15 comments

January 24, 2006

Memoirs Of A Guy

There’s a ton of great movies out right now – (Yeah Brokeback Mountain. Cowboys in love = yum.) – and Angelface asked me about one I’d gone to see with Niccy B.

Angelface: (looking perplexed) “Who the eff is Guy-ee-SHA?”memoirs_of_a_geisha.jpg

Hänni: “What?”

Angelface: “Guy-ee-SHA? Who is Guy-ee-SHA and why does he/she/it get their own movie?”

Hänni: “I think you mean ‘gay-shuh’. Geisha are old skool Japanese courtesans.”

Angelface: (like a light bulb has just come on) “Oh sweet. The movie is all about porno and stuff!”

Well no.

I wanted to tell Angel that actually geisha are *not* cheap, whores of the porno variety. They are skilled artisans, trained to excel in traditional Japanese singing, dancing, flower arrangement, tea ceremony, etc. I wanted to tell my dear husband how these women, once venerated for their skills and beauty, are now dwindling, so that the “geisha” you see on the street in modern Japan are typically just actresses posing for tourists.

I wanted to tell Angel these things, but instead I opted for “Ehhh, something like that.”

Angelface just looked so damn cheerful about the assumed smuttiness. I couldn’t ruin that for him.

I mean seriously, he was all gleeful like a kid who’d just won the spelling bee. His word: “happiness”. His spelling: p-o-r-n.

… But I digress.
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Don’t forget, dear hannihaus readers, I’m currently taking guesses for the Randy Jackson What’s Up Dawg Contest. Everyone who enters is a winner – at least in life.

Oh yeah, and as an added incentive, I’ve decided to throw in some boobies (!) of the prize persuasion. Yep, enter my contest and you might just get yourself a booby.

12 comments

January 22, 2006

Randy Jackson What’s Up Dawg Contest

Well it’s that time of year again, folks. For the next 15 weeks or so, millions of people will tune in and tune out to the Fox phenom, American Idol. This is the haus’s favorite show, and – because we like it, we really like it – we want to celebrate with a little friendly competition.

Let’s play!

We want you: to wager a guess on how many times Idol judge, Randy “yeah dawg” Jackson, will indeed utter the word, “dawg” throughout the duration of season 5. (Hint: it’s probably going to be a lot. And if it’s not a lot, then it might only be a little.)

Entering is easy: simply leave your guess in comments. E-mail your guess to hanni at hannihaus dot com (so as to avoid any Price is Right one uppage.) Please note, only numerical/ quantifiable guesses will be counted. “A shitload” and “your mama” – while funny – will not win you the big prize.

The big prize: besides bragging rights, and the opportunity to be called a “weiner” here at the haus, the best guesser will also receive a shiny, sparkling copy of “What’s Up Dawg: How To Become a Super Star in the Music Business,” written by none other than Mr. Randy Jackson himself. Woo!

Get yer guess in: by midnight Sunday, February 5, 2006. All guesses published Feb. 6 and the Weiner will be announced in May, on the night of the finale.

The last thing I want to say is: even if you’re *gasp* not a fan of American Idol, or *double gasp* hannihaus lurkers (hi!), please play! Randy JacksonIt’s so totally easy to venture a guess, and look, the book is useful even if you don’t intend to read it.

Uses for the Randy Jackson paperback include (but are not limited to):

  • wearing it on your head like a jaunty cap
  • throwing at the cat for behavoir modification and/or entertainment purposes
  • confusing your coworkers; Keep it in your cubicle so when dim-witted Donna asks “what on earth is that?”, you can look her straight in the eye and say “The holy bible. I’m going to get out of here one day – you’ll see! With this book, I’ll accomplish my dream of becoming a singing sensation like my idol, Mr. Barry Manilow.”

    • With that I say, let the games begin! (Don’t forget to reference the Randy Jackson Register for the latest dawg count numbers.)

    *Everyone who enters will get a shout out and will have their Web site linked here at the haus. If you don’t have a Web site, don’t worry -enter anyway! Besides, I’m sure you have other redeeming qualities. Maybe you’re good with wienerschnitzel? I don’t know.

    7 comments

    January 20, 2006

    Announcing: The Randy Jackson Register

    Today I come to you, a humbled Hänni. It seems, dear hannihaus readers, that I made an egregious mistake when I reported that Randy “they used to call him Jabba” Jackson did *not* use the word “dawg” on the American Idol Season 5 premier.

    I’m not sure how I missed it, but a playback, brought to us by Manuel, Tivo, and the letter “k” confirms that Mr. Jackson did indeed utter his crowd-pleasin’ catchword on the night in question.

    Remember Barney Fife from West Virginia? He kept singing “I shot the sheriff…” (pause for two secs) “I shot the sheriff…” (pause for two secs) “I shot the sheriff…” (pause for two secs) “I shot –Meh.You get the idea.

    Anyway, at the end of the deputy’s beat-up, broken record of a performance, apparently Randy does say, “That’d be a ‘no’ dawg.”

    You know what that means folks? It means, that although I suspected otherwise, Mariah Carey *did not* eat Randy’s “dawg.” She merely ate Randy – dude used to be twice the size he is now… I’m just sayin.

    Anywho, in lieu of the recent “dawg” discovery, I am proud to announce a new segment of the haus. We will call it the Randy Jackson Register… and it will be glorious… and you can find it snuggled all sandwich-like between the “About” and “Archive” sections of the haus sidenav.

    It’s a simple concept folks. Every time Randy says “dawg,” I – your mistress – will put a tally in the register. At the end of the season we’ll all be able to look back on the accumulated entries, and – I don’t know – maybe one of you will be receiving a p-r-i-z-e.

    Hee hee! Contest details will be announced Sunday, and don’t worry, even if you’re not an Idolphile, it’ll still be fun.

    Like more fun than you can shake a stick at.

    Like more fun than getting a Brazillian nostril wax.

    Like more fun even than bidding on William Shatner’s ebayed kidney stone (yech!)
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    Dear Hannihaus readers, I have a position to fill and I need your help. I’m looking for a brave (and detail-oriented) Deputy Dawg Catcher to help ensure that I’m keeping accurate count for the Randy Jackson Register.

    A sort of quality assurance position, the qualified candidate will be as freaky deeky about Idol as I am, and must, accordingly, commit to watching – like it’s some kind of religion – every episode of American Idol this season… or at least 90% of them anyway.

    Interested parties, please apply in comments. Even if you don’t want to apply, leave a comment anyway, because it’s Friday and you’re cool like that.
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    *Update* Manuel has stepped up to the plate!  He is the official hannihaus Deputy Dawg Catcher.  Congratulations and happy dawg counting!

    15 comments

    January 18, 2006

    American Idol in the Windy City Or Chicago Really Blows

    And so it’s begun. With a two-hour premier that was chock full of the schlock, American Idol Season five is in full, freaking swing.

    While AI was, as always, enjoyable, the Windy City auditions were a wee bit disappointing.

    Sure there was the requisite taunting of the tone deaf, and yes there was a dude in drag –Hirsute Heidi’s voice could spoil milk, but what was really unforgivable was his flagrant display of chicken legs -, and yeah, there was that sexy Russian babe whose performance – more cabaret than qual-i-tay – prompted Paula to tear her shirt off… but it’s not like Paula hasn’t lost her top for a contestant before.

    What up Corey Clark, you skeezy cheeser.

    Anyway, amidst all the normal tomfoolery, something occurred last night that was quite shocking. You know what I found entirely unusual, dear hannihaus readers, so much so that I lost sleep over it?

    Paula asks “What happened to Randy’s ‘dawg?’”

    I couldn’t believe it but, Randy “I was in Journey” Jackson didn’t utter a single “Yeah dawg” throughout the entire episode!

    That’s just craziness.

    Well I don’t know about you, but I needed some answers. In an exclusive hannihaus interview, I asked Randy what really happened with the loss of his trademark phrase.

    “I don’t know dude,” the jovial judge answered. “Mariah Carey must’ve eaten it”.

    12 comments

    January 17, 2006

    Tell Us Something We Didn’t Already Know

    Somebody found the haus by googling “Mariah Carey is fat”. (hee)

    Now why would anyone say that about Mimi?

    My only guess is it has something to do with this unfortunate picture that’s been circulating on the Internet:
    jmim.jpg

    Fake you say?

    Agreed. That last pic was obviously *not* Mariah Carey. It was missing a critical component:

    twinkiemimi.jpg

    Now that’s the Pillsbury Doughboy Mariah Carey!

    For more Mariah Madness, (and photoshopping that doesn’t suck) click here.
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    In (seemingly) related news my glasses are M.I.A. I bet Mariah ate them.

    Let it be known, that from now on when something goes missing, the reasonable explanation will be that Mariah has placed these items, like so many innumerable amounts of pork rinds, in her eager pie hole.

    My lunch – my kittinks – my organic raisins, nothing is sacred. Mariah will eat them all.
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    In other news, Season 5 of American Idol starts tonight and I’m so totally stoked. I think I’ll christen the occassion by playing a drinking game wherein I toss one back any time Paula pouts, Randy says “dawg,” and/or Simon rolls his smarmy little eyeballs.

    Something tells me I’ll be drunk and vomiting by the first commercial break.

    12 comments

    January 15, 2006

    Jedi Nights

    Dear hannihaus readers, it is a momentous day indeed. Angelface is away working all weekend so I’ve chosen to participate in an activity that, along with referring to me as “Queen Mistress Supreme”, is on the list of things my husband refuses to do.

    Yes dear hannihaus readers, for the next nine hours I will be transported to a time long ago and a galaxy far, far away.

    If you speak Geek you probably know what I’m getting at. For anyone who isn’t, however, a thirty-year-old virgin and/or proud owner of the Obi Wan Kenobi Jedi Braid, what I’m trying to say is that I’m going to watch the Star Wars trilogy (episodes 4-6 for those who are nerdy enough to know the difference interested.)

    I’m very serious about all this. I’ve got my DVDs strategically positioned for fast ejection and insertion at the end of each episode, and I’ll only be breaking from this Geekfest for one of two reasons:

    1. To grab a beverage of choice – likely something of the organic licorice tea variety
    2. To periodically yell at the cat, “Sphynx, Sphynx, I am your faaaaaather”.

    For those of you who are concerned that the latter item could possibly be detrimental to my male kitten’s understanding of gender development – being that Mommy wants to call herself daddy – don’t sweat it. Sphynxy knows who his real daddy is and, accordingly, how real daddies behave…

    Yes, Angel has done a very good job of teaching Sphynxy that it’s Mommy’s job to launder the boxers, and it’s Daddy’s job to wear them whilst playing Xbox and scratching his man bits…

    spot.jpgbut I digress.

    So yeah, to summarize:

    • the Star Wars marathon – it’s on. I’m all giddy, like Mariah Carey at a chocolate crueler convention.
    • The cats –they’re fine. It’s only if I start dressing them like their cousin Spot, (AKA the Jedi Master), that we should be concerned.

    Til next, dear hannihaus readers, adieu… And may the force be with you.

    12 comments

    January 13, 2006

    Golden Retrievr

    Because if you’re anything like me at the end of a week – that is, a blathering, blubbering, work-worn dolt – then you need to do something fun.

    I found something for you. It’s called “retrievr” and it’s just the Jane-dandiest.

    How it works
    You draw an image on this nifto sketch screen and while you’re doing so, retrievr searches Flickr to display what it thinks is a similar item.

    Just a little word to the wanton: everything retrievr displays is family friendly. I don’t want anyone to be disappointed, but if you try to draw boobies, the results will only display stuff like stop signs and eyeballs.

    Show And Tell
    retrivr_butt.gif

    Look What I made

    Can you guess what it is?

    If you guessed lightbulb, you’re wrong.

    If you guessed it’s Mariah Carey bending over for a Little Debbie snack cake, then you’re a true evil genius and I just might love you.

    *hee*

    ________________________________________________________
    Let’s play, dear hannihaus readers. Make something and tell me about it, or better yet, post pics on your blog. First things first though, you gotta click here for retrievr.

    21 comments

    January 11, 2006

    Nutrition Nazi Eats Green. Sees Red.

    I am – as many of you know – a hardcore Nutrition Nazi. A firm believer in the beauty of complex carbohydrates, I eat multiple pounds of vegetables every day. And just in case I don’t get enough nutrition from the sweet potatoes, swiss chard, squash, and celery, I add some good old fashioned plant pigment – that’s liquid chlorophyll for those who speak hippy – to my Evian

    Resultantly, I’m so fiber-rich it isn’t funny (except when getting a rectal exam, of course).

    So yeah, because I’m a Nutrition Nazi, I couldn’t resist accompanying my coworkers to the Sweet Tomatoes salad buffet for lunch. If you’ve never been, this place is a regular Shangri-la for Veg Heads like me, because literally 85% of the offerings include garden-fresh greens.

    And that pretty much rules, being that roughage rocks my socks (and my buttocks) … but I digress.

    Anyway, in addition to some really stellar salads, Sweet Tomatoes also has pasta, soup, fresh baked breads and frozen yogurt. It’s the latter item, the cold confection if you will, that caused the Nutrition Nazi to get a wee bit heated.

    It started out innocently enough. Manuel, plopping himself into the booth, held in one hand a homemade sundae. It was beautiful really – A perfect peak of vanilla yogurt was crowned by crunchy, crushed oreos and then drizzled with a ribbon of golden, gooey caramel.

    I was cool with the caramel. What got me was the sprinkles. They were freakin green.

    “Manuel,” I said, “why do you suppose the sprinkles are green? Saint Patrick’s day is like three months away.”

    With a mischievous grin and without missing a beat, my clever coworker said, “The sprinkles are green because they’re healthy.”

    And then, because my eyebrows weren’t raised dangerously high enough, he followed up his initial bit of blasphemy with “All green things are healthy.”

    …. Um yeah. And Mariah Carey is *not* shoving food in her pie hole any time songs aren’t coming out of it.

    Yes it’s true dear hannihaus readers, there are lots of healthy green things, spinach, apples, and split peas, just to name a few. But for every “good” green thing, I can think of a whole slew of others that are not only unhealthy, but are downright nastay.

    Let’s take for example:

    I just want to get something straight here folks. Sprinkles are *not* healthy, even if they are a pleasant shade of pine…. That being said, I will admit there are worse things that you could consume.
    sprinkles1.jpg

    9 comments

    January 10, 2006

    Basketball Jones

    I guess a lot of people like sports (nacho, village idiot, scottygee, etc.), and in an effort rock this blog, I thought maybe I should incorporate new topics, such as athletics, into the manic mix.

    mariahThe only problem is, I am to sports what Mariah Carey is to moderate eating –completely effing incompetent.

    I do try though. A few days back I tagged along with Angelface and 50 Chinese kids (long story) to an Orlando Magic game where I hoped to: a) find something interesting to blog about, and b) purchase a big old pretzel with some stanky, skanky processed “cheese” on the side (I think Mimi would approve!)

    Before the game officially started there was a light show and some sort of roll call-type thing. At the end of the presentation the announcer said “These are your Orlaaaando Magic!”, and when the lights went up there were 10 guys standing on the court.

    And I was confused. Because if I know anything about Orlando basketball – and it’s clear that I don’t – I know our colors are blue and white, yet half the 10-person team was dressed in orange! I asked Angel what was going on. “Baby,” he said, “those are the Bobcats. That’s the other team.”

    Woops.

    Anyway, there was lots of running that night – mostly back and forth. And there was some jumping – mostly up and down. And in the interim I guess some points were made.

    It’s true that in the third quarter Orlando Magic superstar, Whats-His-Name McBigBalls did a little slam dunkage, but for my money the most entertaining part of the game came at a TV-timeout when, during the Burger King build-a-burger relay, the lady in front of me kept screaming “Move your buns!” at some kid dressed as a whopper.

    Burgers? Buns? Relays? That’s pure comedy gold folks!

    And with that, we’ll wrap up this installment of Hannihaus, the sports edition. Come back next time when I recount my experiences on the soccer field in a little segment I’ll call “Soccer: It’s a real kick… in the balls.”

    16 comments

    January 8, 2006

    Nuts To You!

    Welcome, dear hannihaus readers, to week two of 2006. It’s no longer the “new year” per se, and predictably, some of my goals have already fallen by the wayside. My teeth, for example, have not been flossed once in 2006. My arms, resembling the flaccid, flabby wings of a chicken would benefit from the pilates I’ve not done. And call me a man if you must, but I have not remembered to shut the dad-gum toilet lid once in 10 days.

    On the flip side, my cats’ resolution to play Panty Raider with my unmentionables is going quite well. It’s really been great finding my padded bras and that embarrasing bridal shower thong with the veil on the booty strewn about the living room in a glorious and garish display… especially when friends and maintenance men are over…but I digress.

    In any event, if there’s one resolution I intend to keep, dear hannihaus readers, it’s my resolution to rock.

    And you know what really rocks?

    My über -manly, grunting/farting/belching Better Half proclaiming his love for “hot nuts”, whilst out with friends on a weekend night.

    Even better, when his declaration falls on ears otherwise occupied with the sounds of a martini bar in full yuppie swing, he raises his voice to loudly exclaim:

    “I really love those hot nuts you get on the streets!”

    … Of course this utterance must occur at a moment when the din dies down causing a shocked WASP at the next table over to choke on her cheesy, chicken cordon bleu.

    And then you get to giggle, because you know Angelface has an affinity for almonds. When your man talks about “hot nuts” he’s referring to street vendors and sugared pecans *not* street walkers and dangling fun bags.

    But they don’t know that.

    Hee hee!

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