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Apr 16, 2007

I've Moved

I'm over at BeehiveHairdresser.com.

Be sure to update your blogroll, and tell your friends.

Hopefully the google ads will place fun ads for dating websites - those are always so much fun to see!

Apr 14, 2007

To Do Today

1) Supermarket shopping before the stupid April Nor'Easter hits

2) Fix my grandmother's stupid tv.

3) Avoid getting stuck inside my grandmother's stupid apartment for an extended period of time.

4) Figure out how to export my blogspot blog to spuid wordpress - I use stupid google account sign on, if you've done this yourself or know someone who could do it, please email me: beehivehairdresser@hotmail.com I swear I would be friendly if being helped.

5) Figure out all of the stupid software available in adding on to the new site.

6) Cuss out my stupid workplace for blocking blogger at work, and making me do items 4, 5 & 6 today.

7) Nap away my stupid crankiness.

NOON UPDATE

Items 1 - 3 done, and found out about the junkie guy that was in one of my sisters wedding parties had an O.D. and died this week in a YMCA in Jersey.

Even though I only met him a few times and had to put up with his idiocy for a few hours here and there, I'm sure that he never wanted to be caught dead inside a YMCA - oh, the irony - se la vee.

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What Was Clicked ON Adsense?

Someone clicked on an ad this morning for an ad on my adsense console, this happens every now and then. The most expensive ad I've seen clicked was for roughly $25. This morning the ad cost the advertiser $333!

That's right! A couple of hundred dollars!

Can someone please inform me what they clicked on?

BTW, I only get roughly $2 off of the $333 charge.

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Apr 13, 2007

I'm Sure You All Heard The News

Just as the Digital Fortress reported yesterday, it's true, Johnny "J.D." Dogface was involved in a fatal car crash, along with Kurt Vonnegut, and a yet to be identified teenage prostitute who has webbed feet.

I was too busy making all of the arangements last night to finish my the blog transfer, and will be attending the wake tonight - it will be at a yet to be decided restaurant, and bar or two.



JD, my friend, Rest In Peace...

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Apr 12, 2007

Construction - Never What It Seems

Mikey Hardhat came through big yesterday, in that he has finished the gutting of this site.

Now we're still waiting for the big dumpsters to arrive and allow us to dispose of all the construction materials.

As for Johnny Dogface...he's presently MIA. He began to get to work, then he heard a fire engine, ever since I haven't been able to find him, and he's not picking up his cell phone. I'm not too worried, so don't YOU worry about J.D. either.

In either case, I promise that I am literally roughly halfway done in the rebuilding process, and when you step across the street, you'll see that my blog is looking something like this:



Not bad for one days work. Seriously, my new site is almost done, I'm checking out some migration plug ins and testing the entire process of blogging out - it's all Greek to me, unless I'm in Greece, then it's all Japanese to me.

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Apr 11, 2007

Under Construction

Hey guys (the four of you)

I'm working on some things to make this site a better place for you, and more specifically, ME!

Check back soon, as I hope to have a full gutting, and all new dry wall up within a few days so I can flip this thing.



My good pal Mikey Hardhat is currently gutting out all of the old dry wall.

But don't worry, nothing could possibly go wrong, I have Johnny Dogface doing all the work new installation of everything.



I'll be much more worried about all of you, than you of me. So please, don't worry about me, I'm Getting By:

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Apr 10, 2007

Two Different Men In the Workplace

This morning I realized that there are two very distinct types of men in the workplace, those that Stayers, and those Face Show'ers.

These two distinct types of man couldn't be more different from one another.

Stayers, are those that keep their faces hidden in the bathroom stall until no one else is left in the bathroom after TCB, then they make their fast and quiet exit.

Face Show'ers, have absolutely zero shame in showing their faces let alone talking to a bathroom full of men, despite that it reaks of ass, and no matter how many men walked into the bathroom saying aloud, "Oh, dear lord" while quickly covering their mouths and noses, Face Show'ers will keep talking.

Face Show'ers would play a game of checkers with someone underneath the stall door while pumping out a bucket of buffalo chicken wings for 15 minutes without giving a second thought to it.

I myself am a Stayer. Maybe it's that I don't have 20 years under my belt of working and TCB in the office, or maybe, deep down I secretly have some sort of hidden unknown shame that is waiting to rise to the surface one day involving my need to do those things while getting paid to do it at work, or maybe, I just don't want to place faces to poo scents too much - who knows for sure why.

Don't get me wrong, if I have a meeting that needs my attendence I am out the door quickly, face down, no eye contact, thorough wash, and walk n' dry of my hands. In no way would I ever allow myself get stuck in a small talk conversation post TCB.

Face Show'ers are just such different people, with such different mindsets, that I am constantly blown away by the fact that they can rush in to the stall, TCB - loudly and with much gas, frantically wipe, flush, and meet me at the sink in the same amount of time that I do half of a pee.

I honestly don't think that I could be friendly with Face Show'ers outside of work - throw in the non hand washers too, and I really just really don't find my thoughts on being friendly to these types of folk as being a bad thing.

What kind of man are you?

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Apr 9, 2007

RIP Blogger @ Work

Today I returned from my lunch break and found that the gigantic corporation that I work for has destroyed the little ray of sunshine that got me through boring days at work. They have forever blocked blogger from all desktops.

Working blows really badly, and with teeth.

PiercingMetal.com recommended this band the 69 Eyes to me, and this song it making sense to me with regards to my current workplace showing its flex and taking away my fun.

Enjoy.

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Another Sopranos Season Premiere…

DISAPPOINTMENT!!!

There are only nine “final episodes” to be shown, and they have dragged out this show entirely too long already. Not only that, but David Chase and crew have already blown one of the final nine shows.

I sat down with the hopes of some good gruesome whacks to take place, and while there was one good whack, there should have been at least one main character whacked out of the blue to blow everyones mind – a Paulie Wallnuts or someone along those lines. Nothing like that happened.

Instead we had to sit through way too much Janice blah blah blah that never goes anywhere, and go on and on and on with her always appearing to tell so much about Tony’s past that we don’t care or want to hear about, and junk that the show never delves back into to make sense of anything, along with way too much Tony just sitting around by the lake thinking without even an internal dialogue to pass the time.

Each time they cut to the lake I was hoping that teams of navy seals in scuba attire would jump up out of the water and begin shooting everything and everyone to shards. Killing everyone would have been a good WTF are they gonna do now with the show twist.

Instead of people getting killed off the show, or getting to watch the shows characters develop from a one dimensional blah, into a multi-dimensional WOW, this season premiere was just another lame dream sequence / Johnny cakes / nothing much further developed into any of the storylines other than Christopher is on the outs with Tony, and that was a three second clip.

For such a “great show” that the Sopranos are considered to be, if you go back and watch them all, you will realize that the show went off into way too many tangents without ever wrapping those tangents off, or explaining what the heck happened to 99% of them.

You’ll also find that most of the time you’re just sitting around waiting for something to develop, and instead finding that you’ve been ripped off again and again without a true storyline, or even a good whack, leaving you with having wasted your time.

David Chase, if I wanted a long drawn out soap opera type show that rarely develops a storyline to watch, I would be TiVo’ing Days Of Our Lives.

Chase, get your act together, please.

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Apr 8, 2007

The Easter Bunny Isn't Real...

Anymore...

It's true, and this is the story of how I found out.

It was sometime during either kindergarten or the beginning of 1st grade, and one of my sisters had lost another one of her baby teeth. It was only then that I was told that the Tooth Fairy was going to stop by our home to pick it up - specifically the bedroom that she and I were shared as little kids.

All of the other times I was only told of the Tooth Fairy's stopping by only after its coming and going.

While it wasn't the first time that the Tooth Fairy would be in my bedroom without my being aware of it, it was the first time that I was aware that such a cool event was going to happen, and I wasn't going to let myself miss this event yet another time.

That night my parents tucked me into my low bunk bed, and my sister the top bunk bed. They ensured that we both new that the tooth was in the special tooth pouch underneath my sisters pillow.

"When will the Tooth Fairy come to pick it up?" I asked.

"Tonight, when your sister is asleep." They replied.

"Well I'm going to wait up so that I can meet the Tooth Fairy." I informed them, I was desperate to meet the Tooth Fairy because I needed to know that he knew who I was, and that he would take my teeth for cash too.

My parents said, "okay" having assumed that both my sister and I would fall fast asleep without another thought of the Tooth Fairy.

They shut off the lights and went into the living room to await the arrival of the Tooth Fairy, or so I thought.

I layed in bed, tossing and turning, waiting for the magical Tooth Fairy, I wondered how big the Tooth Fairy was, while my sister fell asleep. About an hour went by, the door opened, and I asked, "Tooth Fairy, is that you?"

My mother responded with "Beehive, go back to sleep" then closed the door.

I was still wide awake, time dragged on for what felt like forever, and I couldn't take it anymore. I got up, opened the door, went out, found my mom, and said, "She's asleep, what's taking the Tooth Fairy so long?"

My parents informed me yet again that I should just go back to bed and go to sleep. They put me back in bed, and I informed them that I would not fall asleep until the Tooth Fairy arrived.

After being tucked in again, time dragged by even slower. The door opened again, I looked up, and saw my mother yet again.

She heard the frustration in my sigh, and went back to speak with my dad.

A short while later the both of them sat down on my bed and told me that the Tooth Fairy wasn't going to come to our house that night, because, well, the Tooth Fairy wasn't real anymore.

They sat down on my bed and told me that they didn't want to tell me this, but they knew that I was going to stay awake all night long in a stubborn fashion waiting for the Tooth Fairy.

They told me, "The Tooth Fairy once was real, but wasn't anymore."

This statement left me more confused than anything.

"What are you talking about?" Was my response.

They then went on further to explain that the original Tooth Fairy had died a long time ago, that they have been the ones taking teeth from under both my sisters pillows, that they were leaving the cash in its place, and that all parents do this because that's what the real Tooth Fairy would have wanted.

This news shocked me. Not only was I lied to, but I was also instantly thrown into a state of mourning at the shocking news that my beloved Tooth Fairy was in fact dead.

It the biggest news that I had ever received, and it was in fact a revelation that my world was a lie, I instantly wondered what else was true. God? The Devil, Jesus? Santa? The Easter Bunny?

Their answers were: Yes, Yes, Yes, No, and No.

WTF????

According to the both of them, Santa and the Easter Bunny met the same fate as the Tooth Fairy, and that their jobs were pawned off on that of everyones parents.

To this day, I'm 99% certain that they still believe this.

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Apr 6, 2007

For My Readers Over In China

First and foremost, I'm hoping that you've had a great Passover, and hope that you will partake in a great Easter dinner.

On a professional level, I'm very happy to report that we have had tremendous success over the past week, only part of which was our direct involvement in the freeing of the British sailors held captive in Iran. Let's not lose this chance to build on our really great working success that we have together.

If we continue along this path, I'm sure that the two of our countries will one day rule the world together. You like?*

Anyways, sorry to cut it short, so in place of my writing a more extensive post, I give you the longest Weezer song around - Only In Dreams - be sure to watch the entire thing. This is a rehearsal of the song, it's great, and available on the Blue Album.



*I just couldn't help myself in writing a Borat line there.

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Coworkers Kids

A VP on my floor decided that he would bring his son into work with him today, due to it being a “slow” day.

The VP walked around, introduced his son to people on the floor, and then went back to his busy schedule. This has left a six-year old boy without any toys to play with, nothing but piles of paper, and about a 200’ by 200’ floor plan to run around and play with.

Before, I caught him carrying way too much blank paper for his size, drop it all over the floor, and then talk happily to himself while picking it up.

Now, he just ran by my cube no less than a dozen times. I’m talking full on speed running. I’m guessing that someone wanted this boy to get away from his office, and bet the kid that he couldn’t do it. I can only hope that nobody bet the kid he couldn't do the run something outrageous like 50 times.

I miss going to work with my mom, where I lost Dusty from GI Joe, forever...

R.I.P. Dusty 1987 - 1989

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Apr 5, 2007

Would You Like A Crab Meat Sandwich?

Continuing With My Week Of Gross Out Posts...

Last fall my buddy Jimmy and I were on the D train going to our jobs. It was around 8AM when we got on the train at 36th Street in Brooklyn. The car we were on wasn’t too crowded, and there were a lot of the usual suspects – Death Mask, Kim Jong Il, Sideshow Bob, Tupac’s Sister, Kofi Annan, etc.

At Pacific Street only a couple of new people came on, which is a rarity for a morning commute. You would think that this would always be a good thing, but not this case, as the near empty standing area comes into play later.

See this one guy in particular that boarded our subway car was a guy that was most likely in the 35-40 age range, he had a pot marked red nose, he was dirty from not showering, his clothes all greased up, he had a shopping cart of some belongings with him, and inside that shopping cart was an open tall boy of Bud that he was nursing. I think that he was most likely homeless, or, as we called them when I was a child, he was a bum.

A bum from Brooklyn, no less – it’s part of our Brooklynite heritage, and this guy wasn’t going to let it die out as long as he was around.

At first bum guy attempted to stand with his cart in the doorway next to both Jimmy and myself, and tried to make small talk with us.

This would have been enough cause for both Jimmy and myself to cower away to a different section of the subway car if it continued, thankfully, Mr. Bum decided that he would truck himself on over to the opposite doorway, which was empty and had plenty of room for him to discreetly sip his beer, and read a two week old New York Post that he dug out from the bottom of his shopping cart.

A few moments before going over the Manhattan Bridge, something began to happen to Mr. Bum. It appeared as though he had developed an itch in his crotch.

He scratched and scratched and scratched over the surface of his worn pants for a good three minutes. Both Jimmy and I couldn’t take our eyes off of this prolific scratching, because a) we were facing the guy, b) he was a new character, and c) the subway car was too empty to have any bodies obstructing our views of Mr. Bum.

Mr. Bum really had one heck of an itch develop, because he had to place his tall boy down in his shopping cart, stop reading, and literally go for it.

He jammed his left hand down the front of his pants unabashedly; he dug in what I assume to be in his pubes for a good minute. His face grimaced with the pain of an unstoppable itch.

Then his hand began to pull out of his crotch, was he done?

Nope, he just needed to adjust his scratching technique.

Then, he appeared to have found the source of this itch. He tugged, pulled, and scratched feverishly. Then he was done moving his hand in his pants.

He pulled his hand out, and went back to reading his NY Post as if nothing had just happened. It was as if he was in the comfort of his parent’s living room when he was 12 years old - but there still was something.

The hand that had been jammed down into his crotch was playing with something. We couldn’t tell for sure what it was, so we kept our enamored look in it’s direction.

After a good 30 seconds of his playing with the mysterious crotch gold in between his index finger and thumb, Mr. Bum was done with it. He then flicked it to his left without looking, and thankfully it landed on the floor.

“Was that a crab?” Jimmy and I asked one another.

To this question, we had no definitive answer, and we weren’t about to find out.

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Apr 4, 2007

Continuing With My Week Of Gross Out Posts…

In what will be regarded as way too much info on my part by most everyone who reads this, here it goes, I ate half of my breakfast while sitting on the crapper this morning.

No, I didn’t just do it just for the shock value; I actually do it most mornings during the workweek. Call me a sicko, a creepy food eater, pathetic, whatever, you don’t have to try and fit in two hours worth of neurotic behaviors into only one hour before you head out to work each morning like I do.

I remember nearly ten years ago laughing to the point of tears at a coworker being made fun of - because the coworker was a loveable porker, it was suggested that he eats his meals on the toilet – why cut out the middle man.

The thought of eating food of any type on the toilet disgusted me for years, that is, until I was forced into the situation one day.

About a year ago I had just cooked up some of my delicious scrambled eggs, had some warm toast, and freshly cooked bacon…mmm bacon. Anyways, when all of this stuff is warm they are great, and when they are cold I might as well eat a piece of linen, because I’m sure they would taste about the same. Since I was running low on time, I couldn’t let my food go cold, AND be late, so I ended up improvising.

It was an honest thought of I just have to do it this one time, then sat on the toilet with a plate of food on my lap, placed my glass of milk on the vanity next to me, and took care of business.

Since I’m a creature of habit, this has become part of my normal routine because I am always low on time in the mornings, and I don’t find it to be odd whatsoever anymore, while understanding that others might find it so, and not very appealing.

See, once you get over the shock of eating on a toilet, while going to the bathroom, it becomes very natural, and in time you learn how to position your body to ensure that there is never a chance of splash back that is capable of landing in or on your food or drink.

Now go out and try it yourselves, kids!

Very Truly Yours,
Uncle Beehive

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Apr 3, 2007

Feeling Yucky…

Too yucky to blog much about anything at the moment, and don’t want to go into all the details of the yuckiness, other than it had everything to do with my nose...

Maybe I’ll feel better later.

My apologies.

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Apr 2, 2007

My Stupid Weekend Mistake (This Week's Version - Tarantino Style)

WARNING: This post is long, with the slight chance that a severe gross out may occur if this is read. Some scenes are of graphic nature based on real life. This may cause you to gag, and or yak! If you do not want to be subjected to a maybe gross out, scroll all the way down to the bottom of this post to find a really good link to indie singer/songwriter Amy Hills myspace page containing simply beautiful songs. Seriously, they are far from yakworthy.

Sunday 3:00PM

We were in the shower, the Cheese was bent over, bumping and grinding, we were having a great time, so we decided to take things to the bedroom. Cheese turned around to give me a kiss and her face turned from happiness to horror, she said, "Oh my God. You're bleeding again."

I touched my nose and looked down at my right hand. I was full of blood. This was my third bloody nose in less than 36 hours.

Saturday 6:30AM

It all began early Saturday morning. I woke up slightly before 6:30AM with the need to relieve myself from much of the beer that I finished drinking a mere four and a half hours earlier.

I stumbled out of my bed, when I stepped inside my bathroom I was barely awake, the dimly lit sky was peeking into my bedroom along the sides of my blinds, and I struggled to keep my eyes open.

I closed the door to keep my flow from waking up the Cheese, who I assumed was asleep in the next room, still. It was at this exact moment that I was caught off guard by noise from inside the bathroom. It was my cat, she was busy doing her deed in her litter box.

When she finished I was still going, she wanted to get out of the bathroom, and couldn't let her out since the door was closed and my foot was holding it shut. She ran around the toilet frantically annoyed by her being stuck in the bathroom.

She distracted me even further with this.

It was at this point that I felt something very uncomfortable up inside my nose. I stuck my right index finger up the right nostral, and picked a beauty of a booger. I came off in one big clump, and was stuck under my closely trimmed fingernail.

I kept peeing while being distracted by my cat frantically running in the bathroom.

Then my nose felt like it was running, as it has been of late due to allergies. So I wiped my nose right to left, and looked down and saw a hand full of red.

I was bleeding from my nose, and it was all my fault - a drunk pick gone wrong, and the sign that if you play with fire too much, you'll eventually get burned.

I fumbled around looking for tissues, and found a box somewhere in my place. All of this fumbling woke the Cheese up, and she asked what I was doing in the bathroom. When I informed her of my situation she couldn't believe what I had done to myself, and got up out of bed to see if she could help.

There wasn't much that she could do at the time, so she went back to bed, and I stopped bleeding within about five minutes. I went back to bed, then Cheese and I laughed at the fact that I picked my nose and it bled - even though it was one solid pick.

Sunday 3:45PM

It was obvious that after I stepped out of the shower with a bloody scruff goat tee, a chest full of blood, nose gushing blood from my right nostral, a tub full of bloody water, and 45 minutes of packing and holding my nose that my bleeding was not going to stop.

This third bloody nose was different. 45 minutes of steady blood flow, much more blood out of the right nostril, it was gushing, my left nostril was bleeding too, and I was coughing up blood clots. We had to get me to the hospital.

But first I had to not be naked, so the Cheese helped me get my bottoms, and shoes on. We called a car service instead of an ambulance, because a) I could get there without lights and sirens, and b) my memory has that ambulances weren't covered on my insurance, since the only time that I rode in one, I got a bill for a couple hundred dollars.

So I sat shirtless in my jacket on the stoop as we waited for the car service to pull up. We waited, and waited, and waited, and waited for what seemed like an eternity. We tried calling the car service again to see how much more time we had to wait for a car, and they never picked up the phone.

The Cheese took matters into her own hands, and walked down around the block to a different car service. After nearly five minutes, my mind wanted to just walk to the hospital, the Cheese came walking back up the block - no car.

The car service told her that a car would be around within five minutes to pick us up. We waited another eternity, as I held my nose as tight as could be with bloody red tissues in my hand. After another ten minutes we gave our wait up and went down to the car service to see what was going on.

Cheese went in, and I waited outside. By now I was quite annoyed at the fact that I was bleeding a good amount of blood for an hour, and that we were being lied to about something as lame as a car service's arrival time. From all this I walked into the car service wanting to chew the head off the guy behind the glass, and when I walked in I saw a short gal in the booth running what has appeared to be a the non existant car service. I couldn't be angry at her.

"Is that lady a dwarf back there?" I said with an excited smile.

The car service lady was calling on the radio for car #1 and getting no answer, she explained to the Cheese that car #1 already picked us up, which was a big surprise to us.

This entire runaround gave me a bad vibe from this place, and I was expecting that whatever car came to pick us up wouldn't be a legal car service car, and would be lacking everything of safety, as some of their cars have had in the past.

So I told myself I had to legs, neither of which were bleeding, I should be able to get to the hospital with a 40 or so minute walk.

The idea of walking to the hospital was very foreign to the Cheese, and she told me I couldn't. This would be one of the only a few small innocent spats that we had with one another due to my being annoyed at my body, her being concerned with me, and us having slight lapses in our usually good comunications.

I then informed her of how the guy that owns the bakery around the corner from me was shot in the face during an alleged failed hit outside of his home, then drove himself to the hospital, and that if he could drive himself to a hospital after being shot in the face, I would definately be able to walk in a straight line to one.

Saturday 6:00PM

Due to our sleeping much of the daylight away on Saturday, the Cheese decided she would pick up dinner supplies at the supermarket while I painted a basement windowsill.

As I was preping the sill for a fresh coat of paint, I was bending over, I felt my nose run, I wiped it twice without thinking anything of it. As I bent over to open the can of paint, I saw that my left hand had two nose width stips of blood on it, and thought "What the heck?" and ran inside my place to jam my right nostril with steril cotton balls.

When the Cheese arrived back she seemed saddened and worried at my nose having begun to bleed a second time in the day. And made me stay sitting while she cooked me a delicious dinner. Mmmmm, good. :) Then, my nose stopped it's bloody trail of torture just in time for me to eat this freshly cooked meal.

Sunday 4:20PM

I was walking slightly ahead of the Cheese along 7th Avenue in Park Slope, everyone was getting out of my way because nobody wanted to bump into the guy holding a bunch of bloody tissues over his face when then can easily get out of his way, and when we were across from the Key Food I felt a big blood clot that just had to be spit up. So if you happened to be pushing your stroller along 7th Ave at this time, yes - that was me looking like a prize fighter shooting the coolest spit out of my mouth like pro.

At 4:43PM on the dot I arrived in the walk-in waiting room of the New York Methodist Hospital ER on 6th Street. My nose was bloodied and my body was wet from the rain that began while we walked. I just wanted to see a doctor and get out of there as quickly as possible.

I found the sign-in sheet at NY Methodist to be a big insult to all patients, in that they didn't ask the basic common question of "Why are you here?"

So I filled out the blanks that they had listed and then wrote "BLOODY NOSE!!!! WON'T STOP!!!" on top of the sheet, got it time stamped, and then slipped in in the opening.

This keen move on my part got me seen within less that five seconds of walking away from the opening. The nurse took my blood pressure, tempurature, and asked how to spell my last name that was chicken scribbled on the paper.

"Follow me" she said.

The nurse allowed the Cheese to follow suit and she ended up sitting us in the "asthma care" seating area, and then handed me some clean gauze pads for my nose.



This asthma care center reminded me of a Hyatt hotel lobby - same faux wood trim and tiled floor. We sat here in these seats figuring I'd be there only a short time until put into a bed. There were three other people sitting in this area as well. Two women, and a man.

The guy seemed to be just a freak, and didn't seem to have anything wrong with him other than his disire to feel important, even if it is by nurses only ensuring that the only thing wrong with him is his lonelyness - quite sad.

The two women were together, with one sleeping (patient) and the other reading a pile of newspapers (friend). The nurse came out and got the sleeping patient within three minutes of Cheese and I's arrival, and the lonely guy walked off, we had to be really really soon, or so we thought. Cheese and I were immediately left with only the friend with newspapers to study and keep my mind occupied for the time being.

This lady was wearing black velcro sneakers, while intensely picking her nose, I didn't warn her that doing such things was how I ended up there. When she was done reading, the lady was kind enough to offer the Cheese and I her newspapers but we both declined simply because we didn't want to find booger on pages 38 through 77. Nose picker left shortly thereafter, so Cheese and I ended up checking out everyone coming in.

There was the "I don't want to die lady" who had a seizure, old man who fell outside the hospital while going to visit his wife, sad 84 year old lady who just wanted to go home, injured firefighter, injured police officer, an old man named "Don" who thought he was called a retard by an EMT and said "I'm not retarded, I heard ya" and a man with an allergic reaction to shrimp - this last guy ended up sitting with us.

Besides the patients there was one notable doctor that stood out, it was the hipster doctor. He was oober skinny, with long scruffy hair, a beard, and he just kept posing at the counter not doing anything except his various forms of pose. I began to wonder if I was at Piano Bar and they had redone the inside.

After about an hour of sitting I was coughing up more blood. I knew that this was going to happen and asked Cheese to see if she could get me a bucket to spit into. The nurses there didn't help her much, and told her to "take one from over there." So, if she had realy wanted, I'm sure Cheese could have scored some needles and drugs to sell on the street - this was an odd form of security this hospital had.



After nearly three hours of my sitting with my hands clamping my nose, I still felt my nose was bleeding, and hadn't been given any attention inside the ER other than looks from passing doctors and nurses giving me the look of "he's faking it." I gave the service a thumbs down.

During these three hours I coughed up a bunch of blood clots, and was given a "dinner meal" which consisted of a chicken salad sandwich, peach fruit cup, milk, and an apple juice. The chicken sandwich was delish, peach fruit cup was meh, the milk was milk, and the apple juice looked like piss, so I didn't dare drink that.

Then sometime around 9:30PM Dr. McDreamy came to my rescue. This guy could have easily have been a model, he still could if he wanted to. I mean, he was one really good looking man.

He got me to take off my bloodied tissues, which felt like a relief. My nose wasn't gushing blood anymore, and the blood had stopped for the most part.

Monday 11:30AM

I just finished filling out all of the paperwork needed for my new Ear Nose & Throat (ENT) doctor (I had my nose cauterized five years ago). The nurse gal called me into the small room, asked me a bunch more questions, and tried desperately not to laugh at me when I told her about my drunk picking.

Then the doctor came in, she asked me more questions. Used a tool to pull my nostrils back, looked up my nose, looked down my throat, and in my ears. Then informed me of various things were going to go up and in my nose.

First, a novacaine type of spray, and then a decongestant spray in each nostril. This felt very uncomfortable since it was going up my nose with air powered force.

Then came out a suction tool, picture the sucker from a dentist office, make it metal, and have that shoved up your nose.

Then the doctor whipped out a really long and thick light with a camera on it. It was way thicker and longer than the one my previous ENT used. I was immediately worried and filled with anxiety.

She informed me that I would need to breathe as she inserted this barbarick tool up my nose, down the cavity behind it, and into what I think was my brain, as well as the roof of my mouth. I asked how much of the near foot long wire would go inside my head, and she said, "All of it, if needed."

WTF?!?!?

The right nostril was first. I breathed, and while it was definately uncomfortable, I was okay with and during it.

The left was obviously next, and that was awful.

Who would have guessed that my left nostril is much longer, tighter, and much less lubed than my right nostril? Not me.

She jammed what felt like all of it down my nose, and I begged and pleaded for her to stop. I won't lie, I was screaming during it. She told me to breathe once more in order to get it where it was needed.

In went another breath, and then my hippocampus was lost forever. She killed it.

She looked around inside my head for ten seconds of pure hell, and then yoinked the entire thing out of my nose as she said "all done!"

That was nearly eight inches of cable whipping out of my head, and my immediate reaction was an f-bomb as my hands went tissue in hand to my nose - magically it wasn't bleeding.

She informed me that my right nostril had a small cut, and that my left nostril had a much bigger cut in it.

That only meant one thing, it was time for some good ole' fashioned American made cauterizing!!!

In went chemicals on a matchstick, chemicals began reacting, then my nose was burning intensely. Up went the bacetracion, to the point of my nostrils being completely full of it, and I was done.

I was given more follow up directions, a follow up date, then sent off into the sunset.

My teeth and the roof of my mouth felt all weird from the long light thing.


Sunday 9:45PM


Dr. McDreamy looked up my nose, he asked a few questions, and then said that there wasn't much that he could do. That he couldn't see anything that needed a cauterization because the hospital doesn't have the proper tools to look down my nose, and then gave me the option of a) pack my nose, and see an ENT tomorrow, or b) just go without the pain of a packing, hope that my nose didn't bleed again, and then go see an ENT tomorrow.

I went with the hope over pain, because I'm an optimist, and I don't like pain.

******************************************************

AMY HILLS

Here she is: Amy Hills!

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I'm Alive (Presently)

So I never got around to telling the tale about the dumbest thing that I did during Friday nights activities (technically Saturday morning around 6:30AM) and there is a good reason for this - because it is still going on!

I'm still dealing with my stupid mistake!

Don't worry, I haven't forgotten about this, and will post the scary tale in what I hope will be a gag free read for you, but I assure you that it will be labeled with a gag warming of some sorts - this will be done in what I hope will be a Tarantino type of fashion.

Off to the Otolaryngology center, I'll fill the two of you who read this in laters - if I don't bleed myself unconscious.

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