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.

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.
________________________________________________________

Last chance! Enter the Randy Jackson What’s Up Dawg Contest before it’s too effing late….Too effing late is Sunday, btw.

“Baby, when are you gonna blog about how I always beat your ass at Scrabble?”
- Angelface, Circa Sunday night

Although I’m ashamed to admit this for both personal and professional reasons, I’m going to be candid here: I am a loser.

A writer by profession, I realize there are certain things people come to expect of me. I’m supposed to read books (I do), and I’m supposed to be good at spelling (I am), and above all else – because words are my passion, my raison d’etre – I’m supposed to kick all kinds of ass in Scrabble.

I’m having a little trouble with the latter.

You see, not once, but twice now Angelface has proved himself a worthy adversary in wordplay and has beat me – like my name was Rodney effing King – at the most Hänni-friendly board game ever created.

This hurts, mostly because Angelface – throughout the duration of his entire life – has only played Scrabble twice.

In case you are bad at math, this means, that at Scrabble, Angel roolz and Hänni droolz… but I digress.

The first time Angel beat me, it was really bad –like beating me by 100pts or a triple-word-score for “quilts” bad. The second game though, I really thought I had a chance. If only The Face would’ve given me “Zocrates.” But Angel said Zocrates wasn’t a word. “Yes it is,” I retorted, “Zocrates was an Athenian teacher and the founder of the Zocratic Method!”

Unfortunately this argument was not persuasive –Angel is very well informed about Socrates and the Socratic Method, because he took philosophy in college….Plus he’s seen Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure like 50 times.

So yeah, Angel also wouldn’t accept:

• “Le” because it’s French and the French are bastards.
• “Telly” because it’s British and those people talk funny English.
• “Ownly,” because, even though I”m fairly certain it’s in the Redneck Dictionary, Angel couldn’t find it in Webster’s.

Interestingly enough, even though Angel seemed to have a problem with the foreign words mentioned above, he did let me have “yen.” “I can’t believe it,” I said. “You’re going to allow yen?” “Of course I am baby,” Angel replied, “it’s the Chinese dollar.”

I started to tell Angel he was wrong –the yen is actually Japanese, but I stopped myself. Unless I was able to pull a “boner” on triple-word-score I was going to lose, and I needed those six-effing-points.

At the end of our game, after 14 grueling rounds, Angelface calculated our totals.

At the bottom of his column he wrote 181.

At the bottom of mine, he recorded a score of “dumbass.”