the Whalerus, a CG Dad original concoction designed to scare the pants off us kids and give us an appreciation for nature.

1 test, 1 quiz, 2 finals and a partridge in a pear tree. I’m almost a college graduate, baby! I’ve just got those four pesky test-type things to deal with, then it’s sayonnara hallowed halls of academia!

I went to visit my academic advisor, Waggs today. She always puts me in a fabulous mood. She congratulated me on my engagement to Angelface, and stopped to admire my gorgeous jewel. She told me to go through the “senior checklist”, and if i was a good girl and came prepared, she would read my name off the list at graduation. V. funny lady.

Today I turned in my final eval of internship-o-horrors. It felt *so* good that I decided to ceramonialize the event.

As I was leaving the old main street office I turned, and gave a symbolic salute. Graceful as a swan, I faced the old renovated townhouse. I decided to memorialize the “good times,” but then I remembered there really weren’t any, save the day manager Smitty was out of the office, leaving me to my own devices. Instead of working I emailed anyone I could think of, called Angelface a few times on the company dime, and ate stinky hummus at my desk – eating food in the back office is highly illegal, after all!

And so, with the memories of an internship not so far past, I gave the final hurrah. With palms out, head turned back, a look of serenity passing over my face, I presented my tribute. Carefully, concertedly, I pulled four fingers down towards my thumb. The middle appendage, straight as a flag pole, traced a line straight to heaven. It was glorious.

And I got an email today from my worthless office manager asking if we’d like to “do dinner” before our group goes off into parts unknown. I feel like I can’t go – like with that final salute, I had given every last bit I could give to those people.

However, as I am a very poor college student, I will probably go. It’s a sin to turn down free food you know?

Oh it’s so difficult having convictions!

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Coup d’e Tat

It has been one crazy, careening out of control, flying off-the-tracks rollercoaster-o-rama around h䮮ihouse. In the past ten days I’ve ranted, raved, laughed, smirked and schmoozed – oh how i’ve schmoozed! I’ve slept in $1,300 seats and bathed in three states. I feel like I’m moving at both one hundred miles an hour, and two, all at the same time.

This is the frantic, last hurrah before grad after all.

The Internship-o-crap has finally wound down – but not because our tyranical bosses have given their blessing. Get this: so we sell like crazy to get this career fair off the ground. Our group of seven has outsold last year’s group of ten interns, and in fact, has had the most sales ever in the history of the event.

You’d think the big bosses would give us a break. I mean, the Super Seven kicked butt and took names, and we did it all for just three paltry credits.

Read: we sold space at the cost of 500 benjamins a pop, but, as we were interns (read: not earning a red cent) the only thing we reaped from this experience was the knowledge that being a sales intern blows goats.

So anyway, we do all this and some of us are whisked up to the mothership, the homebase, under the guise that we will be offered employment, as a reward for all our hard labors.

Long story short, we are lectured for three grueling hours on how to sell the next show. Keep in mind we are seniors. We have about 1.5 weeks left to party and sleep in. We are tired. We are angry. We are *not* offered jobs, and frankly, 0 cents/hour is not enough to keep me a motivated sales woman extraordinaire.

Consequently, a small coup d’e tat is occuring at my intern site. Most of us aren’t showing up anymore, this girl included. Take that intern slavemasters!

And I’m so looking forward to moving to Florida in the fall. I’ve decided that I need to get the heck out of dodge – Virginia’s alright, but palm trees and sunshine are better. And so, after pulling my hair out in frustration over the intern deal, I took a mini-trip to Orlando with Angel this week. We flew free the whole way, even sitting with the aristocrats in first class on the Orlando-Atlanta leg.

In Florida I had some job-search schmoozing, sundress wearing, apartment hunting good times. The anger of internship abated and I was at peace.

Now I’m back. The intern office called Friday – my manager says he’s taking a half day and Happy Easter, I don’t have to come in. It seems the home office took the day, but expected us blacksburgians to keep on truckin. I don’t think so honey.

In conclusion, and to quote the immortal 80′s hair band, Twisted Sister, I would just like to say we’re not gonna take it. No we ‘aint gonna take it.

Sunday was a day of drudgery. Between speech writing and outlining I had a full day of menial tasking that was less than desirable for my lazy, apathetic, graduating senior – self. I did take one break Sunday. I headed to the Bridal showcase and workshop being held on campus, just feet from my room. (prime location, because, as previously mentioned, I am lazy).

Don’t get me wrong. Don’t think I was there to gush and postulate over my upcoming nuptuals. Don’t think I was there to discuss green mums, veil lenghts, or mary kay facials. Don’t think I went there to purchase a photo package or book a stay at the ramblin road inn. I was not looking for a wedding planner, caterer, videographer, or hair stylist.

Believe me. This is very important. I am *not* thinking about weddings until I get a job, a place to live, and silverware that you don’t throw away at the end of a meal.

I went for the break. I went cause I was curious. I went cause I’m an idiot about all things wedding. As I am the MOH (maid of honor) for my bestest friend Nolie, I figured I had better get some edumacashun on the subject of wedding junx.

If you go to these things, be prepared to get asked this question a lot: “so when are you getting married?” And there is no variety, no variation. Every vendor will do it the same way. First they will make small talk. Then they will halt abruptly, look you square in the eye and give you the mushiest smile ever and say, “So, when are you getting married?”

It doesn’t matter if they want to sell you hor d’oeuvers or houses, they will all give you that pathetic smile and bam, it’s “so when are you getting married?”

The *only* acception to this was the DJ. He definetly didn’t ask any questions whatsoever. DJ dude and his lady assistant just sat around and played some music. When asked if the DJ and assistant were married, they said “no, but we’ve been together forever.”

Ha. These people play weddings for a living and they haven’t even gotten around to getting hitched!

The people who work these shows are all wacky anyway. The women who run a rental store brought a fountain that bubbled milk chocolate. “Only $250!” they said.

The wedding planner/videographer ranted for ten minutes about the pros and cons of having a runner. (I have no idea what that is.) The lady had hair like Anna Nicole Smith.

The resort lady tried to sell me a honeymoon package with all inclusive golf.

The look of horror on my face could’ve stopped clocks.

No way am I going anywhere with Angelface that has all inclusive golf, *especially* not my honeymoon. I want to actually *see* Angel on our honeymoon.

The show was fun, but I tell you what, it’ll be a long time before I go back to that looney bin again!

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The Way We Were

Tis’ the season to talk of such things as love and lasagne. For your viewing pleasure I present: The Way We Here: the Story of Angelface and Hänni

It was a very skanky evening.

We were flying in the mars when suddenly a loud buuuuurp broke the silence. I looked into your ear and knew you were the right plumber for me.

Little did we know that Cupid had fired a loopy fennel through our knees.

The magic of that moment will remain in my nostril until st. patricks day. But our love will remain until christmas.

Love,
Hänni

(make your own love story here)

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Auld Lang Syne

Well it’s a new year once again at Hännihouse. There’s much to celebrate: it’s 3 P.M.,Sunday and I’m still in my pjs, I have european undergarments coming by post, there’s a lovely blanket of snow on the ground and… *drumroll* I am engaged!

Introducing: the future mrs. angelface

Now you may be thinking “man, that’s the best news I’ve heard since MTV announced a second season of the Osbournes.” And then you may be saying, “But Hänni, is this engagement the reason you haven’t been posting here at the house? We love you. We’ve missed your rants. And we don’t ever want you to take a month-long hiatus from posting – never, ever again!”

In answer: yes, the engagement played a large part. You see, when it happened i wanted to shout it from the hills: I am great, I am wonderful, and darn it, angelface really likes me! I wanted to buy bridal magazines and flaunt them like my name was J-Lo. (only five more husbands and she’ll be caught up with Elizabeth Taylor!)

Despite my hysterical merrymaking, I knew that I had to take my time – I wanted to have a really stellar presentation for my hannihouse fans. That being said, I decided to make the greatest engagement webpage ever.

And so I toiled, and eventually succeeded in my page making, while, however, simultaneously confirming that I am indeed a huge nerd for doing such.

Without further ado, and with much heralding and fanfare I present our engagement Please visit and sign the guestbook!

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A Note From the Road

Am writing to you on location in flourescently lit
Golden Corral office, Rocky Mount, Va.
To my left is a 12 by 42 inch pane of greasy glass.
bad checks and time cards line the sill.

To my right is a tile wall, not unlike that seen in the Hännihouse
ladie’s room. There are some keys dangling from a makeshift
hook, and an inch-thick stack of food receipts lies on a clipboard.

Shining down on me from about 9 feet above is the
aforementioned fluorescent light panel. Behind me I hear
the buzzing of some sort of food processing contraption.

Yes this is the life. The I’m-On-Thanksgiving-Break
kind of life. Pass the pie.

Angelface and I had a whirlwind trip to our nation’s capital
earlier this week. We went to the smithsonian, saw a capitols
game, saw a wizards game (Michael Jordan was super neat.
as angel says “we were so close we could see the sweat on
his bald head.”) We even did a little nightlifing.

We met smug in alexandria one night and caroused a bit
at an irish pub called Murphys. The obvious highlight of
the night was when the singer, Pat Carrol serenaded Angel
with a West Virginia Version of the John Denver Classic,
“country roads”

And then we were back in Rocky Mount. Turkey dinner was
unique – I dined with about 60 people who were all somehow
related to angel’s stepmom, but who for the life of me, I don’t
remember seeing or hearing anything about – ever.

It was fun though. Miss Frith – she was something else.
Miss Frith is 90 years-old, has white hair, bright eyes
and skin so soft it could rival a newborns’. Angelface
said he’d send her home with some cookies, which delighted
the woman to no end. She explained she ate cookies
every single night before bed.

Miss Frith is my hero.

In other news,
I’m so surprised no one has commented on this, but it
seems I have named my new web site
“the cockroach with cheese”.
At least that’s what fernando, the butcher in back
said that’s what “la cuca racha con quesa” means.

Of course, now I know that nobody ever reads
this crap. Either that or the entire H䮮ihouse fanbase –
like its illustrious author – is completely, utterly, hopelessly,
ignorant of the spanish language.

Oy, yoi yoi and adios amigos.

Whew, have been webpagering for about 9 hours straight now.
I have bitten off all my nails, and am feeling v. thin, because had
to eat quick, thin foods today. i.e. soup, grilled cheese sammie.

Am doing a fiesta theme for my summer conferences web page.

I will call it La Cuca Racha Con Quesa

It’s sort of inspired by Trading Spaces, although I have to admit I’ve
missed the last 4 new episodes, and haven’t watched the reruns for
more than a week now. This is pretty shocking for me, but I’m not sad.

Don’t worry though, I haven’t forsaken my t.v. entirely. I am really into
the new making of the band. This season P.Diddy finds kids from the
ghetto to rap about thug life and such. I mean, honestly, while I am
a huge fan of the original making of the band, it was getting a little stale.
O-Town can only go so far.

I find it ironic that O-Town’s latest album is called “O2″, because O-Town
needs new life breathed into them hardcore. I’m a huge fan. I used to
watch the concert DVD fornightly, and even bought the O-Town calendar
instead of the Dawsons (which I now regret). However, my O-Town
poster has recently been moved to a new place of honor at h䮮ihouse -
it has been moved to the throne room. The porcelain throne room.

This placement creeps angelface out. He thinks the O-Town boys
stare at him while he’s doing his business. One night in retaliation
angel took a big black marker and drew Harry Potter glasses,
and frenchie mustaches on O-Town to make them less intimidating.

I gotta get away from this computer now. Till next.

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Paaaaty Wa

Today was just another manic monday oh, oh.
I woke at 8:15, joltingly, as the sound of cathedral bells
fairly assaulted my eardrums. Why can’t I have a normal
alarm clock, with a normal digital “unnngh, unnnghing”
to wake me from my slumber? Why I gots to be all
classy-like with my alarm clock settings?

dizzam

Well one thing’s for sure, no more cathedral bells for me.
Tonight i’m setting it to “chimes,” so there!

I’m really happy lately. I think it’s cause vacation is, at long -
f*ing – last almost here. This year I’m going to eat turkey with
angelface and his country-people relatives. Apparently like 60 of
these people are going to gather at the Golden Corall on the 28th,
and chomp down on some buffet vittles. Then they’ll drink some
moonshine, square dance, and shoot some guns.

Well, maybe they won’t square dance.

In any event, I have requested that angel prepare onion rings and
french toast royale in my honor. You know it’s love when your
sweetie makes you deserts and stinky veggies.

Am also really excited about Spankin’s 18th birthday on Nov. 18th.
How’s this for ghetto? I totally wrapped sis’s bday present in the
pharmacy bag that my antifungal cream came in this morning.
Apparently you can get athletes foot on your boobs. The doctor
told me it’s actually quite common, so I shouldn’t feel like a freak.

I think the dr. lied. Fungus on your betty-and-wilmas can’t be normal.

As you can tell, I’m real concerned. Yeah… not really.

I just read yesterday that the Dawson’s Creek season 6 premier is 2 hours long! For a moment I thought I was dreaming, that I must’ve died and gone to heaven… Countdown to dawons premier: 2 loooong months. (the exact date has not been announced, but typically it’s the first week of September. Will start an official hannihouse countdoon in an upcoming blog!)

Right, so I’ve been thinking a lot about the future lately. For those of you who follow hannihouse, you know that the list of potential careers now reads: spy, feng shui master, mother to challenged child, medical experiment participant, naval officer, stripper, lawyer, and taco bell employee. But how do I plan to achieve such high and lofty goals as becoming a “medical experiment participant”?

This is the question. And I’ve got indigestion.

Well, the first step in this whole crazy job search process will be to read the job hunting bible, What Color is your Parachute. My advisor, Waggs, said I had to read this over the summer, so I wouldn’t be in her office freaking out in September. Waggs is a very compassionate lady.

In addition to my parachute book, Mom has also requested that I read Dale Carnegie’s How to Stop Worrying and Start Living.

I am worried about reading this book.

It’s just like the whole time management, book-reading/studying thing interferes with my laziness. I read a quote somewhere on blogger today that went something to the effect of “blogger makes editing so easy that even lazy people don’t have any excuses. This is very disappointing.” Well, I’m lazy, and I don’t blog every day. I will continue using my lethargy as an excuse. Laziness does not worry me.

Funny story. Last night angelface and I were talking about the future, as we sometimes do. I told him when i’m 60 he’d have to push me around, cause i’d be 300lbs and unable to walk. Angelface got a longing look in his eyes and replied “Hänni when we’re old, I’m going to have a french maid who’ll give me sexual favors.” I snorted in surprise.

Never one to be selfish Angel piped in: “Don’t worry baby. I will buy you a male nurse.”

He said it just like that. Like not even joking or sarcastic. You gotta love angelface.

And you gotta love the future.. whatever it holds.