April 5, 2006

I’ll Drink To That: American Idol Cocktail Countdown

Wanna get me wasted? Here’s your chance!

Here at the haus, we love us some American Idol. Sometimes the performances really touch us and we’re driven to laugh, cry, smirk or smile. Most often though – after enduring 60 minutes Paula’s bad hair and the contestants’ bad vocals – I just wanna drink.

And here’s where I need your help.

On the night of the finale I’m going to attend an American Idol party. At said shindig I will be toasting with a tasty beverage of your choosing.

That’s right. I said you’ll be getting me (and about 10 of my ~~foolish~~ fabulous friends) trashed.

Here’s how it works: Starting today, for the next 8 weeks I’ll have a poll posted here at the haus. Each week, you vote for your favorite drink. The drink with the least votes gets kicked out. At the end of 8 weeks, the last beverage standing will be the big wiener. And it will also be responsible for making me, inevitably, freak dance with strangers.

Details: Each round of voting starts when new polls are posted at 9am EST each Tuesday. Look for the poll in my sidebar (over there —->)

**You can vote once every day, so come back damn it!**

Pick my poison: Drink details are listed alphabetically below. The thing they have in common? They all contain coca-cola. We figure if American Idol can whore some coke, so can we. We’re easy like that.

~~Blonde’s Death:~~ ~~Rum, red wine, coke, ice~~ | Voted off on 4.24

~~Carmel Coke~~ ~~: Butterscotch schnapps, coke, ice~~ | Voted off on 4.10

~~Christophe’s French 75~~~~: Sparkling white wine, cognac, lemon, coke~~ | Voted off on 4.17

~~Coconut Coke~~~~: Coconut rum, coke, ice~~ | Voted off on 5.15

~~Coked out Bee~~~~: Honey liqueur, coke~~ | Voted off on 5.8

~~Jack-Off~~~~: Jack Daniels, coke, iced tea, ice~~ | Voted off on 5.22

WINNER—–>Stephanie’s Coke Lobster: Crown Royal, chambord, cranberry juice, coke

~~Vodka Swish~~ ~~: Vodka, soda water, coke, lime~~ | Voted off on 4.17

Your lovely parting gift: Should you help get me trashed, you *will not* be allowed to put your hands down my pants. You *will*, however, get the distinct pleasure of saying “I did that!” while laughing your tush off at the trainwreck that will be my post-party pics.

You can also, should you be so ~~foolish~~ fabulous, choose to slam a few of the winning bevvies back with me, on the day of the finale.

Oh, and if you really wanna, you could post this on your blog (huzzah!):

(Click here for the code).

Now that you know the basics, go get your vote on!

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FYI – if you tried to get the banner before 2PM EST on 4.6.06, it probably didn’t work. Banner is now fixed. Try again please.

16 comments

April 4, 2006

If I Had A Million Dollars

People always ask me, “Hänni, if you had a million dollars, how would you spend it?”

That’s easy. I’d buy a big house, a hybrid car, and this t-shirt .

Some people, however, would blow the million bucks on strippers and coke.

I don’t get that.

Mostly because soda is so bad for you.

…But I digress.

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What you do with a million dollars, dear hannihaus readers?

*Thanks mrtl, for the theme.

13 comments

April 2, 2006

Of Tights And Men

Now that I live in Florida, I rarely wear hosiery. Instead I slather bronzer on my cankles and call it good. Because it’s always so effing hot here, most people do likewise.

Imagine my surprise then, when I walked into a party and the vast majority of attendees were wearing tights… and they were men.

Yesterday Angelface and I attended our first ever renaissance-themed wedding. Although we were encouraged to, Angel and I did *not* dress the part. Angel wore a suit and I wore Cheetah Chic, the Sexiest Little Cocktail Dress…EVER.

When you’re wearing the Sexiest Little Cocktail Dress…EVER, you need fantastic hair to match. I told Angel I was going to try a faux hawk. When questioned as to what a faux hawk was, I explained it’s like a mohawk in the front with a ponytail in the back. Angel, eyebrows raised, said, “Alright baby, but if you faux hawk it up, you won’t have time to fix it.”

Heh. He said “faux hawk it up.”

The only thing funnier than the fact that I am (apparently) married to a comedian, was a sign I saw during the two-hour drive to the wedding site. Forced to travel country roads, I laughed at a backwoods billboard that said Pray for teachers, in Jesus’ name. I’m not sure why they needed to specify the Jesus thing, except it would be real bad if someone prayed in the name of Paris Hilton and instead of eternal salvation they got herpes.

But anyway, the wedding was lovely. The bride arrived in a horse drawn carriage and her 14 attendants were all beautiful. The reception was great too. At some point, my inhibitions lowered by much merry making (re: alcohol), I decided that this would be an attractive pose:

And I also thought it acceptable, nay crucial, that I freak dance with some random chick dressed like She-Ra. Boy am I glad someone thought to capture that moment.

After the wedding, the trip home went really fast. Mostly because I was passed out drunk in the passenger seat for two hours. Angel told me later I woke up once when he asked me for toll money. Apparently I yelled at him and threw my purse. It’s good to know, even when I’m inebriated, I still act like my usual self.

And with that, this recap is done. I’m off to sleep and drink fluids.

Til next, dear hannihaus readers, adieu.

9 comments

March 31, 2006

Sicko

It's fun to confuse someone who has a head cold. You see, their brains just don't work right, being that they're filled with snot and such.

Angelface, sniffling, looked at our adopted kitty and asked, "Where did Bella come from?"

Matter-of-factly I replied, "Her mom."

Angelface, attempting to clarify said, "That's not what I mean. We know that Sphynxy was born on the streets, so I just wonder where Bella came from before she came to us."

Rolling my eyes, I responded, "Bella came from her mom. You don't think kittens make themselves, do you?"

Angel looking flushed and flustered said, "What I'm trying to say is, before we adopted Bella…"

"Fine," I interrupted. "That's just Fine! If you don't want to talk about the miracle of life, then we'll just say it was the stork. Bella came from the freaking stork okay?! Geez!"

"Oh and by the way," I added, "Santa is real, there's a boogie monster living in our closet, and Mariah Carey is *not* endangering the world's snack cake supply."

Speechless, Angel blinked twice and walked away. His robe clutched tight to his congested chest, my befuddled better half went back to bed.

Poor thing.

Angel may have the head cold, but I suspect I'm the one who's really sick.

18 comments

March 29, 2006

Pregnant Pause

I’m not sure how to tell you this…

The indicator on the display is red.

And I’m sitting here biting my nails. My forehead is covered in a cold sweat.

My life is about to change in a very big way, and I’m not sure I’m ready for it.

I keep telling myself, whether good or bad, everything happens for a reason. Still, I can’t shake this feeling:

Nothing good will come of this.

And I know I shouldn’t panic –this is just life. I set into motion a series of events, and now, inevitably, I must face the consequences.

My brave sisters who have gone before me, I’m looking to you for support.

You see, yesterday, in the mail, I got this. (< — go on, click it.)

Now I’ve got the DVD player cued, its red light flashing as it prepares to run.

And omg …

I’m actually considering watching this junx.

Someone please alert the media because HELL HAS OFFICIALLY FROZEN OVER.

—–

Dima , though your gift greatly disturbs me, thank you *squeeze*.

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.

12 comments

March 24, 2006

Remedial Math

Angelface is out in California, visiting his mom and sister. Tomorrow after work I’m going to fly out and join them.

I talked to Angel this evening about my travel arrangements. He said my flight would last from 7pm until 1am.

“Holy cow!” I said. “That’s only 4 hours, coast to coast. I can’t believe it!”

Angel couldn’t believe it either –

Mostly because even kids who flunk remedial math know that 7pm to 1am = 6 hours.

But I digress (because my math skills do not impress).

Til next, dear hannihaus readers, adieu. I’m off the land of fruit and nuts.

8 comments

March 22, 2006

Gossip Queen

Today I visited a Web site that had this cool feature called the Rumor Mill. Simple, all you do is type a rumor, click “Send That Shit In!,” and you’re good to go. Once submitted, your rumor will display, along with 29 other untruths, in a continuous, random loop.

Examples of rumors currently circulating include: “Armored maloogars are coming for me,” “You can catch Down’s syndrome from toilet seats,” “Smoking gives you herpes,” and “I have hemorrhoids.”

These rumors are pretty funny, because they’re all obviously untrue…

Well, except for the hemorrhoid one.

I really do have a hemorrhoid. And it’s a real pain in my ass… but I digress.

Because I like playing games, with a shout of “let’s get retarded in here,” into the Rumor Mill, I entered:

I have boobs.

Initially I thought it a winning submission. After all, everybody likes jublees. But then I got to thinking, my rumor really sucked, mostly because I’m a girl. If a dude had posted my rumor, it would’ve been funny, because boys don’t have boobs.

…But there again, apparently, neither do I.

Panicked at the idea of posting something online that isn’t comedy gold, I broke into a cold sweat. Nervous, I grabbed my necklace and gave it a sharp jerk. This caused my head to snap downwards.

Before I knew it, I was staring straight down the front of my low-cut, black Gap t-shirt.

Guess what I saw: boobies. But only the padded kind that come standard with my Wonderbra.

“Hot damn!” I thought, trying to push up the puppies I don’t have, “that is a good rumor after all!”
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Let’s talk trash dear hannihaus readers. Got a rumor? Dish your dirt here.

9 comments

March 21, 2006

La La La. I Can’t Hear You

I called Popi yesterday.

I asked him “Did you have fun last weekend?”

He said, “I had fun with your maaa.”

“Oh really,” I said, “What did you do?”

Popi replied, “I don’t think you really want to know that.”

And then – because I was clueing into something gross – I threw up in my mouth a little.

I wanted to hang up, the innuendo being more than this innocent could bear. But instead, I bucked up, stuck it out, and stayed connected.

Know why?

Because I am an adult. And I can talk about adult things.

Hee.

Besides, I guess drinking herbal tea and studying organic tomatoes, isn’t so bad.

… Because that’s what Popi was referring to when he said he had fun with Maaa, right?

RIGHT?!

Parents can only have fun doing garden planning.

It says that in the Bible somewhere.

I’m sure of it.

Really, don’t look it up.

There’s no need to argue this one.

Please don’t argue this one.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to leave some change for the tooth fairy, brush my unicorn’s long flowing mane, and find Peter Pan –we’re lunching at the Neverland Café and Baked Beanery.

12 comments

March 19, 2006

Mad To The Bone

When celebrities get divorced, they often blame it on a nebulous something called “irreconcilable differences.” Vague by design, I have no idea what that means. What I do know is this:

If I was a celebrity going through the big “d” (and I don’t mean Des Moines), based on my last week’s behavior, the line asking reason for split would read: irreconcilable bitchiness.

I’m coming out of it now, but last week was like kvetchfest 2006.

I was mad at the cats – I don’t *like* being awoken with someone’s fur lodged in my nostrils, prickly pain in my fingertips where little teeth have been nibbling as if to say “I’ll let you keep your digits if you feed me my organic kibble, never mind that it’s 5am.”

I was mad at Monday – I don’t *like* to go to work on Monday. Monday sucks. About the only thing that makes it bearable, is that it’s the one day of the week I get to wear the underpants with “Blue Monday” spelled out across the kiester.

I was mad at St. Patrick’s Day – I’m not Irish. I don’t *like* wearing green. Call me an ass, but I feel like I don’t need to celebrate something I have little chance of ever becoming. Plus I don’t drink beer.

I could go on and on. The point is, last week I was MAD.

The worst offense of bitch-n-moan week, the one thing that got my panties in a bunch like no other, was my dental plan.

Folks, if any of you have a DMO (the dental equivalent of HMO), you might as well take your insurance card, bend over, and shove it up your ass.

…Because seriously, that’s about all it’s good for.

Did you know that if you take this DMO card to your dentist and they find one tiny bit of plaque, *you*, not the insurance you so painstakingly pay into each month, are responsible for 100% of the cleaning?

And did you know that as part of this DMO plan, even though we live in the United. F-* ing. States, land of the free, home of the brave and all that, you are required to get a fluoride treatment at the end of your cleaning? Never mind if you’re into green living and are vehemently opposed to pumping a chemical into your body that is a) unnecessary and b) has been linked to a little thing called CANCER.

And also, did you know that if you call your insurance provider to bitch and moan about your DMO, you’ll be routed to a customer service agent whose only redeeming quality is that he sounds like a bored automaton?

… But actually, this last thing is quite nice. There’s something very satisfying about being a jackass to someone you’ll never meet in person, and so I would’ve quite enjoyed ending our conversation with, “Domo arigatou Mr. Roboto” – Click.

I didn’t think about that one until later though.

To top it all off, the icing on this DMO cake is, while checking my chompers, the dentist told me I needed to floss like a hundred times.

I know I’m a little slow on the uptake, but come on, a hundred reminders is excessive … even for me.

Around reminder 82, I wanted to tell Dr. Dentist, “Look man, if I want to pour brandy on my gums and set my teeth on fire whilst dancing the funky chicken in my Blue Monday underpants, then I’ll damn well do it!” But I didn’t tell him that… mostly because he had a sharp instrument in my mouth.

And with that, I must bid you adieu dear hannihaus readers. Have a good day, eat your vegetables, mind your manners and don’t forget to take care of your teefs.
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You know what’s funny? Splitting your pants in public (been there, done that). Know what’s not funny? Cancer. Likely everyone reading this has been affected by cancer; Some of you may have friends and family who’ve battled it, and some of you are cancer survivors yourselves (Go Kranki!). Hannihaus, Personal Assistant, ScottyGee is fundraising on behalf of the American Cancer Society and this is especially poignant as his own mother is currently undergoing her last rounds of chemotherapy. If you can, please support him in his efforts. Donate for cancer research.