Posts archived in Family

November 29, 2006

Tofurkey For Me, Tofurkey For You, I Eat Tofurkey In A Wooden Shoe

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*

11 comments

October 2, 2006

Steers, Queers and (Now) Me My Dear

That’s all they’ve got in Texas.

Although some of you obviously forgot to wish me luck on my move (bastards), Angelface and I still made it to Houston.

It wasn’t ex-laxian; the move *was not* smooth … but we did make it to Ho-Town.

On the move
Because some of you (a-holes) forgot to wish us luck:

Angel’s flight home, (he was working the week before the move), was seriously delayed. We planned on getting the eff out of town on Tues, but Angel didn’t even arrive until Weds.

Angel got really sick—like barfing-his-guts-out sick, like breaking-into-a-cold-sweat sick, like seeing-Mariah-Carey-in-a-swimsuit sick. Of Angel’s cold, I’d like to call it “Ms. Jackson”, because it was nasty.

At 2am Thursday—when we couldn’t find a hotel that would accept our box-trained babies—the family Haus parked at a truck stop.

The good news is, while I didn’t see any hookers, around 3:30 am there was someone, eyes heavy with sleep, who—in the process of copping a squat—pissed down their pant legs. The bad news is, that person was me.

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I want to say thank for everyone’s well wishes this past week. And for those (beyotches) who did not well wish, you can make atonement by sending a Hallmark card to Houston. Please make sure there’s a check inside. I hear there’s an Ikea in this town and I need a table.

Til next,

xoxoH

18 comments

August 29, 2006

But Actually, I’m The Girl Who’s Going To Houston

Like tomorrow. At 5:30 am.

Part of the reason I’m road tripping tomorrow is I’m unemployed and have nothing better to do. But the main reason I’m traveling the 1,000 miles from O-Town to H-Town is, I need an apartment.

That’s right, an apartment in Texas.

Yes dear hannihaus readers, in lieu of certain career-changing events (mine sort of sputtering, and Angel’s taking off—ha ha), the Family ‘Haus will be moving out west.

Bet you didn’t expect me to pull that rabbit out of my hat.

But I’ve been leaving clues. Never let it be said I don’t shake things up every once in a while. Keep your ear to the ground and you’ll see. I’m not always full of shit; sometimes I’m full of surprises.

10 comments

July 25, 2006

Not In Kansas Anymore

And now an impotent message from your mistress:

On my way back from LA, I made a little pit stop in the Lone Star state.

It occurred to me whilst driving through downtown Houston, it’s amazing that Bob Dole had to take his search for an effective solution to erectile dysfunction nationwide.

(You’ll all remember Senator Dole as having hawked Viagra across the 50 United States in the late 1990s.)

Yes it’s inconceivable that the Kansas Senator couldn’t find an Erection Specialist in his neighboring state of Texas.

After all, I did.

Tell me you guys didn’t miss the tomfoolery while I was on vackay.♥

6 comments

July 23, 2006

This Ain’t No Disco. This Ain’t No Country Club Either. This is LA

You’ve heard the wacky rumors, now it’s time for the truth.

Yes, dear hannihaus readers, LA did indeed steal my soul. But I made some quick negotiations with a man in a speedo (AKA Rockstar Brother) and he brought me to the airport.
And now—like Paris Hilton’s herpes outbreak—I’m back! (Feel free to get giddy everyone.)

LA, if you’ve never been, is pretty great. The second largest city in the US, it’s teeming with beautiful people, beautiful beaches, and big, beautiful fake boobs.

Forget about this City of Angels crap. The Los Angeles I know and love could best be described as the City of Titties.

And that alone makes it awesome.

In addition to enjoying the constant sighting of fake-ass funbags, I also got my kicks cruising the strip in Rockstar Brother’s sweet mustang convertible.

With the top down and the wind in our face, we careened through Malibu, Manhattan Beach, Beverly Hills, Santa Monica and Sunset. With seemingly reckless abandon, we did like the locals and cut people off, switched lanes without signaling, and blared obnoxious music emo, nu metal and Bon Jovi as loud as we could.

In most places, this type of behavior would be called “driving like an asshole.” In LA, however, it’s just called driving.

Another thing that’s unique about LA is its high percentage of celebrity inhabitants. Rockstar Brother told me that in six weeks living in LA, he’d yet to see any famous folks. I informed bro bro that the winds of celebrity spotting were a changing—I felt we would see several celebs while I was in town.

I told my brother this because—I must confess—I have psychic abilities…

Plus, I signed up on TVTickets.com to attend a live taping of The King of Queens at Sony Studios in Culver City, CA.

In case you’re wondering, you should be jealous. Not only did I get to see Jerry Stiller do that voodoo that he does so well, I’m going to be famous! Listen for me on the laugh track of The King of Queens episode entitled, “Major Dysfunction.”

…I’ll be the one that sounds like a snorting pig.

And finally, in a segment I’d like to call “Indiana Jones and the Temple of Poom”, I want to tell you about Hollywood eats and entertainment.

No trip to Tinseltown would be complete without a stop at the Hollywood Walk of Fame. While traipsing down Hollywood and Vine I saw Jimmy Hendrix, Chris Farley and Harrison Ford stars’.

It was ‘aight.

Afterwards—hungry from all that fame walking—Rockstar Brother and I decided to get some eats at a place called “Poom Thai Cuisine.”

We picked the place partly because Rockstar Brother had never eaten Thai before, but mostly because “Poom” sounds a lot like “poon.”

And I think poon is funny.

But anyways, LA was awesome.

Many thanks to the ‘Rockstar for putting me up. And many thanks to Tara Reid for having the courtesy *not* to show up at any beaches where I was chillaxing.

For all you voyeurs —-> click here for pics of my escape to LA.<----

14 comments

March 27, 2006

Chronic-wha-cles of California

Who had a gay old time in San Francisco this weekend?

I did! I did!

My second time to the city filled with boys who like boys, San Fran did not disappoint. From the charm of Chinatown, to the beauty of the Bay, to screaming down steep hills on the Powell Street trolley, San Francisco is, quite simply, the bees knees.

One thing San Francisco is famous for is Lombard Street. As we wound our way down the cobblestones, past cheery Victorian homes, I heard Angelface say that Lombard is the most crooked street of the world. I think he might be wrong about that –after all, George Bush doesn’t even live in California… but I digress.

Another popular place in San Francisco is the Fisherman’s Wharf. The historic waterfront is home to great seafood, gorgeous views, cheap shopping, and of course, The World Famous Bushman. A street performer, people call the dude The World Famous Bushman because he makes bank scaring the bejesus out of folks, by leaping out from behind bushes. People also probably call him The World Famous Bushman because that’s what he has written in permanent marker on the front of his tip jar.

And that makes me think… I’ve got a sharpie and some Tupperware. Maybe I should set up shop on a street corner too. I could call myself The Incredible BitchAss. Maybe people would toss some shit in my tip jar, and maybe they’d toss some dollar bills in there too.

But anyway, obvious targets in our tourist uniform of discount jackets with SF emblazoned across the chest, the ‘Bushman scared us pretty bad. My sister-in-law who is an ER nurse said “That’d be real funny if he scared someone and they ended up having a heart attack.” I said I agreed, but actually I think that wouldn’t be funny at all. Everyone knows that heart attacks just don’t get the laughs like scaring someone into having herpes does.

One thing about vacationing in California is, you never know when you’re going to see a celebrity. I was pretty sure I saw Mariah Carey down at Pier 39. But actually it was just a fat-ass sea lion – one of about 50 sunning themselves on the docks – which had his flipper raised high, like he was reaching for heaven…or ho hos.

Down at the pier there a ton of cute little shops where you can buy all kinds of crap. Since Angel’s maaa wanted to get a cable car ornament, we stopped somewhere. When we got to the register, Angel kept asking if the ornament qualified as a “model.” I couldn’t figure out why he was repeatedly asking this dumb question, but then I read the sign where his eyes were transfixed: “Buy a model, pull the cord.”

The cord, mounted above the register, was attached to a trolley bell. Even though the ornament didn’t technically qualify, the clerk let Angel pull cord. This is probably because Angel is 25, and most times when someone nearly pees themselves over the pulley, they are 10.

In concluding this travelogue, I would just like to leave you with this thought: Alcatraz: it’s known as “The Rock,” but yet, when I had a look around, I found no evidence of screaming guitars, too-tight hot pants, or boys who wear makeup.

Perhaps we should call it “The Soft Rock” or “The Smooth Jazz” instead.

Discuss.

Til next, dear hannihaus readers, adieu.
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Update B/c you asked for it, here they are: click for my San Fran pics. If you’re bored, Angel’s got some too.

8 comments

October 30, 2005

I Heart New York

As I snuggled into my punky-colored seat on the Friday night flight, I thought how appropriate that the first song on the new CD I’d purchased for my trip was called Marching Bands of Manhattan. That’s because that’s exactly where I was going –A few days ago, somewhat spur-of-the-moment, I loaded up my iPod with new Death Cab For Cutie, drove to the airport, and got on a Song flight headed for New York.

A veritable virgin, this was my first time in the city, and I have to admit, being there gave me a very special feeling… I think you’d call it love.

If you’ve never been, New York is every bit as exciting, eccentric and excessive as it appears on TV. Yes, Trump Tower with its sold-gold façade really does glitter gaudily from 5th avenue. And yes, the ice skating rink at Rockefeller Center is filled with clumsy, apple-cheeked children, even at this time of year. And it’s true, Central Park is smack dab in the middle of the city with its tree-lined canopy, offering an amazingly relaxing retreat from the concrete and clamor that surrounds it on all sides.

In New York I:

* Felt my heart swell as I looked down 86 stories from the top of the Empire State Building to see hundreds of taxis zip past thousands of landmarks like the Brooklyn Bridge, Ellis Island, The Statue of Liberty, and The UN and Chrysler Buildings.

* Figured out what enterprising Nigerians do when they’re not scamming kind-hearted, gullible folk via e-mail – They sell high-dollar watches and handbags for dirt cheap, out of cardboard boxes, on the DL in Battery Park.

* Saw two holes where steel structures had been in the days before September 11th. A metal memorial, fashioned from two beams, made in the shape of the cross, reminded me that this city is scarred, and I felt an immense sadness as I stood looking on the street.

And I guess it’s kind of poetic that a girl, (your mistress), who once referred to herself as the “Pimp of Produce”, would adore, so much, a place called The Big Apple.

View my NYC flickr photos here.