Hi, my name is Hänni.

I am irreconcilably bitchy.

I don’t know if it’s because I’m listening to a lot of screamo lately, or if the sugar-free/wheat-free/dairy-free lifestyle is going to my head, but damn!  The littlest shit is setting me off.

Today the cornucopia of my wrath is teaming with the yams and maize of my repulsion towards online gaming.

If you’re hardxcore into Internet role playing, you probably won’t like what I have to say ….And you’re probably 36, living at home, wondering what a real booby feels like.

For the record, I hear they feel like jello.  In my case they just feel like small.

But anyway, the dudes at my work are obsessed with this war-themed computer game.  They talk about it all.day.long.  I don’t think my cubiclemates can go one mother-lovin’ afternoon without saying something about snipers or maps or killing virtual villains.

This is disturbing.

Especially when you hear a grown man shout, “You shot my privates!” from the confines of his cubicle.

…Perhaps the only thing more disturbing than this geekspeak is my coworker Buddy’s frequent shouts of “fire in the hole!” More jarring than this announcement is the blast of stench that proceeds it … but that’s a different story for a different day.

But anyway, yeah.  I can’t stand games.  And every day, as work is winding down, a gaggle of geeks starts playing them.  And it’s not like they’re discreet about it. No, they gotta have their speakers on full-effing-blast so as to flood my space with the annoying sounds of digital gun fire.

And then there’s the swearing.  Something happens when otherwise decent men flip the switch on this role playing shit.  Everything out of their mouth is “eff this, eff that, eff YOU!”

It’s excessive.  And I worry that they’re using up the world’s supply of “eff.”  I’d hate to be the one to tell the Osbournes “No more ‘eff’ for you.  These geeks in a cube farm in Florida have used it all up.”

And my co-workers just don’t understand why I won’t join the gaming nerdherd.  “It’s so much fun,” they say.

Yeah.  I bet.   I’m sure it’s just as fun as that time in junior high when my best friend told our lunch table I had chronic halitosis.  Everybody laughed at me.  And then I developed a complex.

Games are for nerds.
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AI Cocktail Countdown update: The Internet has spoken.  Carmel Coke is out.  If that was your favorite, too bad.  Keep voting.  We’ll knock one more off next Monday.

I read in this morning that American Idol contestant, Mandisa will not be performing at a pro-gay event. The unquestionably Christian singer speculates these kind of beliefs are what got her kicked of the show last week.

I disagree.

Having seen her last performance, I think it’s perfectly obvious why she lost the votes.

America is superficial. And Mandisa – for some inexplicable reason – was styled most unflatteringly, like a helium balloon.

And it’s a shame. A big, beautiful woman with one helluva talent, I would’ve picked Mandisa to win American Idol by a backside.

Because you know baby got back(side).

Heh.

But yeah, I’m kind of having a hard time coming to grips with this loss. You see, hot air is the reason American voted Mandisa off, but when Gdub employed it, he got voted in. WTF?!
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Don’t let a Mandisa happen here at the haus! I want you… to get me trashed. Pick your poison every day in the AI Cocktail Countdown. First drink gets kicked off tonight!

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 5.1
• Coconut Coke: Coconut rum, coke, ice
• Coked out Bee: Honey liqueur, coke | Voted off on 5.8
• Jack-Off: Jack Daniels, coke, iced tea, ice
• 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!):

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.

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.

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.