Camping: Being One with Nature in the Worst Way Possible

Conversations With My Husband: Talking About Celebrity Crushes is a Terrible Idea

DON'T Do These Things if You Want More Passion with Your Lover

An Open Letter to the Black Hair Under My Chin

5 Reasons My Brain is Now Useless, Thanks to My iPhone

How To Pee In Front of a Colleague Gracefully

First, say “Don’t look me in the eyes!”

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

A few weeks ago, I attended a conference in New Orleans. During one of the session breaks, a colleague and I decided to go make a run for some beignets. 

We found some alright. After two bites my entire face was coated with powdered sugar and my black pants looked like I had a white blanket across my lap. I tried to get it off, but it mostly smeared, putting me in a mild panic. After beating my legs like women used to beat stains out of their dresses with rods, I managed to get to my pants to the “Eff it,” stage where I just didn’t care anymore. My conference friend and my powdered sugar pants were off to do something fun.

My Husband's Bacon Covered Mistress

Rob cheated on me.

He cheated on me with a sexy, spicy, chipotle bacon burger. 

As if that wasn’t sick enough, he had the audacity to order a side of golden brown, delicious, crispy fries.

That selfish bastard.

While the wound is still raw, I want to share my story in case one of you finds yourself suffering from a dieting betrayal and may find comfort in my words.

It went down like this:

Baby Teeth Necklaces and Other Reasons We've Lost Our Damn Minds

BabyCenter has just come out with a list of parenting trends to look out for in 2014. Some of the things on the list didn't surprise or interest me too much. 

One gave me an eye-roll so fierce I panicked when one eye got stuck.

Half Birthday Parties.

As in, not only are we celebrating their birth day - but we're also celebrating that half-way mark to their next birthday.


As if birthday parties for kids haven't become stressful enough? Parents are already trying to create Pinterest approved magic by clearing out Hobby Lobby stores and creating a homemade event that would put a Martha Stewart themed circus to shame - do we really want to start doing this TWICE a year now? Why? Is this like a twisted version of the Hunger Games where parents try to eliminate one another with pure exhaustion by one upping everyone with fabulous and adorable parties?

Anyway, turns out - adding an extra birthday party seems to be the least of our troubles. There was one thing on the list that really got my attention. 

Jewelry made out of baby teeth.


The Worst Man Cold To Ever Happen To Me

I woke up yesterday morning like I could conquer the world. As I cheerfully peeled back my comforter and jumped to my feet, I started to put on my work uniform: an oversized hoodie, high ponytail, boyfriend sweatpants and slippers. Bra optional.

Nothing could stop me.

I had a full day of writing ahead which meant I needed to brew 12 cups of coffee. I started humming to myself the sweet melodies of a life well lived when like a flash of lightening, the record of joy screeched to a horrifying halt. 

My mouth went dry. My pulse high. I was frozen solid. I tried to gulp air, but it felt like I was swallowing sand. No, not now, God. No. I can’t. Please. Not now.


Nyquil was out on the counter, tipped on its side. A tiny plastic cup was upside down dripping its contents. Cough drop wrappers stuck in the pool of purple goo like flies trying to break free from those weird sticky thingies people hang from the ceilings when they’re hoarders.

A man cold was in my house.

I gripped the counter, my knees trembled. I can’t have a man cold in my house. Not this week. Not ever. 

Conversations with My Husband: Reality Bites

Husband: What's I Am Britney Jean?

Me: Um, it's just a show I recorded.

Husband: Oh my god. You recorded a Britney Spears special on E!?

Me: Well, yes. I mean - I would have watched it live, but Long Island Medium and Little People Big World were also recording.

Husband: Really. Britney Spears, Anna?

Me: This is her big comeback, ok? Let the first person who hasn't shaved their head and hit cars with umbrellas and then act crazy and drugged on the X Factor cast the first stone.

Husband: Long Island Medium? Little People Big World

Me: Now that the kids are out of the house - well except for the one kid that's the little person - their marriage is crumbling. I care about these things, ok? I really want them to make it, but Matt seems to be going through a mid-life crisis and Amy doesn't feel loved or appreciated. All of these weddings have been really hard on his joints and he isn't sure he can do it anymore. Why am I even explaining this to you? You don't understand us.

Cindy Chupack's New Book + HooHas eCards = Pure Magic

click image to send this as an as eCard

Cindy Chupack is an Emmy-winning television writer/producer (Sex and the City and Modern Family, just to name two). I was given a copy of her latest book "The Longest Date: Life as a Wife" and I laughed so hard, so many times, I had to put the book down and walk away. I'm not exaggerating. Ask my husband. He was getting annoyed because football was on.

When you're not laughing, you're crying, as she shares some of life's struggles, including infertility. It's a hilarious book that keeps it oh so real about marriage. Beautiful, messy, left the toilet seat up, marriage.

Head over to Cindy's website at to pre-order this book. Best Christmas gift ever.

*This is not a sponsored post, just a fun collaboration.

Anna's Freaking Ridiculous Friday So Far, in GIFs

Last night I was working on my new website and fell down a creative rabbit hole that kept me up until an embarrassing 4 am in the morning. What am I, 15 years old watching YouTube videos?

Anyway, I fell asleep on the couch and woke up with a sun beam shooting directly into my closed eyeballs. Despite being closed, I'm convinced I still have eye damage. Regardless, as I was rudely woken up with eye damage, I stumbled awake and desperately tried to get my crap together.  

Via Imgur

As I'm slowly eating my breakfast, a frightening thought enters my mind. Oh, crap. What's the date today? 

Anna's Fart Story is a Part of a Government Scandal. I Repeat - a Government Scandal!

If you’re a fan of HaHas for HooHas and didn’t just stumble over to our site by Googling “My husband wants me to pee on him, is this normal?” (yes, that’s a real Google search that brought someone to our website – and no ma’am, it isn’t normal), then you’re aware that I wrote a story called The Fart that (Almost) Altered My Destiny two years ago and long story short, it became the fart heard round the world.

Since it went viral, let’s just say some crazy things have happened:

Things That Make Me Irrationally Ragey: Part Deux

Guess what, friends? So many things apparently make me so irrationally ragey, I've made a part deux! Some I've listed here were inspired by you, the fans, by the comments left in the first post. The rest, of course, were inspired by the Christmas Spirit. Enjoy!

Christmas Light Hell

Last year, when I took my Christmas lights off the tree, I meticulously rolled and organized them in such a way so that the following year, I would be able to pull them out of the box and wrap them around my new tree with ease.

Yet, somehow, sitting in an undisturbed box for one year evidently causes lights to get more tangled than my web of lies when someone calls me when I'm asleep and I try to play it off like I just got back from a run.

The most cruel twist to my tangled lights fiasco is that it really doesn’t matter they’re tangled because miraculously, half of the lights that worked beautifully when they were last unplugged are now acting like buttholes.

Seriously Christmas lights? Seriously? Is this some prank to knock my Christmas Spirit down a few pegs? Why don’t you just break my Mariah Carey Christmas CD in half while you’re at it?

I'll Admit It. I'm Terrified of Inexplicable Stains.

I find I'm only deathly afraid of a few things. Dying a Saw movie-esque death, Caillou, and an unidentified, inexplicable stain found in my house or on my person.

Yesterday, I was gathering items around the house for a load of laundry when I was stopped dead in my tracks. 

There it was, staring me right in the eyes. 

A stain. That looked like blood. Or maybe chocolate. Or maybe poop.

Planes, Drunk Guys and Automobiles

Sorry, automobiles aren't in this story, I was just trying to be clever playing off of "Planes, Trains and Automobiles" with Steve Martin and John ... ok, you know what? It doesn't matter. Carry on.

I’m a friendly and engaging person with strangers, but I’m not a “let’s talk endlessly about boring crap neither of us really care about” type of person (a smaller, less clunky word I chose not to use for some reason is “small talk”). 

Which is why on airplanes, I tend to keep to myself. Not that some people aren’t fascinating, it’s just that those people usually don’t sit next to me and I’ve been burned far too many times sitting next to men named Ron who complain throughout the entire three hour flight that their wife doesn’t properly balance her checkbook.

By the way, Ron – if you’re reading this - how are the grandkids? Did Joey end up getting the chickenpox?

I usually fly Southwest, which is basically a non-deadly version of the Hunger Games, but don’t get it twisted - I’ll cut a biotch if she tries to get in front of me with her B32 boarding pass when I’m a B29. And don’t think being elderly and honestly having no idea why people are herding together like desperate cattle is an adequate excuse, either. You’re in the jungle baby, and you about to get the middle seat!

But back to my point - talking to strangers.

When I Went to a Haunted House and Basically Paid to Be Terrorized For an Hour

I can't even believe I’m typing this, but my haunted house experience was so outrageous, as a warning, this post may be a trigger for people with PTSD, or are survivors of abuse.

I thought I was going to Minneapolis to dress up in costume and dance like I’ve never danced before.

Little did I know, most of my night would be spent in a haunted house laying on a dirty floor in the fetal position while an extremely large man in filthy underwear hovers over me aggressively sniffing my neck.

This is what happens when you’re spontaneous and sign a You-Can’t-Sue-Us-When-We-Do-Things-That-Should-Be-Illegal release form without reading it.

Learn from my mistakes, people.

Like we’ve done since college, one of my closest friends Brady (you may remember him from the most unflattering and outrageous roller coaster picture ever to be taken), decided to dress up as a popular duo for Halloween. We weren’t able to find good lighting for a solid picture, but can you guess who we are? Let me give you a hint: We’re two characters from a popular show. On Netflix. With the word Orange in the title. We’re prisoners. And we’re both women. And lovers.

If you didn’t get it with those hints, then just pretend I’m an emo nurse and Brady is a blonde Jesus in scrubs.

Waiting for Tiffany

There aren’t very many people I’ve told this to, only every single person I’ve met in real life. So it’s time I tell you all in the hopes that you share this story so the whole world knows. And by whole world, please include Tiffany. Because she said she was going to call me 10 year ago and guess what? I’m still waiting.

Yes, I said TiffanyThat Tiffany. From the 80s. Not Tiffani Amber Thiessen, she’s from the 90s. Tiffany … what’s her last name? Let me Google it. Holy crap, it’s Darwish. Did you guys know it was Darwish? Mind = Blown.

Well, about 10 years ago she said she was going to call me. I’m still waiting and quite frankly, I’m starting to suspect she was just paying me lip service.

Here’s how it went down:

Anna's 5 Stages of "Oh Crap, I Think I'm Sick Stages of Grief"

As many of you have pieced together by now, Jessi and I were off on a Halloween video shoot over the weekend. On the last day she came down the stairs and said, “Oh man, my throat feels terrible. I had a fever last night and it just broke.”

My gentle response to her was, “Oh no! Can I get you anything?” but in my thoughts I said, “Get away from me, devil woman!!”

Upon returning from our video making adventure, I woke up at my loft in the beginning stages of the Oh Crap, I Think I'm Sick Stages of Grief. I’m now at the final stage, Acceptance, and would like to share these stages as a helpful guide to getting you through a cold or flu crisis.


The first reaction to learning you might be getting sick is to deny the reality of the situation. When I woke up, my throat felt like I was perpetually swallowing gravel, but I refused to believe that illness was a possibility.

I'm a Dirty Liar - I Didn't Literally LOL

As texting and instant messaging becomes a frequent way in which we all communicate, I feel as if I need to come clean.

If you say something clever, or kinda funny, and I say LOL – I’m lying to you. I’m a dirty rotten liar with no shame. I made you believe I was laughing out loud, but I was actually sitting at my computer straight faced. Probably mouth breathing. I may also have been looking at Pinterest and might have just barely glanced at what you said. I know I wrote LOL – but this is what my face looked like …

I know, I’m the worst!!