February 19, 2006

T & A On The Grocery PA

Whilst cruising down the grocery store aisles at Publix, I heard a funny announcement. A sleepy voice, employing a dead-on Ben Steinesque monotone called out over the intercom:

“Rolls to bakery… rolls to bakery.”

Upon hearing the call for crusty bread, I began to snicker. And then guffaw. Eventually I started snorting… very loudly. So loudly in fact, that a small child, upon hearing the supersonic noises emitted from my left nostril, exclaimed “Mommy! Mommy! That’s the sound a pig makes!”

Indeed.

And he didn’t even need to see me in front of a carton of Edy’s Double Fudge Brownie to know that. What a smart kid.

Mariah Carey in a bikini: I don’t think I’m ready for that jelly.

Anyway, because I love playing Nancy Drew, and because my brain is so fantastical, I immediately began creating scenarios to explain the roll sitch.

The obvious first response –the one I employ when *anything* goes missing, be it socks, shoes, belly button lint, etc – is that Mariah Carey ate them. Anyone who’s seen Mimi in a bikini that’s four sizes too small knows that this is a perfectly plausible explanation… but I digress.

A second possibility, (and in my mind the more logical one), is that fresh out of the oven, the Publix hot cross buns, overhearing a conversation betwixt frat boys, misunderstood when HornyJoe said “I’d like to squeeze those melons.”

Taking the melon thing quite literally, the bite-sized dinner breads quickly made haste to the produce department. Once there they got all snuggly-like with the honeydews and cataloupes, in hopes that they’d get a feel up.

This is not too crazy when you consider most buns like a little squeeze every once in a while.

*ba dum bum ching*

Anyway, and in a disappointing turn of events, after staking out the bakery (having found a cozy niche adjacent the lemon meringues and layer cakes), I located the person to whom the “rolls to bakery” page was made. A moon-faced mama in her mid-50’s, the employee whose nametag said Rose, well she had a hairnet and predilection for pastries.

So that solved it. “Rolls to the bakery” was actually “Rose to bakery.” Apparently I need a hearing aid. And some crazy pills. And maybe a ThighMaster Gold, because – call me crazy – bun squeezing actually sounds kind of sexy.

Ooh la la!

16 comments

February 16, 2006

That’s One Delusional Diva

Oh Mariah, Mariah, Mariah. You’ve done it again.

I guess, dear MC, you’ve been so busy stuffing snack cakes into it, that you forgot it’s ok to keep your big, fat mouth shut every once in a while.

Media outlets all over the world are reporting that our favorite Pillsbury Dough Girl is blaming haute couture powerhouse, Chanel for an “imperfect appearance” at the 2006 Golden Globes.

Mariah Carey at the Golden Globes. Girlfriend has more rolls than a bakery.

After having her plunging, black, tootsie-roll of a dress likened to a “wine bottle opener” by fashion expert, David Evangelista, Mariah “fought back” by saying, “Satin is very unforgiving.”

And then – in an effort to comfort herself for all the wrong that designer, Karl Lagerfeld had done her – Mariah opened a twin pack of pizza-flavored Pringles and went to town.

But anyway…

Mariah Carey (inconceivably) blames Chanel Couture for making her look like a Jimmy Dean sausage.

I think she’s got it all wrong. Clearly Mariah Carey should be blaming Jimmy Dean sausage for making her look like Jimmy Dean sausage…. But I’m just stating the obvious here.

And in a related note – from the Unbelievable But True Department – a quick google for “Mariah Carey blames” shows miss Carey is not new to this kind of passing-the-buck tomfoolery.

In July, Princess Poppin Fresh said her phenomenal flop of a movie, Glitter failed because it was released around 9/11.

I know you’re like “oh no she di’int.” But oh yes she did. Mariah blamed Glitter’s supreme suckage not on her performance, but on the obvious culprit: terrorists.

WTF folks?!

We all know that if the terrorists really wanted to get back at us, then forcing us to sit through a screening of Glitter would be the *perfect* vehicle for torture.

But I digress.

Thanks Niccy B for the Chanel article.

15 comments

February 14, 2006

My Funny Valentine

I hope Satan’s staying snug in his parka and boots, because I got something in the mail. You’ll never guess who wants to be my valentine:

Yes, apparently Mariah Carey *hearts* Hänni.

I have to say, with all my name calling, the Singing Diva is the last person I’d expect to show me some love. So for your big-hearted gesture (which is not unlike your big “phat” ass), Mariah I admit, the twinkie thing was wrong.

I should’ve shown you with a handful of ho hos.

But I digress.
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To those who celebrate and have a date–*Happy V-Day* dear hannihaus readers.

And to those donning assless chaps in a last ditch effort to find a gurl who’ll partake of your Whitman’s Sampler, Happy D-day ScottyGee!

8 comments

February 13, 2006

If Dooce Can Do It…

then I can too-write a meme that is.

A lot of people are indignant about doing memes, and blatantly refuse to play along. I understand this, because it is difficult to relinquish control of your content when it comes to blogging. For example, I like writing about diarrhea. Is there a meme in existence that talks about the Hershey squirts? No. Instead, meme’s address “interesting” stuff like your favorite vacation spot, or favorite food – b.o.r.i.n.g.

Shhh. Don’t tell anybody, but one day I’m going to write a meme. It’s going to be gross and glorious and contain questions like

Favorite place to scratch yourself (body part and/or locale)
Last age at which you picked your nose and ate the boogies (I suspect some of you are currently doing this)
Location and reason for best barf-fest (w/ description of barf color and chunkiness)
Last blog you read that made you laugh and the wet yourself, just a little

But yeah, anyway, for the purposes of today’s discussion, I will be doing a regular meme, as requested by the lovely Erin. Without further ado, let’s talk about meme, myself and I:

Four jobs I’ve had
1. Landscaper
2. Intern in the US Senate
3. Server
4. Co-ed Resident Advisor (AKA baby sitter, policeman, and body spill investigator)

Four movies I can watch over and over
1. Four Weddings And A Funeral
2. Moulin Rouge
3. Major Payne
4. Empire Records

Four places I have lived
1. Alaska
2. Japan
3. Washington, D.C.
4. Lake Mary, Florida

Four TV shows I love
1. Dawson’s Creek
2. American Idol
3. Lost
4. Law & Order

Four places I have vacationed
1. Tokyo
2. Las Vegas
3. British Columbia
4. Key West

Four of my favorite dishes
1. Palak paneer (Indian spinach and cheese dish)
2. Chipotle vegetarian burrito bol
3. Black beans and rice
4. Mom’s chinese

Four Sites I visit daily
1. mrtl
2. Scottygee
3. Celebritysmack
4. Live Journal

Four places I would rather be right now
1. In bed with at least 24 hours until I have to be back at work
2. On a plane, traveling first class to some exotic locale with Angelface
3. In a coffee shop, a warm blueberry mocha cupped between my hands
4. Standing at the foot of the Egyptian pyramids

Four People I am tagging
I’m kind of a rebel, so guess what meme gods? I’m not tagging anybody! *Mwa ha ha*. If anyone wants to play though, tell me and I’ll link to you, cause I’m cool like that.

13 comments

February 11, 2006

Picking Favorites

My darling friend Violette called this morning. “Hey girl,” she said “what are you up to?”

“Well Vi,” I replied, “I’m in bed, laid back, chillin’. I’m not feeling so great.”

“What’s wrong?” my friend asked, concern in her voice.

“I have a stomach bug.”

“Oh no! Are you vomiting?”

“No, it’s um, not that kind of stomach bug.”

“Oh… so you have diarrhea?”

“Yeah, hardstyle.”

“Oh man,” Violette said, “diarrhea is your favorite.”

Although the comment was made in jest, this diarrhea-is-my-favorite thing got me to thinking.

First Thought
Diarrhea is *NOT* my favorite. Diarrhea – unless one is partial to the seven-layer burrito at Taco Bell – is *NOBODY’S* favorite.

Indeed there are many things I enjoy more than being hot-to-trot (if you will). For example I really have a thing for:

organic raisins (yay fiber!)
boys who wear makeup (yay eyeliner!)
those little printed messages – today’s being “We can learn from the trees how to exist in ecstacy” – that come attached to Yogi tea bags (yay nonsensical notes!)

… But even as I’m talking about these things that are my “favorites,” another dark thought is bubbling behind my brain.

Second Thought
If you’re into something, you talk it up.

Essentially these talked-up topics could be considered “favorites”, right?

Well, if favorites are tied to the amount of time spent discussing, or blogging about, a particular topic, then actually it could be said that diarrhea *IS* my favorite, that I am madly in love with it, and that, in fact, I want to be it’s baby’s mama.

Third Thought
What the hell is wrong with me?

Fourth Thought
No time to ponder that now. I gotta go!

Til next, dear hannihaus readers, adieu.

14 comments

February 9, 2006

Football Follies

A few weeks ago, in an effort to really rock this blog (as per my resolution), I announced that I would start talking about new topics here at the haus. While I am not ready to discuss Karen, my hemorrhoid, I am interested in working a little sports spielage into the discussion.

Now I don’t know a damn thing about sports, but fortunately for you, being ignorant about something has never kept me from commenting… or accordingly, looking like a giant jackass while doing so, but I digress.

Anyway, in previous posts we learned that the driving range is dangerous (re: divot stick + no skillz = armbone injury), and that the best thing about basketball is the buns (and arguably, after having seen pics of SORM in spandex, the same could probably be said for baseball … but let’s not get off topic.)

So yeah, golf and basketball – I’m not so good with that. But what about football? Because I’m a Virginia Tech alumni, (go hokies!), who had stadium seats for every game Michael Vick played in Lane Stadium, well I must know something about football, right?

Wrong.

The other day, I tried to have a conversation with Angelface about the Super Bowl. It didn’t work out too well, mostly because I was referring to the game as “The Finale.”

Re:

Hänni: “On Sunday, what did you think of The Finale?”

Angelface (blank stare): …

Never one to give up, I also tried to get Angel talking about the referees that have Seahawk fans up in arms. Again, the conversation flopped, likely because I referred to the men who’d made the questionable calls as “judges.”

Re:

Hänni (trying again): So I heard the judges may have been unfair to the west coast team.

Angel (blank stare): …

So, being that my foray into football talk wasn’t entirely successful, I thought it best to stop at two attempts. After all, you know what they say: it’s one – two – three strikes you’re out at the old ba- …

Wait. That’s the wrong sport, isn’t it?

Aye carumba.

13 comments

February 7, 2006

Shit Outta Luck

If you visited the haus earlier today, you’ll notice that the previous post has magically disappeared. I removed it because I’m all about the quality, and quite frankly, Previous Post did not past the sniff test.

But you know what does? EXPLOSIVE DIARRHEA! That shit is comedy gold!

That being said, and without further ado I present:

The Incredible Ryan’s Steakhouse Story or Hey, that’s totally happened to me before! (Because it has. But I was at the Diarrhea Corral).

Don’t click unless you want to laugh like some sort of deranged maniac and possibly pee your pants in the process.

(FYI – for all your adult diaper needs, please see mrtl or say hello to ancient geezer, ScottyGee.)

15 comments

February 5, 2006

Poop du Jour

Whilst cutting up a hormone-free, antibiotic-free, grass-fed piece of beauty beef, I was sure to save a strip for the kittinks.

(Don’t freak. It’s good for them. Acidic by nature, cats’ stomachs do better with raw meat than Meow Mix … Who knew, right? The Nutrition Nazi, that’s who! Mwa ha ha.)

But anyway, as I watched the cats circle like hungry vultures to road kill, like sharks to their prey, or like Mariah Carey to a buffet line (hee), I just knew that the savory sirloin would really rock their socks.

It would be like Christmas. I would be a wise man. I’d come bearing beef.

So, after a few minutes I’d cleared the butcher block and it was time to present the succulent selection. For Bella, I chose the juiciest, reddest, and most mouthwatering morsel of meat ever seen by man or cat.

Eyes wide with anticipation, my darling Belle sniffed her steak twice, batted once … and then – without so much as giving the thing a lick – sauntered her ass right out of the room.

It was insulting really. Especially since yesterday I caught her barfing up 36 inches of shoelace, most likely fished from a stinking bag of trash.

Oh yeah, and this is gross too:

This morning, after accidentally bumping into it, Bella totally licked her brother’s butt. And that’s bad, because there’s a reason we call our boy “Stinky Sphynxy.”

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Today is the last day to enter the Randy Jackson What’s Up Dawg Contest. Don’t forget that in addition to the grand prize, I’ll also be awarding boobies!

You like boobies, right? Well, if you love boobies, you should send me an e-mail telling me so. And in that e-mail you should also include your guess for how many times Randy will say “dawg” on American Idol this season! Woo!

9 comments

February 3, 2006

This Spud’s For You

I’ve been thing about the expression, you are what you eat. If that’s really true than I am sweet potatoes.

Some say I’m a jackass, but really I’m sweet (potato.)

If I am indeed – as I have long suspected – not human, but actually tangerine-colored tuber, then boy, things are gonna have to change around here.

Angelface, in an effort to save a couple bucks on electricity, has been turning off the air at night. This would be okay if we lived in – say – the frozen wastelands of Alaska where folks need a/c like J-lo needs more ass, but you know what? Angel and I, we live in F*-ing Hot Florida.

When you live in F*-ing Hot Florida, having the a/c on 24/7 is non-negotiable. It’s not a novelty; it’s a necessity, no different than other life-sustaining substances, RE: water, oxygen, American Idol, and organic raisins.

So yeah Angel, if your Sweetie is a potato, then you need to stop this turning-off-the-a/c-at-night shit immediately. If you don’t, things could end up real bad between us.

I can see the headline now:

“Man With Potato for Wife Refuses To Turn on A/C At Night, Wakes Up Next to Pile of Veggie Crisps In Morning.”

… Yes, it has been extremely hot in my apartment lately.
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Last chance! Enter the Randy Jackson What’s Up Dawg Contest before it’s too effing late….Too effing late is Sunday, btw.

28 comments

February 1, 2006

United States of Hysteria

I’m not really a political person. I never watch the news –mostly because it’s always bad. And I rarely tune into televised presidential addresses –mostly because I know that watching them will actually make me dumber (being that I find it necessary to kill brain cells binge drinking after about the fifth time the leader of the free world mispronounces “nu-cu-lar”… but I digress.)

Yes, so I’m an idiot about politics, and predictably – because I didn’t want to be hung over on Hump Day – I avoided watching the State of the Union last night. This morning, however (and omg!), I did visit CNN.com for the recap.

Most of the crap Bush said was boring statecraft-speak. I’ll spare you my analysis on these matters. What I will talk about is the State of Cindy Sheehan, peace activist and enemy of the Haus of Bush.

It’s no secret that Cindy Sheehan has an axe to grind with El Presidente. After her son was killed in Iraq, Cindy made International news when, in August 2005, she held a lengthy demonstration at a peace camp outside GDub’s Texas ranch.

Last night, as a guest of Democrat, Lynne Woolsey of California, Cindy was invited to attend the State of the Union address… and she did, before she got arrested.

I think it’s because she messed with Texas, but the media reports that Sheehan was forcibly ejected from the ~~peanut~~ State gallery because she refused to conceal her anti-war t-shirt.

The arresting officers called Cindy’s fashion faux pas “unlawful conduct.”

Mommy Hilton’s got me me convinced: there outta be a law against drinking and drooping.

Now I read Celebrity Smack, so I am well aware of the need for Fashion Police.I mean, damn, after peeping Mommy Hilton’s nipples via see-through blouse, my first thought was to contact my Senator and demand that we enact a law forbidding old brods from exposing their not-so-fun-bags. But you know what? I never made that call, because it’s STUPID to punish someone for their attire… Even if their name is Tara Reid and their excessive show of greasy boobs gives you heartburn on a bi-weekly basis… but I digress (again!)

But yeah, Angel and I were talking about Cindy and her t-shirt, and we think it was very patriotic of Mrs. Sheehan to express her opinion at a political rally, Bush be damned.

This is still a free country, right? I don’t know. I’m getting kind of confused. Like I said earlier, me -I’m no political pundit.

All I know is, I used to think I lived in the United States of America, but as of late, I’m pretty sure I’m residing in the United States of What The F*-?!
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Update: The AP reports today (Feb. 2) that Cindy Sheehan has been released with apologies from the Capitol Police Chief… Seems they weren’t supposed to arrest her for that t-shirt after all, imagine that!

Jackasses.

Thanks for the heads up Dima ________________________________________________________
In less depressing news, and pertaining to programming we actually enjoy watching here at the haus, American Idol will be airing tonight – don’t miss it.

And if you haven’t played yet, I’m still accepting entries for the Randy Jackson What’s Up Dawg Contest. Enter today, because not entering is – simply – unAmerican.