Beehive Hairdresser

I've Moved

2007-04-16T23:51:00.001-04:00

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!

To Do Today

2007-04-14T09:26:00.000-04:00

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.

What Was Clicked ON Adsense?

2007-04-14T08:46:00.000-04:00

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.

I'm Sure You All Heard The News

2007-04-13T07:05:00.000-04:00

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...

Construction - Never What It Seems

2007-04-12T07:23:00.000-04:00

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.

Under Construction

2007-04-11T07:12:00.000-04:00

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:

Two Different Men In the Workplace

2007-04-10T08:14:00.000-04:00

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?

RIP Blogger @ Work

2007-04-09T19:41:00.000-04:00

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.

Another Sopranos Season Premiere…

2007-04-09T11:07:00.001-04:00

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.

The Easter Bunny Isn't Real...

2007-04-08T06:12:00.000-04:00

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.

For My Readers Over In China

2007-04-06T18:06:00.000-04:00

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.

Coworkers Kids

2007-04-06T12:39:00.000-04:00

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

Would You Like A Crab Meat Sandwich?

2007-04-05T10:47:00.001-04:00

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.

Continuing With My Week Of Gross Out Posts…

2007-04-04T09:49:00.000-04:00

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

Feeling Yucky…

2007-04-03T14:58:00.000-04:00

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.

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

2007-04-02T16:03:00.000-04:00

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!

I'm Alive (Presently)

2007-04-02T10:43:00.000-04:00

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.

Posting Drunk Wasn't The Worst Of It

2007-03-31T18:29:00.000-04:00

Last night when I got home drunk, and wrote up a post that probably didn't make sense to everyone, and this wasn't the worst thing that happened. I'll brief the actual night until the big screw up, and the big screw up will be another post.

The night went well, and I didn't even nap as a warm up to it.

I got to see a bunch of people that I hadn't seen in years, some with new fiancee's and such.

A good portion of our crowd was drinking double fisted, literally.

I got to see one of my childhood friends out a the bar, he just happened to be there, and it was honestly the first time we ever were at a bar together, which is odd considering we grew up together, and still live in the same neighborhood.

I got to see the large crowd for the going away guy get drunker as the night progressed, and as I was leaving someone in our group had just dropped his drink all over the floor, so he went to the bar and bought two more - they were all "sex on the beach".

Then came the drunk post.

The "Daria" person that I was writing about, was in reference to my none stop laughter at seeing this guy who I'm calling "Daria" on here to protect his identity.

See, I first meet Daria when I was 16, and he was 20. He was big into skateboarding, didn't have a job, and spent all of his time tagging up all over the city while getting drunk and high if not skateboarding.

He even had a life plan that involved enlisting into the army or navy to play on their football team, and because he knew he was "so good" he would get drafted into he NFL, and be out of the armed services. When he found out that this wasn't how people played for the army or navy football teams he was crushed.

This guy was a complete burnout.

He finally ended up going back to college, and he even got a steady job - as a officer in the NYPD. That's right, Daria the burnout, is a cop!

So when he showed up last night I couldn't contain my smiles and laughter at this. I wasn't making fun of his, I just couldn't get over the fact that this guy who is still on the far opposite end is being the best or the brightest, is now a cop.

It's just funny to envision him wearing the uniform, gun in hand, and trying to respectfully contain any sort of situation.

Scene: Three armed men just robbed a bank, they are all holding hostages, they have just killed Daria's partner, and there is no backup on the way.

Daria: Yo! (Yes, he says Yo! alot) that's not cool, yo!

Armed Robber #1: Die copper!

Daria: Seriously, what did you do that for?

Armed Robber #1 shoots at Daria, all the bullets fly overhead, then something catches Daria's eye. It's an old tag of his.

Daria: Dude! (giggling) I wrote that, yo!

Anyways, Daria is now a 30 year old cop, and I really just found it to be a barrel of laughs, okay? And I figured that any typo that I had would be just as funny as picturing him apprehend a criminal.

Stupid thing post to come.

Tonight Was Fun

2007-03-31T02:37:00.000-04:00

Drunk blogging with the Cheese laughing behind me on the Tony Bennett Room's loveseat. Yeup, tonight wasn't bad at all, all the worrying for nothing. Four drinks later and I'm still up without a nap, and now, off the bed, and I'm not talking about the sleeping kind.

*Wink Wink.

P.S. I think my alcohol filled mind has spelled checked this entie post, so, if it is not, I'll laugh about it in the morning as if is is "Daria" the male burnout NYPD cop.

For My Readers In China

2007-03-30T14:05:00.001-04:00

I must begin by informing you that your current lack of readership is concerning me, it’s been disconcerting all week, and most of all it has been a daily disappointment. All of you have allowed your personal lives to take precedence over the reading of my little blog on even a weekly basis.

To this, I say, hogwash…HOGWASH!

You’ve become so careless that you’ve allowed Canada to out read you, and I’m pretty sure that they are just looking at pictures.

This is for you, my Canadian readers.

Due to your readership base in the China homeland declining in such a tech boom fallout I have given some serious thought to ending this weekly segment of mine that addresses the friendships that both of our countries need to build, and instead post pictures for those fine Canadians.

Here you go, Canadians.

At this point in time as much as I want to give up on all of you readers in China, I know that right now isn’t the proper time. We need each other.

Without my being here to allow both of our countries to understand one another just a little better, I fear that I would be doing a disservice to the world, and that we might not survive in a world without a mutual understanding of one another.

Canada, once again, for you.

So, China readers, ole’ buddies of mine, do us all the favor and return to the place where you’re always welcome, my blog.

China, this youtube video is for you.

Let’s be friends like these nice children.

I Have Plans!!!

2007-03-30T11:58:00.000-04:00

WARNING: Lame Neurotic Blog Post Below...

This weekend I have plans, and lots of them. I am usually one that enjoys going through life without having plans on the goings-on of my weekends.

This weekend is the complete opposite of my normal routine of just seeing where the world takes me, and as it goes it has me all anxious to get it all over with this was I could go back to doing whatever I want to do unplanned – even though I do want to do all of these things. It’s just not the same when things have been planned out weeks in advance.

Tonight is a going away drinking fest for a friend of mine who is moving to Texas. This event is appearing as though it will be packed with native Brooklynites, and as such, I’m expecting to be hearing lots of the letter “r” being pronounced as a “y” with the letter “e” becoming either an “a” or an “er”, or vise versa, dropping letters to words, and the “s’s” will contain multiple “ssss”. I’m sure that I will take part in this annunciating as well.

Wire – Whyer
Square – SSSquyer
Florida – Florider
And - An

I’m slightly worried about this event, as I am with all of my events.

See, my usual Friday nights have consisted of being in bed around the 11 or 12 o’clock hour for the past many months – because I’m an old man at heart, and this shindig doesn’t even officially begin (wristband unlimited booze) until 11PM, with plans for after hours bars, I don’t think I can make it the entire night.

So like the geek that I am when I get home from work this evening I need to add a nap or two to my list of preparations for what I can foresee as an extended amount of drinking.

This extended hours of drinking worries me too, since as of late I have been very well buzzed on two drinks, and even slow talking while nursing my third – and I know that at least one person will announce shots of tequila, simply because they want to hear about everyone’s going downhill after tequila the next day, and more so than that, the man of the hour is a fan of Dr. Pepper bombs (similar to sake bombs, only with harsher booze and they taste like Dr. Pepper).

Saturday is a Housewarming party of the other Cheese – no, I don’t have another g/f, it’s just someone with the same name, Cheese. This will mean that I’m going to be around a bunch of people that I don’t know all that well, and will be more on the quiet side. When this happens I internalize my not talking too much, and need to find an excuse to why I am so quiet.

The excuse that I normally find to justify my not talking (even though nobody is noticing my lack of conversing) is that I’m too busy drinking. “Sorry I couldn’t add a comment to that conversation, I was sipping this Stella.”

This usually finds me buzzed too quickly, and is how at one of my sister’s bbq’s a few years back I ended up laughing until tears ran down my face at nothing to due with the conversation that I was “in”. See there was in a conversation that I wasn’t adding to, while it was going on her dog was humping the neighbors dog, and as I saw it my brain exploded and it looked to be the funniest thing I ever witnessed.

That’s two nights in a row of boozefesting for a guy that normally doesn’t drink, but likes his well to keep flowing when he does. So come Sunday morning I am almost certain that I will be feeling the aftermath of lack of sleep with my body aching, and Sunday morning is when the last planned event that I have this weekend takes place.

Sunday is forsythia day at the bbg, so of course I need to go there, bright and early to pick up my free forsythia, and buy some new shrubs to take the place of some pussy willows that I chopped down in my backyard last week.

I need to go worry about this unnecessarily, while working away from my desk for most of the day.

Sorry all that I could give the two of you reading this was a brief view into my neurosis.

Don’t worry; I’ll try to get out my post to China as well.

Craigslist

2007-03-29T11:52:00.000-04:00

A couple of years ago craigslist burst into my world as a place that magic could happen. It was a place that I could get just about anything I wanted, should I really really want it. It seemed as though everyone was secretly using it without ever daring admit it in public, for fear of shame being cast down upon them – it was most everyone’s dirty little secret.

Now that CL is no longer the newest thing since sliced bread and since I have a steady Cheese and we're in an ltr, CL is completely not appealing anymore for certain things that I may or may not have used it for in the past - I'm talking tail here, folks.

Anyways, people who used CL were able to find tail at all hours of the day, and be able to make plans to meet within minutes.

I know this to be true based on this particular true-life experience.

See, my friend who I need to call "Jenny" in this read to protect her identity had two dates lined up for one weekend a couple of years ago. One was a date with a dude, and one was with a hot lipstick lesbian, both were with people that she plucked and planned with off of the glorious CL website while she was wasting time at her day job.

Her dude date was for a Saturday night, and it didn't go well. The two of them just didn't click; he was too awkward for her to deal with, so she ended up going home alone that night.

This didn't seem so bad to her at the time because she was highly anticipating her Sunday afternoon date with that hot lipstick lesbian.

Doesn't that sound good? It just rolls of the tongue - hot lipstick lesbian.

Anyways, her CL female date ended up calling her and canceling that Sunday morning.

Jenny was bummed out at the prospect of her weekend appearing as though it would end up being a bust, and she text messaged me to say how bad it sucked.

I ended up calling her up to cheer her up, and thought she should place a new add up on CL to find some new easy tail. To this, she informed me that she only had access to the internet at her day job.

I wasn't going to allow my friends internet access situation keep her down. So, while on the phone with her, and without her knowledge I placed an ad up on CL's "Casual Encounters" which at the time was like a bucket of horned up bunny rabbits overflowing - I imagine that it still is.

The ads title was "My Friend Jenny Needs To Get Laid!!!!"

And the content of the ad basically gave no knowledge of her as a person, other than she had one bad date the night before, had a late cancellation to her afternoon date, and well, that she really want lots of sex before the weekend was up.

After it was placed, I informed Jenny of what I had done, and was curious to see if she was game for my judgment on which anonymous person would be a good match for her. She laughed and was game for it in a heartbeat.

Within ten minutes I had over 70 emails from men, women, and couples that were very interested in Jenny.

Most people sent photos; it was this day that I realized that lots of men think that sending a pic of their manhood is a great way for them to land a date, even if the ad specifically said that I was a dude helping out my female friend.

Some of the men and couples looked promising (she was not interested in dealing with another woman that day after the late cancellation) and I emailed them back while describing them to Jenny.

Keep in mind that I did not have a photo of Jenny to show anyone, so it’s fair for me to assume that all of these people that responded were ready to have sex with a wooden chair if I placed a wig and a dress on it while calling it Jenny - I mean they were really horned up, and this gave me a weird vibe from most of them.

Then I came across a guy who didn't send a photo, and wrote only something along the lines of "Hi, my name is John, I'm 28, and I have a 14 inch johnson."

That was all that he wrote, and for some reason this short email without a photo seemed to speak volumes of truth to me - despite this nearly mythic touting of his having a 14-inch member.

I told Jenny about the good feeling in the hunch that I had about this 14-inch guy, and she asked for more about him. A few emails later Jenny was telling me to send him her phone number.

Within 30 seconds of sending it, I heard Jenny's landline ringing, and she muffled her cell that had me on, this way she could keep her pre-coital conversing a mystery to me.

After nearly ten minutes of me desperately trying to hear their conversation Jenny came back on my line, she told me that the guy didn't seem crazy, and that she had set up a date for 4PM at the Sketchers store in Times Square.

I let her get off the phone to prep for her "date", wished her luck, and reminded her to stay safe.

The next day at work I got a thank you email from her, which informed me that she had a great time with the guy. I had to call her to get the details of her date, and see if he was telling the truth about the 14 inches.

The summation of her date to me was something along the lines of:

"He was waiting in the store for me, we walked around pretending to be looking at sneakers, and then after 20 minutes we got on the subway and went back to Queens and did lots of sexin in my bed."

Her statement immediately left my question open, so I excitedly asked, and her response was, "I didn't measure it, but it was huge, and I am no longer afraid of having sex with a black man, or "Macho Ralph". Macho Ralph was a guy that she took home twice before but couldn't go all the way with him out of fear of his huge size.

This made me shriek with laughter, and I was very happy that it all worked out for her, and it made me even more happy knowing that my intuition on a one sentence email sans photo would be a good match for my friend Jenny.

Discount Store Stories

2007-03-28T16:48:00.000-04:00

I used to work at a discount store in Brooklyn – cause that’s how Brooklyn I am. It was/is a small mom and pop type of place that sells pretty much everything that you’d find in a Duane Reade or Rite Aid, only without a pharmacist.

The stores customer base was/is mainly local residents, and people that moved away but still drove an hour to do all of their shopping in Bay Ridge, freaks. Given that, if you work there long enough you recognize many of the regular faces easily.

One familiar customer face in particular was a white man in his 60s, soft-spoken, and always polite without being overly friendly in an annoying sort of way – let’s call him Mr. F.

Mr. F. enjoyed doing all of his shopping on Saturday afternoons around 5PM, or Sunday afternoons around 3PM – yes, I worked there a long time.

One particular Sunday in the heat of one particular steamy, hot, August, Mr. F. came in with a whole laundry list of things that he needed. These were all things that he didn’t normally purchase, and he asked for my help in making sure that he got all of the exact things written on his paper since all of the items were “doctor recommended” as he said.

At the top of Mr. F’s list I was able to see that there were instructions on prepping the body for a colonoscopy. With the list below consisting of exact quantities needed of the following Fleet Enemas, Glycerin Suppositories, Phospho-Soda, and Pain Relief Pre-Moistened Anorectal Pads.

Mr. F. got all of the required written items, then stood there for a moment thinking to himself, and then took an extra twin pack of enemas, he said, “Just in case.” As if this amount of internal combustion materials being bought by one person for his or her single usage was a normal thing (it wasn’t normal).

Ewww…

In case you don’t know what all of the above items are, they are over the counter products that help you get lots of bowel a flowing, except for the wipes. The wipes are to try and keep your anus from getting hurt or sore on all of the toilet paper you would have to use when taking any one of those products.

Then after his basket was nearly overflowing with Fleet products, he informed me that he had a colonoscopy scheduled for the upcoming Tuesday, and that he needed to “clear himself out” prior to this appointment.

A week went by, I hadn’t seen Mr. F. since he was normally a weekend shopper, but I had thought about how many times he must have had to race to a restroom from all of the over the counter junk that he had to ingest, or squirt, and or place with effort inside his body. To this I giggled to no end about.

Then the very next Sunday Mr. F. came in, and asked me if we had a particular Biore scrub – sadly, he didn’t mention how his colonoscopy went, even sadder he didn’t mention what all of the Fleet products did to his stomach or his toilet.

Back to this Biore product, I knew exactly what he was looking for, and knew the exact shape and design of this product. I walked him over to the fourth aisle, to show him this product, that's when I ran into a problem – we had just rearranged almost the entire fourth aisle’s product placement, and I couldn’t find the Biore tube.

As we stood there by ourselves looking for this product I was overcome by a retched, awful, nasty smell of a fart that seemed to be able to burn my retina’s and peel the paint off of the ceiling at the same time.

Mr. F. and I were the only two people out in the store on the floor, and since it wasn’t me, it had to be him.

I momentarily tried to pretend that I didn’t notice his flatulence, while I kept looking for the Biore with one held breathe, and at this exact time Mr. F. took seven giant spaces backwards away from me. Then, he said in the most calm and serious of all manners, this,

“I just farted…”

I didn’t want to make him feel uncomfortable, so I didn’t laugh in his face, and I couldn’t breathe much longer so my reply was,

“Heeeey, no problem, it happens to all of us” and then attempted to change the subject with “Now I know the Biore should be over here…..???”

Mr. F. didn’t want to hear any of it, and politely asked, and I swear to God these were his exact words here,

“Could you please leave? I need to do some more.”

W…T…F?!?!?!

I couldn’t dare laugh in his face, because he had always been so respectful and a nice guy to all of us that worked in the store, so I told him, “okay” and went to go behind the counter to tell the cashiers and the manager what just happened so we could all laugh together behind his back.

As I walked down the third aisle towards the counter, he called me back to his location, and when I got there again he said, “Please, don’t tell anyone about this.”

I flat out lied to his face with, “Oh, I won’t tell anyone about this.” Then proceeded back to the counter with a huge grin and a barely contained laugh.

When I got behind the counter I had to sit down and whispered the entire story to everyone, then we all laughed, and laughed, and laughed until we cried – Mr. F. was none the wiser, and kept shopping there on a regular basis until he informed us that he was retiring down to Florida a couple of years later.

A Bakers Dozen Awful Ways To Wake Up In NYC

2007-03-28T11:23:00.000-04:00

1) Getting a phone call from anyone telling you to turn on the Today Show.

2) You wake up from an announcement that the N train you have been riding is at the last stop in Coney Island, when you live off the R line.

3) There is a garbage truck picking up three tons of garbage up off the curb from the restaurant below some chicks bedroom that you had drunkenly accepted the offer into the night before.

4) A bird is sitting outside your bedroom window chirping “THREE! THREE! THREE! THREE! THREE!” none stop for ten minutes. (This one has gotten me three days in a row now.)

5) The police are knocking on your apartment door to see if the woman without identification who just beat up a woman in her 50s directly in front of the local city councilman’s office is indeed your 83-year old grandmother.

6) You awake from a massive amount of horniness building in your shorts and find yourself in an empty bed.

7) Due to his lack of memory, your other boss calls you worried because you didn’t show up to work that day, this, after you already spoke with him two hours earlier to inform him that you were “too sick” (glug glug) to go into work that day.

8) Your fat neighbor is boasting in an extremely loud fashion to his wife that he “looks so good and fit after losing only five pounds” bleeds through the walls of your bedroom.

9) Your stomach decides to tell you at 4AM that the buffalo chicken wings you ate during a few drinks seven hours earlier was not a good idea.

10) A middle aged Trinidadian woman slips a piece of paper in your mouth while asleep on the D train during an evening commute home.

11) You find that you’re in your cubicle or windowless office, and it’s only 10:45AM.

12) Your dates drunken fumbling with their bedroom doorknob awakes you in time to watch her give up on her attempts of opening the door, and then actively decides that their bedroom floor is just as good as a toilet.

13) You fall out of bed like a four year old.

Shredding Is No Laughing Matter

2007-03-27T16:46:00.000-04:00

Today, right before lunchtime one of the admins on my floor was trying to peek into the large conference room that I knew for a fact to be empty. She had a meeting in less than five minutes and needed to get in. I offered up my knowledge that it was indeed empty (despite her firm belief that someone was locked inside napping) and informed her who had the key to let her in.

She asked if I could keep an eye on her meetings materials, and left it on top of a wooden lock box that collects the floors confidential papers to be shredded. She asked with the firm statement of “Please do not let anyone dump my papers inside the shred box.”

I obliged.

Then I heard an unfamiliar voice come from near where the admin left all of her paperwork saying, “Oh, is all this paperwork to be shredded?”

My initial comment was going to be an “Absolutely not!” and as the “absolutely” was coming out of my mouth I saw that it was creepy Missouri girl asking in a joking manner, so I changed my “not” into a “go for it”, and then we had a short smile laugh.

It was the first time she ever spoke to me other than her quiet monotone “excuse me” she’d say if I was in her way by a set of cabinets, despite that we are cube neighbors – never once a hello.

I would never have been able to tell from her monotone voice that she had been joking, thankfully I saw that she had a big grin on her face, it was a laughing grin, so I knew that she had to be joking.

Needless to say, she broke out her Fire Marshall Bill face, since that’s exactly what and whom she looks like when laughing.

This marks the second time I've seen her make this face, and I think it's just great.

I’m Rough Around The Edges

2007-03-27T11:06:00.001-04:00

While I do enjoy trying new things when eating out, trying an entire whole plate of new foods is a daunting task for me to handle. Most times that I go out to eat I try to find something on the menu that is familiar to my pallet, rarely straying, choosing the familiarity with what I am pretty sure I would enjoy eating.

Most times after my food is in my tummy, I am happy as can be, knowing that I got what I ordered.

Then there are the times that I order something, expect one thing, and get something completely different, simply because, how should I put it…I’m a fool when it comes to ordering in a restaurant.

If a waiter or waitress begins to say the specials I have to try hard as can be not to laugh in their face. I’m in no way trying to be rude to the wait staff while they are only trying to make a living, and yet something internally inside me finds someone rolling off five complicated detailed meals off the top of their head as though they went to school to annunciate each word impeccably incredibly funny.

This concentration on not laughing usually causes me to lose all train of thought, and the use of any other parts of my brain cease to exist. Then the waiter or waitress walks away, and I am left with absolutely no idea what the specials of the day are.

Or, if a menu contains the word “penne” I laugh to myself, or if I’m with one of my sister’s we laugh together aloud, because “penne” was what we called a penis growing up.

Back to the wrongly ordering things, at one of my sister’s weddings, I ended up ordering the filet minion, because I was in the mood for fish.

The way my brain works is that if you filet anything, it must be fish, so when a huge steak came out and placed before me to eat, I turned to my date and said, “Didn’t I order the filet minion? Is this your steak?”

This is just the tip of the iceberg as far as my not knowing how to order anything. Nowadays if I am out to eat, I’m usually with the Cheese, and it consists of me asking what the things on the menu are, and then ordering something familiar.

This past Saturday we were starving, and finally found a place to eat in Brooklyn Heights after finding out the original choice on University Place was now under construction to become a condo.

I was in the mood for something big, warm, and tasty. The specials were clearly printed and placed inside the normal menu. I decided to go with the lamb with the side of goat cheese ravioli. I even asked the Cheese about the serving size of the pasta dishes at this particular place, and I felt confident in my choice of food.

When the waitress came out with our food she asked who ordered the lamb, and when I said I did, she proceeded to place on big leg of cooked meat and something that didn’t look like any sort of ravioli I’d ever seen down in front of me.

“I thought I ordered lamb?” I said.

Cheese, “Umm, babe, that is lamb.”

Another unexpected twist to my eating out experiences, as it turns out that the lamb was still on the bone, and ravioli was apparently some other type of ravioli that I did not know existed.

I always think of meats as being cut into flat pieces or chunks, never round and oblong.

Food made me a fool once again, and it was delicious.

Food: 2
Beehive: 0

New Laptop Troubles

2007-03-26T21:41:00.000-04:00

So I went out and purchased a new laptop this evening, and besides the hit to my credit card, I am taking a hit to my brain.

For instance, where the hell are the buttons that allow me to use the features that I know for a fact to be in this notebook?

With all of the manuals consisting of either a) troubleshooting notes on things that would make me want to pour gasoline on the notebook, or b) contain advertisements of things that I would never in my life buy. The only things that I seem to find are the easily displayed "uninstall" buttons, which ever so eaily delete all of the beautiful features that I just purchased.

Maybe it's because I have been living happily at home with my 1999 Compaq Presario, where everything definately ran slowly, however, at least it was all clearly labeled.

Even the control panel is conpletely different.

What happened to everything in this world.

I now know what "Brooks" from the Shawshank Redemption must have gone through when he left prison and went to live in that halfway house.

Reign Over Me

2007-03-26T16:44:00.000-04:00

I caught the Don Cheadle movie over the weekend with the Cheese. I call it a Don Cheadle movie simply because saying that a good drama is an Adam Sandler movie sounds like an oxymoron to me.

Go see this movie, great storyline, great acting, and it is by far the best movie to feature NYC as the background in a very long time, quite possibly the best ever.

It could be one those out of the blue released at a weird time Oscar movie type of movie, but I doubt that it would get a nomination for two reasons, a) due to its release time, and b) Adam Sandler is a lead.

Don’t get me wrong, Sandler does great in this movie, and will shock most people after seeing this movie. He’s come a long way from Billy Madison.

I’d say more, but I wouldn’t want to be a spoiler, so let me leave you with this about Reign Over Me - I can only hope that I one day write something as good as this script.

I Got Called Up

2007-03-26T10:30:00.000-04:00

I wasn’t expecting to get the call, so when the phone rang right after I got out of the shower early this morning around 7:15AM, I was shocked. It was urgent, and the person on the other end informed me that I am needed to report down to the New York Mets spring training camp in Port St. Lucie, Florida - promptly at 8AM tomorrow. I already have a 2 O’clock flight booked.

I haven’t played since little league, so this call was a real shock, and I think the call had something to do with my making a great play when I was 12 years old, playing for the Falcons, and it made the local free neighborhood paper.

I’ll be playing 3rd base, filling in for David Wright, who was injured when he broke his hand in a bar fight last night – KIDDING! Wright’s actually the newest POW in what is only the latest skirmish in the demilitarized zone separating both North and South Korea.

Pardon the pun, but let’s just say that Wright’s going to be a little tied up to be playing 3rd base this year.

Seriously, I got a call from my mother saying that she had completely forgotten about alternate side of the street parking today, that she was up at my sister’s house, and her car was on the wrong side of the street. As such she inquired if I could move her car to a “safe” side of a street.

My mother is ten times more neurotic than I am, and was noticeably nervous in her voice at the thought of me driving her car, even if it was only across the street, I know this based on her babbling the same things over and over five times before I cut her off. She had been explaining on how “alternate side of the street parking works” despite my having spent my entire life seeing how the process works.

She even still uses the “Club” to ward off potential car thieves, despite the fact that the lock doesn’t work anymore, so it is really just for show, the same thing as someone placing an “ADT” protection sign in their front lawn and hope for the best, but enough about her.

For those who aren’t familiar with my driving record, I drove last summer for the first time in eight years. If you want you can read all about it in this here post, and at no point during that driving experience had I parallel parked, which is the only way to park legally on the streets of my neighborhood.

This meant that I would have to attempt my first parallel parking job since 1998, I vaguely remember being instructed on how to go about this back then, and haven’t used it since I never had an opportunity to.

I was up for the challenge, got dressed, moseyed on over to my mom’s place, picked up the keys, found her car, got in, and then couldn’t figure out how to get the windshield washers to work – the windows were all full of morning dew.

After three minutes that seemed like life sentences in jail of me feeling more lost than a person from Kentucky straight off a bus in Times Square, I gave up and tried to call someone for help. The phone began to ring, and then magically, I flipped the stick on the right hand side of the steering column, and the windshield washers magically moved, cleaning off the morning due.

I was so happy that I honked the horn in victory.

I placed the car in reverse, backed up a bit, then drive and got out in one clean shot. I began to drive up the street, until I became annoyed at some loud ringing sound. I looked around and found a red flashing light on the console.

“What the hell is that blinking?” I thought. The blinking red light looked like something I would find on clothing, and it appeared as though the car was telling me to wash it in luke warm water, and then press it off using the iron on its steam setting.

Why don’t cars just speak English?

Then realized that I don’t really know how to drive, since I didn’t take off the brake in between the two front seats, which was the cause of the blinking red light, and annoying beeping. I’m not even sure what this brake is actually used for, other than to make people feel stupid for not knowing about its existence until after they drive100 feet.

None of the GTA games have this unneeded brake in their cars, because it is a pointless brake, and so I simply didn’t know that it existed in real life.

I made a right turn and ended up at a stoplight. My driving was anything but a smooth journey up until this point – it was very jerky, and a little bit swervy.

At this same light, there was a NYPD van facing me. I got worried that I would get pulled over for driving dangerously, and have the cops expecting a 14 year old kid to be the one who was driving, then laugh at me when they saw how pathetic it was for a man who’s had a license for eight years to still drives like it’s his first time.

I played it cool, and by cool, I mean I sweated like a marathon runner.

This sweating technique of mine worked to a tee, and I was able to slip away from the cops unnoticed.

Another right turn of a poorly judged 90-degree angle, and I crawled in the car looking for a spot. I knew that I would have to take the first spot I saw, and keep attempting to park the car until I ran out of gas, or got it in the spot.

Nothing on the first block, so I went down another block, where I found an open spot.

It was the Cadillac of parking spots, having a double driveway in front of it, leaving roughly 25 feet for me to maneuver the car parallel to the sidewalk, and then into the spot.

Five minutes, and a half a gallon of sweat later I thought was in. I got out to inspect my beautiful handiwork and found that I was still four feet into a driveway.

This must have been God’s vengeful nature on me for all those times that I laughed at out of towners struggling to get into any parking spot in the city.

Two minutes late I found myself up in the spot, but up on the curb, I couldn’t live with this. Two more minutes of finagling the car forward and reverse and I was spent.

If this was last year when I was unemployed, my driving two blocks would have been all that I could have done in one day, and the rest of my day would have consisted of naps to build up my strength again so that maybe I would be able to go out to the post office the next day, instead I’m at work today.

Happy Monday – I need a shower!

For My Faithful Readers From China

2007-03-23T15:14:00.000-04:00

Where have you been all week? Only one of you stopped by, is there a widespread flu that has kept most of you from coming on? Gosh I hope not.

You know what happens when you don’t swing by much for a week, right? No? Okay, well it gives the Canadians time and room to grow in their loyal readership.

Maybe I should start writing Friday afternoon blogs to help promote good friendships between the U.S. and Canada soon, after all, the Canadian readership consists of all two households in Canada that have internet access having been consistently loyal to this very blog.

With this in mind, China readers, this guy busking for money is doing a great job, and I think that our two nations could learn a lot from him.

What do you guys think?

Greatest Song/Band Ever?!?!

2007-03-22T16:21:00.000-04:00

Last night as I waited inside my local pizzeria for my cheese calzone, that semi new to within the past four months Dixie Chicks song that goes something like “I’m not ready to back down, I’m not ready to give up”, or something like that, came on the radio inside the pizza place, and I found myself internally sings what I think were the words to this song.

Not only was I internally singing it, but I was finding the song to be really really beautiful, it was very simple, without too much complications to be meaningless. This had me thinking that I really must like the Dixie Chicks, and I don’t care if they’re labeled into the Country genre, I really like them.

Then the pizza guy said $12.50 (I was getting more than a calzone) and I was in such my own world from this song it took him saying $12.50 three times for me to understand what it was he was talking about.

Yeup, the Dixie Chicks they’ll do that to you when you’re on their cloud, they rock.

P.S. I never said that I had the greatest taste in music.

Kayak Trip

2007-03-22T11:10:00.001-04:00

We decided to go on a daylong kayak trip down the Delaware River. It was through a group thing, that just about anyone could go with, as long as they paid the required money. So the Cheese, Cheese’s sister, the Brit, and myself went, along with two full vans worth of people that we didn’t know, so I’m guessing that there were around 30 to 35 people in total there, one of which was a guy that had three thumbs that we could stop looking at –THREE THUMBS!

It was a warm sunny day in the summer, once we got through the river I realized that it was not as scary as I thought it would be, and that I would definitely do it again.

Our group of four were the first to finish the river because it turns out that the Cheese’s sister hates kayaking, and only found this out once she got on the river, and the three that enjoyed kayaking didn’t enjoy being around the rest of the group that we quietly referred to as “weirdos” so we paddled faster down the river than everyone else.

As we waited on the shore for our driver to arrive so that we could change and get back to the city, everyone straggled in – some in better shape than others. One particular out of it person was a gal in her 20s, she had big boobs, yet was wearing a bikini instead of a full swimsuit.

I’m all for wearing whatever you want, but when you’re going down a river with some rapids you need to be covered, otherwise you will pop out. So as she came out of the river, I could hear the three girls were gasping at her, but didn’t see what the problem was until I turned around and saw that the river moved those big boobs around inside the bikini top, and they appeared as though instead of only being two boobs, there were now four boobs, and we now sticking out a few inches below her bikini top. It looked crazy, and I immediately gasped an “Oh, dear lord” as she walked by me, and we all laughed, which was an innocent statement, but it was just too funny.

After everyone landed safely on shore the guy running the group broke out the coolers full of soda, chips, and beer.

As I fiddled around with my bag in a trunk, the Cheese came over and asked if I would like a beer, to which I replied with a big yes. The Cheese walked away from my back left side towards my right to go get us beers.

When I was finished in the trunk with my bag, I turned around to my right side to go meet up with the Cheese where I thought she’d be. I saw her through my “party on the inside sunglasses” with her blonde hair, beer in hand, talking with a group of people that I didn’t recognize, so walked over and hugged her from behind.

As I began to hug her she drank from her beer, and I for some reason felt the need to pet her butt, as I asked if she got me one.

The Cheese turned her head slightly and asked “What?”

“Did you get me a beer?” I asked.

“No” She said, as I continued to pet and squeeze her butt gently.

The Cheese seemed different at my doing this for some reason, she sort of felt different too, and turned around saying things that didn’t sound familiar to me, which left me in a confused way.

I looked at the Cheese’s face under the long blonde hair and sunglasses and realized that the woman that I had just been caressing was not my girlfriend, Cheese.

“Oh my God, I am so sorry, so so sorry. I thought you were my girlfriend.” I pleaded confused, hoping that the woman didn’t hit me, or call the police due to a completely innocent mix up.

I frantically looked around and saw the Cheese standing over with two familiar faces, smiling at me.

“I thought you were her.” Pointing at the Cheese, apologized quickly again, and then bolted over to the Cheese with complete embarrassment.

The real Cheese asked what was up, and I informed her how I just fondled a woman that I thought was her, to which everyone laughed at me for being a fool.

In all fairness to me, they both had on similar black swimsuits, long blonde hair, similar builds, sunglasses on, and the other woman was in the area that I last saw the Cheese walking to – how was I to know that there was a Cheese look-alike in the group, she wasn’t in the vehicle we rode up in.

A Park In Brooklyn

2007-03-21T14:37:00.000-04:00

Somehow I forgot to relay this story in my blog. Two Sundays ago it we had a warm Spring-like day with temperatures in the 60s.

It was a great day, so the Cheese and I went down by the water to toss the football around, we both really enjoy this, and I got to do some “Action Jackson” moves. “Action Jackson” moves are named after the movie, and basically consist of running and doing some sort of pansy type of jump while saying “Action Jackson” – I grew up tossing the football like this with friends, and continue the AC tradition for some odd reason.

Anyways after we were done with our game of catch we went for a long stroll back to my place, and then ended up taking a detour to swing on the swings in John Carty Park under the Verrazano Bridge. This particular park has always had its own distinct feel to it that no other park in NYC has, at least to me.

Part of this is due to it being located at the bottom of hill, with the bridge ramps going alongside, up and over its entire length, another part is it is located next to an Army Base so that blocks other residents from using the park – army kids usually play inside the base grounds on their own much cooler parks – we used to sneak in as a kid, and lastly and more importantly this particular park tends to draw much more of the old school creepy Brooklynite type of person – at least that’s how it was when I grew up.

So as we entered the gates to this park that are about 50 feet past the last support posts in the picture – you might recognize this park from the movie Saturday Night Fever. Anyways, as we entered we spotted a guy with a fat rabbit sitting at a bench and table. To be more particular it was a creepy looking middle aged, fat, sweaty, bald guy, sporting a goat tee, who hit a 10 out of 10 on the Beehive Perv Scale petting a fat rabbit sitting at a park table.

As the Cheese and I swung happily until I got motion sickness, which was a first for swings, we watched the pervy rabbit guy sit and watch the kids, and had hoped that at least one of the half dozen or so kids running around were his offspring. I doubt that any of them were his; as it quickly appeared to me that pervy rabbit man was at the park with only his rabbit, his eyes, and the desire for close contact with children. While the Cheese didn’t want to believe this, I am 99% certain that he was.

Scene: Child walking through park sees a pet rabbit, wants to touch pet rabbit, and ask questions about pet rabbit. This is all very innocent since children are by nature curious. Throw in sweaty forehead of pathetic looking fat guy with rabbit and you have a scene of an after school movie.

So as the Cheese and I sat around crashing into each other on swings, a group of ten boys that I appeared to be around the 5th, 6th, or 7th grades came into the park with a basketball. Eight of them were white as can be, two of them were black – one was light skinned black, and the other dark skinned black. At first it appeared that the group of boys flocked to the pervy dude with the rabbit, then as the seconds went by it became apparent that the dark skinned black kid knew what was up and kept walking, while the others all stayed there for minutes playing with the rabbit while pervy looking guy was entirely too close to them for my comfort.

Was the dark skinned black kid the only one taught the “Don’t talk the strangers routine”? I doubt it. Was he the only one that was not into seeing a rabbit up close? Probably not; I’m not sure what exactly it was that made that one kid keep walking, but whatever it was it was definite street smarts, and I was glad that at least one kid had some, yet at the same time it gave me a good laugh to see the irony of the entire creepy situation.

(Photo was found on forgotten-ny.com which is a great site about NYC)

Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD)

2007-03-21T10:35:00.000-04:00

Definition: Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, OCD, is an anxiety disorder and is characterized by recurrent, unwanted thoughts (obsessions) and/or repetitive behaviors (compulsions).

Somehow I have managed to go through life without being diagnosed officially with a few things that I believe I most likely have, one of which is OCD.

Some people worry that their hands are always dirty, and that's just crazy.

Here are some things that I find myself doing.

Did I Double Locked Door After I Left - I will close my front door, double lock it, begin to walk up the block, and then I will have an internal argument over whether or not the door is actually locked (Obsessive Behavior).

This happens until I finally either keep walking and worry, or abruptly turn around (Compulsive Behavior) and walk back home a few hundred feet and then double check the door locks.

Sometimes this will leave me missing my morning train.

Close and Double Locked Door At Night – I worry that the doors are not locked. (Obsess) This one is tricky. I have two doors that enter into my place. The front door and the one that leads to a basement. The basement door is usually an easy one to remain calm about, because I can see all of the locks easily, however the front door leads to a vestibule with another door, this other door is the actual door that leads to the street. As such, I can see the inner door being locked, but what about that second door – is it still locked? I locked it when I came in, but how do I know that it didn’t magically become unlocked? (Obsessive Behavior).

I will get up numerous times a night, before I go to bed to check the status of these locks. (Compulsive behavior). At times I will be in bed trying to fall asleep but can’t simply because I am still worrying about those locks magically unlocking.

Where Are My Keys? – If they’re not in my pocket or hand, where are they? Are they still on top of my dresser? Did I leave them in the keyhole of the front door? (Obsessive Behavior)

This causes me to constantly check my dresser to see if my keys were magically hidden my some unknown force, as well as make me go to the front door, open it up, and check to make sure that there are in fact no keys remaining inside the keyhole. (Compulsive Behavior)

Did I Set The Alarm Clock? – This one I’m beginning to concur. I used to set it before I went to bed and then worry whether or not I remembered to set the alarm. (Obsessive Behavior)

This would cause he to have to sit up, get my glasses and look at the clock. (Compulsive Behavior) This usually ruins that first initial comfy spot that I had when lying down.

I found out that if I set my alarm a few hours before I go to bed, I will be able to check it once when I’m in bed, and then be done with it – although I would have checked it again before I laid down, so in reality I do check it twice.

Somehow I feel as though this is me to win in this situation – let me keep believing my own lie...

I’m sure there are other obsessive compulsive behaviors that I don’t even realize that I do, and trust me when I say that these are only the tip of my neurosis.

On a side note, most people will say that they feel as thought they are a true New Yorker after living here for a year or two, I feel that they shouldn’t judge by time alone, but instead do some math that combines time spent in and how neurotic they have become from living in this city.

Now I'll go worry about repercussions of posting such truths.

Prosthetic Legs

2007-03-20T10:08:00.000-04:00

This morning on the subway when a member of One Legged Americans Local 314 sat down across from me on my morning commute. I’ve seen this guy before, but this time I made a realization that part of the reason that I somehow get off mentally by seeing a person with a prosthetic leg in public is the fear that it brings me.

It’s like a cheesy horror movie that sucks me into it every time, and makes me yelp with fear from someone opening a door and finding a guy in cheesy makeup and holding a rubber knife, only in this case it is fear of limbs falling off.

The thing is when I see someone sit or walk with only one original leg mere feet away from me makes all anxious and scared. I tend to obsess that the individual with the prosthetic will accidentally move the wrong way, thereby making his leg fall off, with a loud suction pop, and then flop horrifically on the floor – at which point everyone will look at each other in horror with the thoughts of not knowing what the proper way of helping the individual is to do since nobody having ever helped someone whose leg just fell off up off of the floor.

It’s not like when an elderly person drops their cane and you pick it up, hand it to them and go about your day. You can’t just pull someone up off the floor with one leg, hand their other leg back to them, brush off their shoulders, say “You okay?” then turn around and walk away – I least I can’t.

For some reason my mind has helping a one legged person to be way too complex for me to most likely actively help in such a situation if it ever arose. I know that I am most likely incorrect in my thinking, but I tend to automatically think that I would have to be the one to help by sliding the prosthetic through the limp pant leg, and then have to feel around to place the leg onto the stump, which may or may not require the use of an additional tool, maybe a socket wrench?

In any case it just seems way too complicated, and I wish that there was a CPR type of class that teaches everyday people how to help people when their prosthetic leg falls off.

I realize that this fear is a combination of both my being naïve in not having ever really known someone with a prosthetic, and ignorance in that legs don’t just fall off, and that there isn’t really a One Legged Americans Union, let alone a local 314, but what if they do, and what if there is... I think my head would explode.

Benadryl Is A Hellova Drug

2007-03-19T15:00:00.001-04:00

Like the fool that I am, instead of buying Claritin for my springtime airborne allergies like I would normally do, I went with the store brand one first, and that didn’t work out because they were capsules.

Whoever would it the plastic covered capsules is gross…

So I went out again, and bought Benadryl tablets. These were great in theory because it allowed me to chew the pills up and swallow with a glass of water.

This theory was proved wrong when the pills made my tongue numb, didn’t alleviate my nasal cavity from the throws of allergies, and instead, made me the most tired I have ever been.

Despite having these three strikes against it, I decided that if I tried it again last night. Thinking that it might magically work this time. Instead, five minutes went by, the Cheese informed me that I looked out of it, and I then passed out on the couch at roughly 8:40PM.

I didn’t stay there.

The sleep-talker in me decided it was time for me to sit up, and apologize for making the Cheese “be quiet”. I assume that in my sleep I wanted to express the sorrow of my sleeping as being rude, and lacking in the dutiful hosting duties that I should have been doing.

I went on further to say “blurf de derf de, bleh, da, do” and “humbela ffffff de emmmmu” before falling back down on the couch – all the while remaining fast asleep.

Then when the Cheese was trying to get the bedroom ready for us to sleep, I “galloped” like a cat all through my apartment, to the end of my hallway, which was a good 40 feet before having what I’m told was another conversation lacking coherent words, and then began to follow the Cheese around my apartment, before exclaiming “I’ll get the box of tissues, I know where they are!”

Then all of a sudden it was the morning, my alarm went off, I found that I was in my bed, under the covers, well rested, and still exhausted.

While I am fairly certain it wasn’t the Benadryl talking and making me gallop, since I do those things while sleeping anyways, Benadryl knocked me out like Mike Tyson could have in his prime, and I’m still fighting to keep my eyes open from the monster.

I don’t know why people take “strong downers” as a recreational sort of drug.

UPDATE: I took Claritin last night, and now I feel normal again.

An Atypical Typical Sunday Morning

2007-03-19T12:23:00.000-04:00

Yesterday morning I woke up around 7:15AM in the Cheese’s bed, this happened after I went to give her a sleepy early morning kiss, and instead found my mouth on her flannel pillowcase cover.

Having not realized what I had just kissed I opened my eyes to find her half of the bed empty, and assumed that the Cheese was having some insomnia. These three seconds of thoughts awoke my brain too, and I was unable to fall back asleep.

The Cheese came back to bed, we did unspeakable things to one another, and then we decided we wanted to head over to Dizzy’s for our usual “Brunch” at breakfast time.

She wasn’t sure if they were open yet since it was now around 8:30AM, and I insisted that we had gone there in the 9 o’clock hour and found people leaving post meal, thereby assuming that Dizzy’s opened up way early in the morning.

We made our long stroll from her place over to Dizzy’s, opened the cold seal door, and pushed and pulled to get inside, and found the door to be locked – the staff was eating their breakfasts, it was 9AM on the dot.

Embarrassed that we arrived for breakfast before the place had opened, and not being sure what time they actually did open, we went for a long walk around Faux Park Slope, all the way over to 12th Street and 7th Ave, and then back around and up to Dizzy’s.

Fifteen minutes had passed, and we still weren’t sure if they were open yet; we didn’t dare want to cross the street unless we saw proof that they were open – as this would only make the staff laugh even more at the two hungry losers in us that woke up way early day after Patty’s Day.

I spotted an employee removing the “S” from “Patty’s” on the window, and it spooked us to walk around Faux Slope even more. This time we made it up to 16th and 7th, and back. During the way it was decided that it would be hysterical if I lived in a building named “Diarrhea Court”, and that I was completely wrong in my thoughts that Dizzy’s opened very early in the mornings.

It was now 9:45AM, and we were on the corner across from Dizzy’s, we could see customers in the window, so we walked ashamedly across the street to the delicious house of brunch, got seated, had our omelets, paid and left for the park.

Since it was still so early in the morning, a little windy, and icey, Prospect Park was nearly empty. This gave us a chance to finally ride in the tire swings that have always been so tempting yet so filled with children of the Slope, and then I got distracted by a squirrel.

Tire swings are so much fun, even though these modern ones are made at half scale in height as compared to the ones I grew up riding.

Now that I had a full tummy, and had my fill of tire swings I was so happy that I ran around on the ice in circles.

This was my Sunday morning.

For My Chinese Readers

2007-03-16T15:01:00.000-04:00

As part of my continuing effort to improve the relations that our two nations have with one another I feel it is necessary to fill you in on certain aspects of the American culture, particularly an aspect that one should know if they visit my fine country.

In my country it is considered proper to greet someone with a smile and the extension of ones right hand, then firmly shaking the extended hand of the person you just greeted, or if you and the person you are greeting are close friends, then giving that person a hug while saying, “Hello” is acceptable.

Remember to always greet an American with a warm smile, and a dry extended right hand, except if you are in a public restroom, or bathroom, or as the Canadians call them “washrooms” – don’t worry, we can make fun of the Canadians together during another weeks get together.

As I was saying, you do not want to greet an American in the public place that they conduct their “personal business” in.

If you do not greet someone properly you can easily create an uneasy and sometimes tense situation, one that will leave the other person wondering what the deal with the moron (you) is.

This would be the traditional case if you either extended your greeting with the left hand, didn’t say hello, shook limply, gave someone a hug in the bathroom, or worse all four wrongs nearly simultaneously.

This wondering won’t usually be spoken aloud. Instead of us Americans thinking that the person who just improperly greeted us simply didn’t know any of our acceptable cultural ways of a greeting, we Americans will tend to think silently that the person who just improperly greeted us is most likely either, retarded, impolite, rude, stupid, or worse – UnAmerican.

Being thought of as an UnAmerican to most people is worse than actually being stupid. Now here’s the thing to remember about being called UnAmerican, and it’s important, so you might want to print this one line out, “People who think of other people as being an UnAmerican usually are stupid.”

Now that you all know this, here’s a video that I find to be hysterically funny, you will too, and if you don’t well then that’s just downright UnAmerican of you!

Enjoy.

A Bakers Dozen Thoughts Why I Won’t Celebrate St. Patrick’s Day

2007-03-16T10:11:00.000-04:00

1. Every place is too crowded with drunks who think that they hold their booze perfectly, simply because they are Irish.

2. Being around Italian-Americans claiming to be Irish isn’t in me anymore.

3. Too many red headed people in one place annoy me.

4. If sex happens between two redheads in a bars backroom, it will stink up the place with that red haired pube funk – if you have red pubes, and or have no idea what I’m talking about, there is a specific odor that is local to only your colored crotchal area, that no other colored crotch has, it’s just different, yet uniform in it’s differences.

5. Too many redheaded couples will have sex in the backrooms of bars.

6. Being around Polish-Americans that claim to be Italian-Americans, who are also claiming to be Irish on this day to keep following the Italian-American crowd, just don’t get it.

7. The St. Patrick’s Day Parade and festivities might be worth attending if they held it in a warm month.

8. Restaurants always throw their regular menu out the window and opt for traditional Irish food – there’s the reason of corned beef and hash being disgusting as to why traditional Irish restaurants are few and far between and empty.

9. If I wanted to live in the movie “Gangs of New York” I would build a time machine.

10. I never want to see a “Kiss Me, I’m Irish” sticker, button, or shirt ever again.

11. A sea of green is a sea of prejudice.

12. If you need the excuse of a holiday to drink, you are clearly an amateur.

13. Being Catholic isn't cool.

Now go have fun, and get yourself arrested for peeing on a lamppost, kids.

Thursday Morning Best

2007-03-15T12:44:00.000-04:00

No story, just me looking my Thursday morning best.

Turning Down The Job

2007-03-15T09:56:00.000-04:00

I went on some interviews back in February for a horticultural internship that I would really like to do, and left the interviews confused by the reception of the interviewers. I wasn’t sure if they just didn’t like me, or if they were just weird people from working at a public garden (BBG).

So this internship would have been a paid gig, albeit eight dollars an hour, but still, it was better than doing it at no pay, and I jumped at the chance to apply. I figured I could do the internship this year, and then be able to use the horticultural experience as a side gig when in the FDNY.

Then a few weeks ago I got received a voicemail saying that I was being accepted into the internship program, and since I left the interviews confused as to why they didn’t like me, I whole heartedly assumed I was never going to hear from them again, therefore I never fully thought through about the financials and time involved.

This made me have to scramble around to see if I could live on eight bucks an hour for nine months, still have time to train for the FDNY physical, and be still be able to have me time, while taking the required horticultural classes at night on top of the 40 hours a week on the job.

I quickly realized that there would never be enough time during the internship to allow me to give my all to all sides of things, and at age 26, being a starving anything while having to dip into savings to do so is not something that I want to do, even though life will only get more complicated time wise as I get older.

It turned out all of you interviewers did like me, and that you’re all just weird from working in a public garden for too long.

So I eventually had to let them know that I had to turn down the internship, thank them for accepting me, apologize, and then hope that I would never see or hear from them again.

Then this past weekend I got a letter from them, stating,

“We regret to inform you that we cannot offer you an internship to you this year.”

WHAT?!?!?

Did they not hear what I already communicated to them? That I did not want them! Let alone, why would they send out a slap in the face letter to someone who wants an internship in NYC that wouldn’t even allow them to afford to live anywhere near NYC? Haven’t they ever heard of being passive aggressive, and that they could have just not have contacted anyone with whom would not be getting/taking an internship?

Part of me wants to send them this letter as a response, just to see what they send as a response.

Dear Sir or Madam,

Thank you for accepting me into the horticultural internship program that begins in April. I look forward to the many months of hard work, learning on the job, and working alongside professionals just like yourselves. I also can’t wait to work in the comfort and beauty that is the garden, where I will breath clean air every day of my experience, and take my first step forward in working full time is the world of horticulture.

See you bright and early on April 2nd.

Regards,
Beehive

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

UPDATE: Now I can’t stop singing “Turning down the job” to the theme of “burning down the house.”

Busted On The Job

2007-03-14T15:31:00.000-04:00

Naturally I got so busted yesterday afternoon at work after writing a post like this.

Around 4:30PM as I was flipping back and forth between four games of chess I heard footsteps shuffling back and forth in the hallway near my cube, since no one was passing I clicked to an excel spreadsheet that I had been milking, and turned to see what was going on.

That’s when I spotted the director of my department leaning out as far as he could in an attempt to see what it was that I had on my screen.

Beehive: Hey, what’s up?

Director: Nothing I was just seeing what you were up to. What
ARRRRRRRE you doing nowadays? Do YOOOOOOOU even have work to do? Or, are you just slacking off?

Beehive: I’m just putting a spreadsheet together for (insert work related things here).

Director: Oh really? What’s that for?

Beehive: It’s for x, y, and work related z.

Director: And how long do you suppose this will take you? Why don’t I just sit down right here.

He plopped himself down in the “guest chair” that I have in my cube, and proceeded to squint as hard as he could to see the bottom of my screen with what explorer windows I had open, he even went so far as to lean in to get a better squint. I was ready to just say “Okay you caught me goofing off, just deal with it!”

And instead I played it off, hoping to get around having to never live my being caught red handed goofing off on his dime down – plus a couple of years back he told me that when he’s in his office he’s more often than not slacking off with a game of pinball on, with the sound off, and how he has great hearing of when it comes to footsteps down the carpeted hallways.

Given this knowledge of near constant ripping if caught, and the hypocritical ways of work in the director’s point of view, I kept up my nonchalant attitude.

Beehive: Yeah, I imagine that I’ll be done putting together this spreadsheet some time in the morning.

Director: Really?

Beehive: Yeeeees.

Director: And then what will you be doing? Nothing?

Beehive: Oh no I have x and y related work I need to do. Hopefully so and so will get around to calling me back so that I can find out exactly what needs to get done.

Director: So you have lots of work to do, so much so that you can’t possibly do anything more and I shouldn’t add more work to your plate?

Beehive: Actually no. Quite the opposite, I would much rather have some more work on my plate right now. To be honest, I’m kind of bored with what I’m doing.

Director: Really?

Beehive: Yeah, it would make the days go by quicker.

Still squinting, the director points to the wall of my cube.

Director: What is that?

Beehive: What this?

The director now looks confused.

Director: Yeah?

Beehive: Oh that’s just a bumper sticker commemorating the tenth anniversary of the million man march.

Director: Why do you have that?

Beehive: I found it in the cube, and put it up as a goof.

Director: Ooookaaaay then, so how would you feel about having your cube moved to sit around on the other side of the floor.

Beehive: No problem.

Bottom line, my director didn’t flat out bust my balls over it. I will most likely move my cube to be near a team that needs help, and get more work to do. Which is what I wanted anyways, and yet all that while in conversation I had lied to him about how busy I was, and didn’t expose myself for the goofing off.

I’m am awful liar in most cases, yet the workplace is the exception for some odd reason, and thankfully I learned to deny and lie directly from this same director long ago.

Karma is great.

Another “Herb” Story

2007-03-13T12:08:00.000-04:00

Some of you may remember the acquaintance of mine named “Herb” from my Kevin Bacon story a couple of weeks ago. As you can see, he won’t be referred to as a “buddy” in this story; he is instead referred to as an “acquaintance” in this one – for justifiable reasons. The reason of this inconsistency is that a) he and I are really just acquaintances and or b) the use of buddy is not appropriate for this story.

Anyways, I was out one night and Herb came up in conversation, and someone said, “I heard that Herb is into getting peed on by women. I can’t tell you how I know, but based on the source I’m pretty sure it’s truthful.”

Whether or not this was true I found this thought about him to be hysterically funny, gross, and oddly fascinating all a the same time because Herb is one of those over the top macho sort of guys that can’t keep a girl, a job, or stay clean because he is SOOOOO manly, with the mindset that real men don’t have or do any of those things.

Given this overabundance of his machismo I wouldn’t put it past him to be into something this kinky as a way to feel not so macho – sort of like the CEOs that enjoy paying a dominatrix $500 to lick their feet for a half an hour, and then scrub a nasty rank ass toilet.

Don’t get me wrong, if you found out some things I have done in bed or on a kitchen floor you might consider me to be way kinkier than you, but enjoyment of being peed on is without a doubt considered kinkier than anything that I or anyone else has ever done with exception to the guys who gets off sexually by receiving enemas.

Anyways, I kept that knowledge of Herb’s enjoyment of the urine splashing on his body and or face quietly inside my head for months, and each time I would see him out at a bar I kept imagining his face of pure joy while laying on some unlucky one night stands bed, getting peed on, at which point I would giggle to myself and go over and say hello to him.

Then one day I’m out, and the conversation turned to Herb, at which point I relayed the story that I heard about Herb’s sexually enjoyment when a woman pees on him in a giggling fashion.

The jaw of the gal that I was talking to dropped wide open. She looked mortified.

I was expecting to hear one of two things, either that I was beyond a doubt disgusting for relaying this info to her, or that water sports is actually fun and how could I laugh about something so good.

Instead I got the angry question of “Are you trying to make fun of me?” to which I was dumbfounded, so I responded with, “I…don’t know what you’re talking about.”

At which point I was thinking about how I would have never have guessed that this particular lady was into peeing on guys, but that’s not the case.

She then informed me that she had hooked up with Herb one night a long time ago, he spent the night, or two, or a few, at her place, and had begged her to pee all over him, before she finally kicked him out of her place, without peeing on him or anyone else, ever – thereby unknowingly confirming the little rumor that I had heard about Herb to be true, and made it a pure fact.

As you can tell from such a story, this guy “Herb” remains merely an acquaintance – especially with retelling of this story. I’ve got nothing against someone’s enjoyment of the pee, but to actually sit here, and write a story of how a “friend” enjoys getting peed on is just taking things to another level.

Working For The Man

2007-03-13T10:07:00.000-04:00

Over the past couple of months (since I started working again) I have found myself to be not challenged at work, this isn’t a good feeling, with this lacking of mental stimulation I began blogging during my workday, and now usual daily work experience goes like this.

1. Arrive at work in the neighborhood of 9AM

2. Take off the coat; push the mouse so that the desktop looks as though I’ve already been working, wash up, grab some water.

3. Actually log in, and remove paperwork from my overheard so that it looks like I actually have work to do.

4. Go check on the fax machine that no one should be faxing anything to anymore, lately it has been getting paper jams when scam artists are faxing their “Hot Vacation Deals” from “Human Resources”.

5. Open up my email to find that no one has emailed me, open a bunch of internet explorers up, log onto at least one work related link, then go to CNN.com.

6. Once all news is read I head over to my blog. First I check my extreme tracking cause I am lame, then off to my blog links that get me through a day at work.

7. I start from the bottom up everyday, and go to each one except for Previously Owned & Waiter Rant. I save these two for reading as a mid day treat.

8. Then it's off to the world of free online chess.

9. Go get my second cup of water, and then off to begin looking at my work.

10. This usually brings me to the neighborhood of 10 and 10:30AM.

I need to get a new job, and finish up a bunch of chess games.

Williamsburg, You’re Dead To Me

2007-03-12T10:07:00.000-04:00

Friday night I had my yearly venturing into Brooklyn’s creepiest neighborhood, Williamsburg, for an art opening. My last visit was a last minute I’m too drunk for the subway, you’re couch seems perfect sort of night, that had me waking up on the couch of a “loft” : cough:old mechanical garage:cough: that was “converted” :cough:cardboard and garbage as walls, couches found in garbage:cough: into an apartment :cough:thirty people living in squalor:cough: having my face sniffed till no end by someone’s random dog, and this surprisingly will be viewed as a good Billyburg experience.

People, if you live in the Burg, fine, stay there, eat there, live there, procreate there, don’t ever leave there, and just eventually die of happy old age there – please it would do all of us the favor – don't forget you can hang out with this guy non stop.

Plus I’m sure that all of you and your quirky ways of finding new ways to create hip places of out buildings that should have been torn down 15 years ago for safety reasons will surely never get old to you folk, and I’m almost certain that when a bar opens up in the back of an old yellow school bus on the corner of Bedford and N2nd Streets you’ll all find it to be unimaginably the greatest thing ever, until two months later, when some other jerk opens up a bar in the back of an old yellow school bus on the corner across the street, and this second bar uses old Rubik’s cubes as coasters, at which point nobody would be caught dead in that first now lame yellow school bus bar because Rubik’s cubes as coasters is just the coolest thing ever.

With that, Williamsburg, you’re dead to me, you will not be graced with my presence until further notice, and I am disallowing you to be known as part of Brooklyn until you get your act together – and no, getting your act together does not involve renaming your neighborhood something like “Green Hills” to get everyone to go there again.

Williamsburg, the rest of the world will continue living without thinking of you and your kind, until 20 something years from now, there will be a Maury Povich type of tv show that is doing make overs for sad and lame people stuck living in a past certain bad style, which will of course end up having many of your current residents on it.

See you then.

For My Friends In China

2007-03-09T15:28:00.001-05:00

As I continue my work towards accomplishing better diplomatic ties with you and your fellow man, I have stumbled across a certain video that I think we can all enjoy.

Grab that chair of yours, cause here it is, and this guy can dance.

If the Martians ever come to attack, I’m sure someone in one of our countries will be able to find this video, show it to the Martians, and it will surely calm us all down so that we can all have universal peace.

Enjoy my friends, and could you please tell me what you think about Starbucks Coffee places over there? For serious.

It's A Banana In My Pocket

2007-03-09T11:49:00.000-05:00

I’ve decided to adjust my diet over the past few weeks to tailor it more towards the recommendations of the nutritionist that I went to, for two reasons. I want to gain weight in a healthy way, and two, I did’t want to see my spending $125 on the visit as an expensive way of being able to see gals butt cleavage.

Part of her recommendations was to eat nuts, and fruit during the day. The nuts I’ve taken to easily, seeing as how my cube now looks like it is part of the domain of an alpha squirrel, with hans and hans of nuts everywhere. *

The fruit is different, since eating hanned fruit eliminates almost all of the healthy aspects of fruit, fruit must be fresh. If you eat hanned fruit to be healthy, you might as well start breathing in diesel fumes as a way to start living healthy when you quit smoking cigarettes – it’s just pointless since there are better ways readily available to go about things.

So far I’ve been devouring bananas most mornings, since they are easy to buy, easy to carry to work, and for some reason they aren’t looked upon as being too odd of a sight, as compared to seeing someone bringing a pear, an apple, or an orange to work.

Don’t ask me why, it just is, as people always wonder why a guy carrying a pear in his pocket, has a pear, and their answers are never to eat a pear, but instead something more along the lines of “I bet that guy is going to carve something out of that pear.”

Eating fresh fruit at work isn’t that bad, and I actually feel good once I’m done eating a piece, however when I am eating a banana I have noticed that I have grown to be quite self conscious about my surroundings.

I for one have always found it to be very cool to watch a woman eat a banana. I almost always immediately think dirty perverted thoughts that I should be adult enough not to think about when a banana gets near a woman’s lips, and or is in a ladies mouth. So if a banana is being consumed in an office or cubicle by a woman I don’t stick around long, but if this is done on the subway, it’s totally different, since I’m not going to change cars over a banana being consumed.

Seeing a woman eat a banana while riding the subway is the equivalent to accidentally walking into what had always been an ice cream parlor for some ices cream, only to find that overnight it has turned into a strip club, in which you happened to walk in during the third song of a three song set, whereby the stripper is already fully nude and grinding her crotch two inches away from a mans face.

Given my own usual reaction to watching a lady eat a banana I have taken my viewpoint and given it to men everywhere, regardless of whether or not they actually would think my way, I just assume they do.

As such, I have noticed that as I am in the process of eating my morning banana I don’t think twice if a lady walks by my cubicle, if a guy that I don’t suspect as being “how you doin” walks by I barely notice it, and if I notice a guy walking by my cube whose canoe is definitely floating, I immediately pause my actions, and in fact then go in reverse, bring the banana down and away from my mouth.

Seeing as my mind immediately believes that all men are pervs, regardless if the guy is gay, straight, or whatever, and I don’t want to be viewed upon by some perv as strictly a piece of meat that is eating a banana. All the while thinking that my eating a banana at work is the equivalent to the guy whose canoe is floating walking into a Pottery Barn and finding an amazing new couch that would just go great with the drapes and throw rug in his summer home on Fire Island.

I’m sure that I’m wrong, and that absolutely no gay man would ever find me attractive, especially with me and my boyish looks, small waist, and bubble butt, yeah, I’m definitely wrong in all aspects of my banana eating thoughts.

* Hans, not cans. See when I was in high school we had a “Cans for Kenya” drive that had the five cent deposit per can go towards some charity to help Kenya, and their just so happened to be a kid in my school named “Hans” and so the signs soon all read “Hans for Kenya” and to be quite honest I like thinking of a can as a han.

The Perfect American Family

2007-03-08T13:53:00.000-05:00

I play the eunuch, and I particularly loved the shirt that I got to wear during this one.

Beehive’s Weather Report

2007-03-08T09:33:00.000-05:00

Today will be sunny, high in the 20s, with a slight chance of Irish twins.

That’s right, Irish twins are in the forecast. Today is my nieces 1st birthday, her mother, who is my sister, might pop out another baby today – might, since she is roughly eight months pregnant, and has the look of a gazelle eating grass in Africa right now. *

Yesterday she had to go to the hospital; somehow she allowed herself to become dehydrated, and as a result was having contractions. She’s since been realized, and has been declared to be fine now, so she is resting at home, but there is still a chance that she could go into labor and pop out that boy to have us some Irish twins in the family, which would be a first.

I’m not holding my breath.

*Please no one tell her this, for it will undoubtedly lead to her crying, and me being the bad guy, despite it being healthy to look big, and eating healthy due to having a nearly full term fetus inside you, but apparently to comment on such a look is outlawed.

Overheard At Work

2007-03-07T15:14:00.000-05:00

The creepy gal from Missouri that walks without moving her arms is having some sort of meeting in her cube right now with three other people, one of whom is her boss, and all of whom are creepy.

Anyways, they’ve been there for a few minutes talking strictly business, then the creepy Asian gal who is always chipper no matter what said this,

“Excuse me if I smell like potato salad right now.”

I had to run away from with tears from silent laughter rolling down my face.

Work Trouble

2007-03-07T12:57:00.000-05:00

This morning at around a quarter to ten the usual Wednesday morning meeting let out early. This meant that I had to curb my looking at as much junk on the internet as I possibly could while getting paid, needed to halt temporarily.

Usually this lasts around 30 seconds, and only involves a dozen or so people walking past my cubicle as they file out, to go back to their brain dead life at work.

Today I had the misfortune of having two people hold what should have been a closed door meeting between only the two of them, right at my cube opening. Mind you there are two empty cubes right next the one I am in that could have been used to block the annoying people standing right over me factor.

As their pow wow began I pretended to look busy with work. As the minutes passed I could no longer pretend to be working, and actually had to do the work. After nearly 15 minutes their meeting ended, and they parted ways, while I was left to look at the damage.

Even though I was going as slow as I possibly could, I ended up blowing through almost all of my work – 15 minutes was all that it took! This was supposed to get me through the week by allowing copious amounts of “breather time” to myself which would have involved wasting time on the internet.

Instead of doing this, I’m done! Done! DONE!

There will no longer be anything to interrupt my wasting time on the internet in the form of work. Nope, and I am already feeling the pains of boredom seeping into my brain as I waste away hopelessly with nothing but the crappiest form of the internet, since all of the good sites are blocked by the corporate systems folk.

Ugh…what’s a boy to do…lunch will only last an hour…

World Premiere!!!

2007-03-07T09:15:00.000-05:00

This Friday night is the world premiere event of the week.

So if anyone wants to see newer Beehive on film, go down to your friendly neighborhood Hartman brothers and Jimmy Fallon's place, aka Mo Pitkins for the midnight showing of the newest episode of ELECTRA ELF, “Battle of the Bands”, directed by Nick Zedd.

It is an episode in which I’ll be a featured act under the name Billy Idol Jr, with my “El Nardo” character.

Afterwards be sure to stay around and booze it up with everyone's favorite bartender, Liz, and tell her "Eric says hi". Enjoy.

The Armless Nazi…

2007-03-06T14:09:00.001-05:00

I play a kid in this sketch.

Believe It Or Not, I Actually Had Set Out To Write A Post Of Funny Things That I Could Do With My Winning - This Is What Happened…

2007-03-06T12:02:00.000-05:00

Michael Buffer announced that the Mega Millions Jackpot is now over $355,000,000, and I plan on winning it all, which after taxes are taken out will leave me with somewhere in the neighborhood of $112,000,000.

Given this huge chunk of money that I will be handing over to Uncle Sam, I will have to forbid anyone from complaining in my presence about how high taxes are, and how much they paid in taxes last year, they must all shut the hell up – unless that person paid more than $243,000,000 in taxes.

The $112MM that I get in post taxes will set me up for life, at which point I would never work for someone else, doing some crappy pointless job, ever again, and everyone will envy me for it.

I know that some of you are thinking “don’t all lottery winners end up broke, have lots of family tragedy, or end up in prison within five years?” and to this I will have you know that I will not change. I will remain a cheapskate for the most part, I have a small family, so tragedy can’t happen to it too many times – plus tragedies will eventually happen in life, it’s part of life - and big men named Bubba doing life in prison will remain fear enough for me not to break the law.

Having the burden of paying over $200MM in taxes would actually not be all that bad of a thing to have. I would be able to write off a certain percentage that will allow for me to start up my own charitable cause.

Since I’m not a big fan of the way most charities are run, and or how they go about raising awareness for their cause, and or how they go about their fundraising I will start up my very own, not-for-profit called “Charitable Charities”.

The way I see it Charitable Charities will be the tool that regular everyday charity givers could use to educate themselves as to what cause they are in fact giving to. This is a fact that most charities would actually like to hide.

For instance my workplace always has lots of charitable causes being hocked around, thrown in my face unnecessarily, and unjustly. One in particular is the March of Dimes.

Each March, there are more company resources (much employee time, and company $$$) spent on getting the word out that all of the employees are expected to give to this charity. What they don’t say is that this is began solely on the fact that one of the top executives has a child with health problems, and they never ever say what in fact the March of Dimes is for, other than “You should donate, don’t you want to help kids!”

Even the people that are so smug in their charitable fundraising lack the foresight to see what the heck they are hocking, let alone the top executives that allow millions upon millions of dollars to be wasted by forcing everyone to read blanketed email, the near daily flyer distribution, requesting more donations, let alone the hours people spend setting up booths near the cafeteria, and walking around hounding people for money. All this is done to raise a figure to give to the March of Dimes in the neighborhood of the six figures.

How this all makes good use an employee’s time is beyond me – they could be blogging – ZING!

After a couple of years of being forced fed requests to donate to the March of Dimes I couldn’t tell you what the heck they actually do, other than I think it has something to do with kids. Which is a pretty vague and unjust message for the public to have for one of the most well known charities, and for all I know they research things along the lines of “What happens when we drop kids that are paraplegic into a deep pool of water.” I wouldn’t want to donate to such a cause, and this is a problem directly related to how the charity does its fundraising.

Just one brief paragraph of what they do with the donations that they get would suffice.

I know that some of the readers right now are saying; besides “WTF are you writing about Beehive?” is “That’s why I give to the Red Cross, about 90% of their income goes out to the people who need it.” That’s slightly true, but what do they actually give the donations out to?

Allow me to point out one particular way that the Red Cross doles out their charity.

In my neighborhood that is an SRO (Single Room Occupancy) place that people can rent rooms in by the hour – most guests of this SRO rent this way – and it is disguised as a hotel. It’s not a chain hotel, or anything even close to a legit hotel. It is in all actuality a building that is used for the distribution of drugs, as a crackwhore brothel, as a place to do narcotics, probable money laundering, the only way that it could possibly operate is due to bribery of NYC Officials, and in the not too distance past it has been used as a place to stab adults, as well as a place to murder a baby.

This gem of a hotel establishment is also often used by the Red Cross to house people that have had unfortunate experiences happen to them, who have gone to the Red Cross seeking help, only to be placed in such a horrific establishment, to be woken up in the middle of the night from pounding on the door, and when they open the door to find out what the ruckus is, they find a naked prostitute with a bloody face speaking in tongues of nonsense from the drug that she is on.

These sights have the Red Cross guests shocked, usually, and they feel the need to tell people about them in the streets – I know this from working around the corner of this establishment.

This establishment in actuality is probably using the Red Cross, and under the guise of taking in people in need, they found a way to operate as a legitimate business (along with probable bribery of officials), I imagine that this is not an isolated crazy instance of how the Red Cross houses people in need of actual charity, and while I am in not way saying that this is the only cause of charity that the Red Cross does, it is an example of how they actually dole out their charitable gifts.

So the next time you think about giving to the Red Cross, remember that part of your charitable gift is actually giving a helping enabling hand to people that are in the middle of self induced downward spirals, who have family that loves them, care about them, and wish that their loved ones would be able to rise above all that crap. Along with creating stinkhole buildings that there should be no need for.

The above are actual “legitimate” charities that operate. I’m still waiting for someone by the name of “Marisol” from the “Acorn” charity of Sunset Park to finally process my $10 donation from the summer of 2005, this way I could begin to receive the newsletters and updates about the organization, and how it has been helping Brooklyn for the past 20 plus years, but I imagine that in all actuality “Marisol” and her friend that was fundraising across the street were both scamming everyone – and got me hook line and sinker.

My organization “Charitable Charities” would be there to educate the charity giver about which charity is which, how all of your funds were actually used, but that would be a lot of work to do, especially for someone who has so much money that they would never in their right mind actually hold a job, so I’d probably just give a huge donation to the Covenant House, some sort of keep NYC green fund, or something like that.

In either case, I can’t wait to win tonight!

Also, I don’t know what the heck came over me in this blog post, but rest assured that I am going to write a short fart/poop entry soon to balance it all out.

Side Story About Filming "Carjacked"

2007-03-06T10:14:00.000-05:00

We had planned on filming it on a certain Sunday back in 2001, a couple of weeks after 9/11, when the smell of burning flesh was still very active in our minds, there were roadblocks set up throughout the city, and we were all scared to death that something was going to happen again. This particular Sunday happened to be the exact day that the United States began to bomb Afghanistan, which only led even further to our already nervous frames of mind to think and prepare for yet another attack on our hometown.

We had planned on filming this short on the quiet steet that ran next to the Brooklyn Bridge on the Brooklyn side of it. When we arrived we found wooden police barricades set up to block any person or traffic from going through, but no police officers. We found this to be a slightly unnerving, and yet we decided to film on an adjacent street that ran directly underneath the Brooklyn Bridge.

It was quiet for the most part with very little car traffic.

As we were filming a huge unmarked truck being driven by what appeared to be a man of Arab decent pulled up to barricades and stopped. Everyone that was part of our production tensed up and thought the worst was going to happen. We stood there wondering if he was preparing a machine gun to mow us all down, and then the supposedly Arab man got out of the truck and was eyeballing us. Our hearts were beating faster.

He was a good 50 yards away, and we couldn’t tell for sure if he had a gun maybe tucked under his shirt, and would attack us.

Then the supposed Arab man began to walk towards us, at which point we all began to bump into one another out of fear that he was going to kill us. This made the supposed Arab man stop, and instead of shooting us all dead, he pulled aside some of the police barricades, backed his truck in, and then put the police barricades back in the original spot to make it look like he had never gone through.

Holy shit he’s gonna blow up the Brooklyn Bridge, we thought.

Scared to death as we were, we needed to find out just what this supposed Arab man was doing.

We all peeked around the corner in a very Scooby-Do sort of way with only our heads being shown, and one on top of another. This was done in case truck driver or anyone else for that matter began to shoot at us.

The guy was backing his truck down towards the Brooklyn Bridge support tower, which on the Brooklyn side can be reached from land.

We were 99% sure this guy would blow it up. We all were ready to crap our pants from the nervous anticipation of all hell breaking loose at any moment.

Someone said we should begin to head out and away so that we didn’t have cars and stone rain down on us after an explosion, while 911 was called.

I needed to stay and look. I saw the guy unloading something from his truck. It appeared to be big round bins of some sort. Was the guy unloading his bomb to prepare it?

911 told us that police were on the way. We moved away from the scene, and waited, figuring that it would only be a minute or two for them to arrive. We waited, and waited, and waited.

No police showed up after nearly ten minutes. Also no explosion took place. This unnerved us in the sense that we called in a suspected bombing to be, of a major landmark, which if done, would kill many people, and yet no cops showed up.

Instead of running home scared we figured we would get the shoot in, only further down the street, away from the Brooklyn Bridge.

We filmed take after take to get all of the angles, and when we were wrapping up, which by this time was at least three to four hours later, a lone police squad car arrived.

They pulled up, and we stated that we called hours ago, and that the Arab guy with the truck was still underneath the bridge.

The police had no idea as to what we were talking about, and said that they were there to be official police security for some commercial that was to begin shooting, and had wondered if we were their contact. We weren’t. They radioed in, and found that they should be directly under the bridge.

No one ever responded to our call to 911, and thankfully no one blew the Brooklyn Bridge up that day.

Carjacked?

2007-03-05T11:48:00.001-05:00

Here’s another short that we made long ago. I’m the white kid on the passenger side of the backseat

Review & Protest!

2007-03-05T10:28:00.000-05:00

Saturday morning I woke up bright and early around 6:30AM by the sounds of birds chirping and blue skies being clear – okay, so it was my alarm clock actually, but birds were chirping too - I had to get up bright and early to get ready for the fun involved in becoming a NYC Firefighter. This was the day that applicants were allowed to review the written exam that we took back in January, and write any protests of answers that should be given credit as being correct.

*If anyone out there wants to get higher scores, you should definitely attend a protest session, since they have proposed answers that are obviously incorrect, all you have to do is write the a brief reason as to why it is correct, and they will review and you should get credit on the final score.

I headed off to Union Square, where it was all nice and warm out, not too many people up and around at 8:30AM this particular Saturday morning and I strolled through Union Square, stopping at all of the plant and flower vendors of the farmers market. I saw lots of blooming crocus’ and this made me feel very good, seeing as sights like this marks the beginning of the death of winter 2007.

I headed over to Irving Place, when I saw a NY1 news truck filming the line of would be test reviewers/protesters to be that wrapped around the corner of Washington Irving High School. For the who aren’t familiar with the NY1 newschannel, it is a 24/7 newschannel devoted primarily to the NYC area, that for the most part reads newspapers to its audience, while some dumb Canadian ex-patriot holds up whatever newspaper is being read – literally. So to see what I assume to be their only news van covering this, instead of anything else that might actually be important news to cover, I could only laugh, and look away to hide my face from them.

So I finally entered Washington Irving and was astonished to find how gorgeous this school was. Lots of beautiful wood trim, and amazing sets of stairs on each side of the main entrance. The school looked like it was made out of a historic Park Slope brownstone.

The actual protest session went fairly smooth, with exception to a 31 year old former Marine who gave way too much information to everyone that was in earshot the appearance of being a person that would never pass the psychological portion of the hiring process while being loud, annoying, and slightly threatening to the DCAS (Department of Citywide Administrative Services) staff, good luck there buddy!

There were so many people filing so many protests that DCAS literally ran out of protest papers, and we had to sit around twiddling our thumbs for a half an hour while DCAS personnel ran all over the city for more forms. Nearly five hours after initially entering the process, I was done. I challenged 14 questions and answers, worth nearly seven actual grade points, with clear cut reasons as to why my answers were correct or just as correct as any other. I was done. I felt very good about doing the protest, and now I wanted to leave and be able to be out in the sun on a great spring day.

I walked around to find the boys room, to freshen up, and I found one of my favorite types of urinals. It was a set of three urinals that stretched from four and a half feet high down to the floor, which most NYC public schools that were build in the first half of the 20th Century have. I hadn’t seen one of these in about ten years, and I immediately had way too big of a grin and too much excitement on my face over this sight, but they are so cool. (fyi- my other favorite type of urinal is anyone that has ice in the bottom, YES ICE!)

After I finished at the urinals I headed downstairs, and realized that this school had what just about all NYC public schools have in regards to one or two types of the same exact staircases. This staircase was the kind that had the grating as a wall, that overlooked the hallways to the doors off each floor, and then I remembered the secret bar swing of the staircases.

The grammar school that I attended had this same exact staircase, these staircases were built using steel frames, and when originally built the bottom of the staircases were left with a partially exposed steel beam on the top, and all of the students used to jump up and swing their way to the landing of each flight.

I remembered how once in the third grade, I jumped up, swung, and my classmate Cindy pushed me to go higher, and me being the super light in the weight third grader that I was, I flew up hit the ceiling, and then flopped onto the floor, stunned, but not hurt – it was so much fun.

After noticing the same build of this staircase I wanted to swing, I needed to swing.

Since I’m now a grown man, that isn’t a dwarf, I don’t need to jump. Instead all that I needed was to put my hands up, grab, and swing. As I approached the bottom of a flight, I flung my hands up to grab the steel beam for a swing, only to find out that something was different, and wrong, while realizing this I nearly tripped up on my own two feet and nearly flopped all out on the landing. I’d say my landing would have scored a 3.2, while the swing was a zero.

The steel beam was now covered!

Those no good lousy NYC public safety people must have figured out what all the kids and a grown Beehive loved to do, which is swing, and ordered the plastering of the ceiling to extend and cover the once expose steel beams to prevent any fun from occurring in these staircases.

Disappointed as I was in this newfound fact I headed down to the next one in hopes that this cover up was a one time deal, and then to the next, and so one. Sadly each one was covered for safety. If I could file a DCAS protest over this I would have.

I left the building slightly discouraged by this news. If NY1 were still outside I would surely go over to them and give them a piece of my mind about this steel beam situation, and how hundreds of thousands of NYC public school students would never be able experience the fun and excitement of swinging on the staircases, but alas, the news van was gone, and I assumed that they were out and about finding a news stand to buy some more news papers so that they could continue their news coverage. It was still a great spring day out, and off I went.

CLUB COACH!!!

2007-03-02T20:43:00.000-05:00

Here's a short that we made a few years back, and now that I found out that they're up on youtube, I'll be sure to post one or two others next week sometime.

I looked so young, and what a hairline I had!

P.S. I'm the club kid that is sitting on the bed - left hand part of the screen, and the Club Coach is Rob Shapiro, not his twin brother Rick.

My Chinese Friends…

2007-03-02T14:57:00.000-05:00

It is Friday, and I wouldn’t dare not have a post specifically geared towards all of you.

Have you guys heard about this? The way overweight man from your native land that spent nearly the entire New Years week playing online video games, and that he DIED from it. Do you guys find the humour in it as well?

Just curious.

While I anxiously anticpate your thoughts on this subject, I assume that you might think about what you are going to write first, here’s the new Killers video to allow you some time for thinking. It was filmed in Japan, and feel free to make fun of the Japanese. I won’t tell on you.

Sometimes…

2007-03-02T10:57:00.000-05:00

It actually is a Friday morning, as I feel good due to my cold feeling as though it is almost completely gone, it makes me feel even better knowing that this will allow me to me much less cranky than the previous week and a half.

Plus Masarati decided to not come into work today to cough Beethoven’s Seventh Symphony all day long – today is great!

Tic Tac Toe…

2007-03-01T15:56:00.001-05:00

Anyone game???

I place an “X” in the middle square.

Beehive’s Theory Of Human Evolution…

2007-03-01T10:32:00.000-05:00

While I might drunkenly tell you that I am an Ivy League educated scientist, soberly I must assure you that I am not. With that in mind, here’s my theory:

Modern day man stems from a once great number of oddly physically featured secular clans of prehistoric humans.

I know that many of you right now are thinking, duh, I could have told you that, but here is my different view as to how mankind has evolved into what it is today.

Keep in mind that there has been absolutely no scientific study or even a google search back up my hypotenuse (theory) - with exception of the google search that makes sure that I have used the word hypotenuse in the completely wrong fashion – but I digress...

Also, let me assure you, the reader, that there has been absolutely no actual physical proof that can be conceived as solid evidence to back up any of my theory. I’ve thought ahead on this topic, and I’m perfectly fine with allowing future generations to find the “solid evidence” and allow them to “prove” just how correct I am – for this I will be revered as a true genius.

Once proven, this theory will be the grounds to which all modern day “diseases” and “retardations” can be traced to, of what many modern day scientists believe to be the thorn in the sides of the “perfect biology” of modern day man. As such, it will greatly help modern science understand where we come from, and how we can help cure disease.

Once this is done, all of human kind can band together, under one title of “Human Being of Earth”, and begin to find a way to colonize the Milky Way.

The way I view it, many moons ago when the continents were in the Pangaea state, there were thousands of different clans roaming the Earth. Each clan was distinct to their own nature of physical humans, and for every strangely shaped clan, there was an equal and opposite strangely shaped clan, think of this as a cross between Einstein’s Theory of Relativity, and Bizarro World.

For instance if there was a really tall clan in existence, there had to be a really tiny dwarf sized clan as well, and if there was a dramatically heavy in weight clan, there had to be an equally dramatically light in weight clan as well.

Here’s a brief sample list of what some clans may have been physically: really tall, really short, dramatically thin, dramatically overweight, big head small body, hot body with an ugly face, and two headed monster-like clans.

Some of these prehistoric clans may have only consisted of a few score of humans at any given time.

Eventually these clans began to intermingle the clans local to themselves in the form of trading tangible goods with one other. Eventually this trade led to friendly cohabitations, which then led to cohabitating within the same exact regions of Pangaea, and the sharing of literal housing structures. This allowed for each of these small distinct clans to form bigger clans of which all members shared similar distinct DNA, and as such, some prehistoric humans of the newly formed clan were taller, shorter, heavier, or lighter than others within this new distinct clan.

As Pangaea began breaking apart, the once tranquil setting of distinct clans living separate from one another, while trading with each other began to fall apart, due to the need for more land from which they could obtain good sources of food and water. This led to feuding clans.

Over the course of many moons, this feuding began to subside, due to one clans overpowering of the other. The more powerful clan integrated portions of the weaker clan into their DNA pool, while allowing some members of the weaker clan to live amongst themselves as an outcast clan. This outcast clan soon became extinct, allowing more land to be used to help keep the stronger clan full of nutrition.

Keep in mind that this was going on in all of the continents, and over the moons, each continent grew further and further apart to the point that all trade became impossibility for many, many moons.

This cycle of feuding clans, to which to outcome was one clan more powerful clan, while the weaker clan lived briefly until extinction, happened over and over again – many times. Despite the occasional world flood, massive asteroid hit, and plague, these clans are what formed the modern day human beings that we all are today.

Due to this exchange of DNA, modern day humans have an enormous amount of various kinds of prehistoric DNA locked inside our modern day DNA strands, just waiting to be found, and sometimes some level of prehistoric DNA becomes more powerful in a fetus, and allows us to see a glimpse of our prehistoric past.

For instance, when we see little people that are commonly referred to as dwarves, we are really seeing a living, breathing, human being, that has been birthed in modern times, who during fetal stages of life, had one strain of their prehistoric DNA out-surge and over power all of the other prehistoric DNA, which is engrained in all of the DNA that is common to all of modern day human beings.

What we get to see in these people, that modern science has usually refers to as an anomaly to the modern day human mankind, are the specific shape and size of what was once a prehistoric human being, that once had it’s own distinct clan that consisted entirely of similarly shaped little people, whose clan became extinct, walk the Earth once again.

Thank you for reading,
Beehive Hairdresser

P.S. I hope that my theory one day gets published in an actual scientific magazine.

P.P.S. If anyone out there has any strings that could help me attain a grant or something like that, so that I could get paid to actually do the hardcore research on this myself, let me know, or at least spread the word of my theory. I don’t see why I can’t take the credit of proving my amazing theory.

Reason # 58,462 Why Al Gore Is A Jackass

2007-02-28T11:44:00.001-05:00

The pompous man who championed against freedom of speech in musical content during the 1980s, the same man who “invented the internet”, used about 191,000 kilowatt hours of electricity in 2006.

Whether or not the energy that he bought came from clean and renewable forms of energy, that is still a tremendous amount of energy for one home to eat up – especially for someone who claims to be working to save the Earth, and humanity from global warming.

Hey – it’s not as though clean energy sources such as windmill electric plants, and solar panels take up lots of ground space that could be used to plant trees, or other types of vegetation that would help cool and clean the Earth – insert sarcasm here.

And before anyone thinks that I’m all gung ho W. Bush – I think that the man has a pretzel for a brain - not a drop of sarcasm here.

Britney Spears…

2007-02-27T10:52:00.000-05:00

I haven’t wanted to directly comment on her situation since my gunt comment, which was before she buzzed her head. This post isn’t about that.

Instead it is a post to look into why I’m finding the Spears to be so much hotter now that she has a buzzed head of hair, and went after the photographers that had been hounding her to no end.

At first I thought that it was due to her post two baby athletic look that she was sporting during her rage filled night with that umbrella. That wasn’t it.

Then I thought that maybe it was the fact that she has been acting wild n’ crazy, since in the past I had been attracted to some real whack-a-do crazies, and that maybe this was just some odd characteristic that I found to be hot – but it wasn’t.

What about my finding out that the Spears has some sort of chemical addiction that she should be treated for. While in the past I might have found that side of a ladies personality to be quite a cup of tea, I’ve now grown a few more years and realize that this is not anywhere near to the classification of hot.

Maybe it has something to do with her sporty wardrobe? I like me a gal that feels comfortable in just about anything. No. No, not the reason.

It has to be the short hair. In the past I enjoyed the look of a gal with short hair. Could this be it? I doubt it, because I've grown more attracted to longer hair, and since given my past; short hair on women for the most part has been the equivalent of having “I’m loonie” tattooed on ones forehead.

Then I came across this profile photo of myself…

And I realized that the Spears has copied my hairdo, which gives her a similar look to myself. This leads me to believe that the reason I’m finding the Spears to be hotter is cause she looks like me, yes, that’s it!

I find myself to be irresistible, the Spears copies my look, thereby automatically placing herself in the Beehive thinks that person looks good category.

Thank goodness I didn’t find her to be attractive for the wrong reasons.

Sometimes…

2007-02-27T09:12:00.000-05:00

I wake up at an ungodly hour from my blaring alarm clock on a Tuesday morning with the thought of “Thank God it’s Friday, I won’t have to wake up this early for the next few days.” Which makes me smile and feel good, only to realize less than five minutes later that I am wrong, and that Tuesdays blow.

I can’t for when my cold to finally be gone, so that I am not as cranky.

I Hope I Don’t Die!

2007-02-26T11:39:00.000-05:00

There’s a temp that works on my corner of the floor who I will call Masarati because her real name is just as long and stupid and because I refer to her as Masarati anyways.

I figured Masarati for dead, never to be seen again, because she had been out of vacation way longer than anyone thought she’d be, when today out of the blue, she came back to work. Her vacation to some unknown part of the world is over, and just like Columbus, she has brought back with her disease.

For those readers who aren’t familiar with me I have a slight case of germaphia.

I’m guessing she has TB, or possibly whooping cough. I didn’t even know that people could still get either of those nasty sicknesses this day in age, but it’s obvious to me that she has somehow found both in the farthest corners of the Earth from which she grew up in, and recently visited.

Presently I am in the middle of a nasal cold in its own right. Knowing that I would be coughing, sneezing, and blowing my nose all day long I am taking Robitussin every four hours. This is the only way that could conceive of getting paid to do not much all day, and not drive everyone that I come into contact with up the walls from my germs and symptoms.

Masarati on the other hand chose no precautions in her return to work. She just said fuck it, I’m sick, I will spread my germs, and skeeve everyone within earshot out with my coughing.

Every three to five minutes she has a coughing fit. She’s should be a roadside attraction due to her timing capabilities in relation to coughing. Her coughs aren’t full coughs; just a soft breathed wheezing, mixed in with bouts of flemy/mucus gushing in and out of her air passageway. I think that my face is officially stuck on a look of grossout.

Whatever it is that Masarati has, it cannot be good for anyone that has lived his or her entire life west of Afghanistan.

UPDATE!!!

It’s 2:50PM and my head now hurts from having to listen to the day long barrage of coughing fits. Part of me wants to just go over there and tell her to shit or get off the pot, which in this case would translate to either cough up that loogie, drop dead from illness, or quit your damn coughing.

UPDATE 02/27 12:12PM

Masarati is still coughing up a storm, and yesterday I had a coworker stop by that didn't believe me on how much she was coughing. In less than four minutes we heard seven or eight hacking fits, which left us in tears of quiet laughter.

UPDATE!!! 02/28 10:03AM

If Masarati would have taken one step for each coughing fit that she has had this week, she would have made it to Milwaukee by now.

UPDATE 03/01 04:03PM

If Masarati were a flat tire I would have thrown her into the ocean already. While it isn’t in my nature to pollute, I wouldn't mind seeing her sink to the bottom of the ocean because she still will not stop her incessant coughing fits…

The Oscars…

2007-02-26T09:48:00.000-05:00

Have traditionally been lame and plain old awful to watch, and this year was no different – it is this reason that I don’t have a clue as to why people are having nonsense small talk about how bad of a show it was this year – it basically sucks every year.

My highlights of the entire thing are:

1. Eddie Murphy told Barbara Walters one whopper of a lie when he said that right now is the best time of his life and that there were no ripples in the water whatsoever. Hmm… apparently having to go through a paternity test soon with a former lover :cough scary spice cough: to see if you are indeed the true father of her baby to be, and darting accusations of having sexual affairs with the transgendered folk is truly just another day in the sun, not a cloud in the sky, not a ripple on the water. I honestly don’t know how Walters doesn’t flat out laugh until she cries when she gets answers like yours during an interview.

2. Sandra Oh, indeed looked ugly to my eyes – still, while both Helen Mirren and Streep looked so F-able for some odd reason.

3. Jessica Biel looked awful. I wonder if she got her hairstylist out of a crackerjack box for the event last night, and her gown looked like a cheap cut up rug.

4. Ellen stayed fairly true to her good comic wit. She did a great hosting job, while having no hoity toity Billy Crystally type of annoying nose up in the air attitude about hosting the Oscars.

5. The Departed and Scorsese both did not get screwed – FINALLY!

For My Readers In China

2007-02-23T15:28:00.000-05:00

This is for you. Enjoy.

Sometimes…

2007-02-23T14:14:00.000-05:00

It’s a Friday, I am fed up with office politics, and I just want to go all Anthony Anderson al la Harold & Kumar Go To White Castle in my office, but I can’t because I will get fired.

Instead I will go put my junk mail back into a different groups mailbox to take the piss out of their admin, again.

A Visit With A Nutritionist…

2007-02-23T09:52:00.001-05:00

Yesterday I went to a Nutritionist to verify that I am eating healthy in a way to gain muscle mass. It was also the only time in my life when I wished that I had an eating disorder, because without an official eating disorder my health insurance isn’t paying for my visit to a nutritionist. Apparently they would rather pay for the medical bills of people who never knew that there was a healthier way of eating, when their liver or kidney shuts down - they’d rather pay tens of thousands of dollars to allow the person to suffer miserably.

So now I’m officially out $125.00 - OUCH!

Did they think that I only went to see a Nutritionist so that I could make a new friend in the form of someone with a Masters of Nutrition while whoring her out to Cigna’s health insurance plan coverage?

This would have been partly true in my case, because when the Nutritionist was walking me through the hallway to her office I noticed that she hadn’t zipped up the back of her skirt fully, and her butt crack was being flaunted with each step that she took.

Having just met her, I didn’t dare say anything along the sarcastic lines of “Nice ass.” “So that’s what yours looks like!” Or “You sure keep yourself clean back there!” Instead I just peeked, and stayed quiet about the whole thing, cause that’s what new friends are for, while wondering if she had just been fooling around with someone in her office when I rang her buzzer.

Before I went, I had to keep a food journal of what I had been eating for about a week, and all of that anal retentive work and patience on my part gave the Nutritionist the thoughts of “You’ve been eating really good for the most part already. You should try eating some nuts as a mid morning snack instead of a Power Bar. Also, try and squeeze in some more fruit, vegetables, and an extra slice of bread.”

I walked away slightly disappointed, and I think that this was due to my hoping that she would have informed me of some secret food group that I had never heard of, a food group that only the chosen people can find out about, one that was delicious, low cost, and easy to make, but alas, none of that happened – apparently I am not one of the chosen ones, but at least I got to see part of her behind…

Today At Lunch…

2007-02-22T15:13:00.000-05:00

The pizza guy in the cafeteria was selling personal “MARGHERITA” pies.

It looked so good that I think I would like to grab some frozen margherita’s after work…

I’m Alive…

2007-02-22T09:32:00.001-05:00

All of you can stop all of the worried emails to my attention, and to answer a few people who will remain nameless, no, I did not give up blogging during Lent.

There was an unfortunate fall involving a loved one that required a visit to the ER, (everyone is fine with the exception of being really sore and will be fine long haul) which was interesting for me in the fact that there were lots of creepy people being cared for in the ER, and while I was waiting outside the CT Scan room a dwarf technician or doctor of sorts came out of the CT Scan room. It was so cool!

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, little people just make things better, they make me smile, and it’s so true. I was standing there worried that there might be some brain swelling or bleeding, when the CT Room door swung open, a woman who appeared to be in her 50s, with the shortest of hair that was bleached blonde stepped out, and all of 4’4” tall – poof a dwarf - proceeded to walk past me into a room that had “screams” coming out of it. The sight of the little person made me feel quite relaxed, and happy.

God bless America, land of the dwarves!

Is It Friday Yet???

2007-02-20T11:34:00.000-05:00

I just posted this as a comment on Will McKinley’s blog. His blog is almost always a good read, and the comment might amuse my readers here too.

In Hawaii a friend had the room right next to mine, and he ordered a porn that he just didn't like, and asked to swap out to a different one.

The hotel did this free of charge, only my friend didn't enjoy what the hotel gave him next.

This went on a handful of times until the front desk was tired of knowing that my friend just couldn't get off on the porn that the hotel was supplying, so the front desk just turned on all of the channels for his room at the price of one, and said that they couldn't help him on the matter anymore.

Thought Of This In Bed…

2007-02-20T10:38:00.000-05:00

Saturday morning I had the post sex thought of wondering if it was possible to write the word “blog” using only my fingers.

I’m a genius…

BIG NEWS!!!

2007-02-20T09:30:00.001-05:00

My really long nose hair has grown back.

Yes, it’s true, thanks to the three day weekend I found plenty of time to sit around and play with my fingers up my nose, now I can once again feel it with my finger at the tip of my nose, and play with it and feel as though it is connected to my brain.

Way cool!

More laters…

Proverbial Shakes Of Our Hands…

2007-02-16T16:33:00.000-05:00

I know that I wouldn’t possibly be able to have a great weekend if I were not to write a post that shows my honest and deep desire to get to know my readers who currently reside in the great country of China.

Great to see you, my readers of China, how’s the family? Kids doing good in school? Great, that’s wonderful. So, what’s your opinion on the thought of Britney Spears growing her bush back out?

As we all know over the past few months Brit has been caught pale crotched and fully shaved by photographers numerous times as she has come and gone assumedly in various drunken states of mind, out of cheesy nightclubs clubs, all over the world.

I for one have applauded Brit’s use of razors and other types of hair removers as though she were a Jewish or Italian mother feeding a guest at the dinner table as much as the next guy, but lets all come to our senses here. There might be a day when Brit might get bored with looking down and seeing what her lips look like while flapping in the wind below her gunt, and just might decide to spice her life up in the form of letting her pubes grow back all the way, thereby allowing herself to look like some chick that costarred alongside John Holmes in the 1970s.

Where would that leave us?

In a slightly better great place, that’s where.

Not only would I not mind seeing this happen at all. For I am a man that enjoys spicing things up now and then, I’ll have you know that I ate peach yogurt today instead of strawberry yogurt. Yes, I am that flexible.

Not only would Brit’s female parts be warmer, although slightly more hidden from the paparazzi that we like to call “Uncle” around the holidays, but if Brit grew her crotch out, the world would be a better place. We would have little pieces of Brit floating through the air in which we breathe as we walk by the muffed up one, and I for one think that would be grand.

Just imagine a hot summer day, it’s 97F degrees out, with full 100% humidity, you go to the local pizzeria for a Gino’s Italian ice, you get a large rainbow flavored cup full, go about your ways, eating it as you walk along the Hudson River next to West Side Highway, when you happen to cross paths of a fully crotch haired Britney Spears that has been up for four days straight and last showered a week earlier when she was in Rio. How exciting!

First you would take note of her outfit for submittal to gawker/stalker, and then you would whip your cell phone out to take a photo, and then you’d keep going about your business pretending that nothing cool just happened while you go back to eating your Italian ice. During all of commotion in your brain, of its registering that Britney Spears is in front of you, you never noticed that three really long jet black wavy shaped pubes flew out of Brit’s crotch and landed in your Italian ice, and then you kept eating, until you got to the bottom of the cup, where you then had to bend the cup on the sides to create a good crease for all of the last bits of melted ice and three Brit pubes to slide down your throat, and you choked on them!

How cool would that be? Very cool!

It would go down as one of the best and most unbelievable stories that you would be able to drunkenly tell everyone that you ever met again in life.

Seriously, my friends in China, think about it.

Also, might I be able to interest you and your friends in the purchase of a pocket rocket, and or a bunny? Check them out over to the far right of this page. They’re good for you.

-Beehive

Sometimes…

2007-02-16T09:44:00.001-05:00

I am very grateful that I learned to drive by going to a four hour driving school rather than through Drivers Ed in high school. Something tells me that Drivers Ed would not have ever informed me what DWA was, unlike the four hour course. My proctor at the four hour course was an Asian man around the age of 50, and he went through the definitions of DWI, DUI, and then asked if anyone knew about DWA – Driving While Asian.

I kid you not, the man went on for nearly a half an hour about how most Asian people how absolutely no idea of how to drive safely, how Asian people are the most probable cause of most accidents, and even went on to give the main avenues of NYC’s various neighborhoods that have the highest of the Asian populations to have us check out their poor driving skills ourselves.

He even went on to say that DWA is the most dangerous kind of driver, then informed us that he and his daughter were pretty much the only two Asians that could drive safely, and then went on about how his wife, who was Asian, was one of the most unsafe drivers he’s ever seen.

Had I never heard of DWA, I most likely would have had to classify the Asian driver who stopped directly in the white lines of the crosswalk, which blocked the pathways cut through the snow, only to drive through the red light after I walked behind the car yesterday morning, as a douche bag, instead I must take a step back and say to myself, "it's not her fault she was born Asian."

Thank you for simplifying my life, four hour driving course instructor.

Feed Me Sally Struthers…Feed Me…

2007-02-15T15:16:00.000-05:00

I’m starving.

And based on this photo you appear to have had plenty of food on your plates...otherwise it would have been entirely impossible for you to become a giant green dinosaur.

Everyday for the past many months I feel as though I can’t get enough food, which is one of the main reasons that I have always dreaded weight training, and doing cardio. I can’t stand always needing more food. It’s always more food, more food, and more food. My body wants to grow and maintain health, but my mouth is tiny in literal size, and my stomach can only hold so much at a time.

It’s not just the fact that working out causes much more cash in pocket to flow freely out of it for large purchases of food, but it also causes me to lose a lot of “me” time. Both items I do not like.

I have always been perfectly content to do anything and everything that I please to without having to worry about where my next meal will come from, literally in the form of where can I buy something to eat at? Not that I am broke because I eat all my money.

Sally Struthers, where are you? Feed me…

You’re not here Sally, are you? No you’re not, and you’ve let me down, again, and it is all because of your farsighted vision. You can only see those poor children starving and lacking good nutrition elsewhere, when all the while you should be worrying about how my nutritional needs are doing and how full my tummy is – don’t get me wrong, helping starving people is good, but this blog is about me, and I am starving.

Sadly Sally, because of you I am forced to go see a nutritionist.

Yeah, that’s right Sally, this is because of you, Sally!**

Not only that, but I had been waiting to see a nutritionist until I got health insurance, which I finally did this month, this way I would be “covered” on all nutritional doctors related costs, but nope. Since I am not sick with an “official” eating disorder like bulimia or anorexia I am not covered on a visit to a nutritionist. Nope, apparently being hungry nearly 24/7 just isn’t cause enough for a legitimate reason to go see a doctor under the coverage of medical insurance in the United States - China, please take me away.*

Sally, I imagine that I could blame this on the insurance industry of America, but since I’ve already blamed you on one thing today, I’ll just have to chalk this one up to you as well, and while I’m at it, I’ll throw the blame on you for all of the troubles that have gone on in Iraq over the past 27 or so years too.

Thanks a lot, Sally “Ionlyseewhatisgoingoneverywhereintheworld butlackthevisionofBeehiveshunger issuesandtheinsuranceindustryofAmerica andIraqitroublesoverthepast27years” Struthers

*All seriousness, I was kidding, China. Leave me be, unless you are going to blow up and or destroy all of the United States, then I will gladly go live in your humble yet sophisticated country.

**On a more personal level I find both reading and saying the name Sally to be quite relaxing. It just sort of rolls of my tongue, Sally. Say it, Sally. Say it again, Sally. See, doesn’t it?

What A Commute…

2007-02-14T10:24:00.000-05:00

This morning I left my place happy go lucky, with freezing rain falling down all around me. I trudged through the icy pavement with the help of an umbrella to get myself to the subway. Based on the train operator I was able to see that I got on the early train that was running late. No problem.

At 36th Street I needed to transfer from the R to a D train, here’s where I met up with my childhood friend Jimmy, who had been waiting for a few minutes on the platform already. We ride the subway together all the time, and get along just fine. No problem.

Then an empty D train goes through the station blowing its horn and not stopping, while another R train full of people got off to transfer to the D & N trains. No problem.

Finally with a packed platform full of commuters wishing they were home under the covers still not wanting to get on a crowded subway car, an N train arrived. Some people got on, some people got off. No problem.

Then another few minutes went by and a D train finally arrived. It wasn’t too crowded already, so Jimmy and I went with the herd of people attempting to go inside the car. We were towards the back of the herd, and by the time we got to the doors the subway car was jammed packed. No problem.

When it gets this crowded, there is still room to breath, room for more people to get on, and for everyone to remain civil towards one another. Only when people get on or off the train, everyone needs to walk in smaller strides due to the fact that there is very little walking room. No problem.

So Jimmy gets on the train ahead of me, and some people went on in between Jimmy and I. I was holding the door with my right hand to ensure that it didn’t close on me while I stepped one foot on the train, and then wham – there was a bottleneck. No problem.

I waited a split second for the people on the train to adjust themselves so that I could step further into the car. As I am moving further into the car to where Jimmy is, a voice yells in a very rude tone at the back of my head, “Come on, move into the car. Stop standing still. MOVE!”

We have a problem.

I turned my head and wasn’t able to know for sure who said the unneeded comments. So I said, “I am moving into the car. Calm down.”

Then the voice came out again, and I was able to say for certain that it was the woman standing over my right shoulder; she was in her late 40s to early 50s, and from her accent she appeared to be Jamaican. Jamaica is one of those countries that have every race of human being possible, so I’ll let you fill in the blank as to what she looked like.

Also, I eat lunch at work everyday with two Jamaican women, who always talk about how friendly Jamaicans are, the lady over my right shoulder apparently did not get the “be friendly” memo at their last meeting. No problem.

The rest of the problem began when this conversation happened; mind you that everything that came out of her mouth had a rude, and angry tone. I attempted to keep my tone in a civil manner, that was stern and clear.

Lady: “I wasn’t talking to you!”

Beehive: “You could have fooled me that you weren’t talking to me by yelling at the back of my head in a crowded train.”

“I wasn’t talking to you, so mind your own business!”

“Okay, so then go fuck yourself…”

WTF??? That piece of Brooklyn in me just slipped out of my mouth in the heat of the moment. I didn’t say it in a rude way – if that’s possible. I just said it in a very matter of factly.

“Excuse me?” She said.

“Yeah, I said go fuck yourself…”

Now everyone in the shoulder-to-shoulder cramped six-foot radius of the D train is looking at the both of us.

“I wasn’t talking to you. I was talking to the people in the middle of the train.”

She never yelled her first comment to the middle of the train. It was said sternly to my head and definitely meant towards me.

“When you talk into someone’s ear, or to the back of their head, you’re talking to that person.”

“Shut your mouth!”

“I don’t have to shut anything.”

For some reason I was not going to allow the lady to have the last word, and at this point Jimmy is telling me to just let it go, but the lady kept coming back with more comments. This was when the lady made some comments alluding to Jimmy and I being lovers, and that I don’t get laid - both comments I can’t recall with certainty of the exact words.

“This is my friend Jimmy, and we’re gay.”

People around us began to laugh, while they tried not to, and the lady mumbled under her breath to herself.

“Yeah, we’re gonna have sex today. I’m gonna just bend him right over at 34th Street and fuck him up the ass. It’s gonna be good.”

Jimmy cracks up laughing, along with the people around us.

Lady: blah blah blah “Dollar.”

“Oh? You’re going to pay us a dollar for doing each other? That’s really nice of you.”

“I’m not paying you shit. You’re gonna pay him a dollar.”

“I know I don’t pay for sex, but you’re gonna pay to watch me to watch me fuck my friend Jimmy?”

More laughter ensued from the crowd. Jimmy knows that in the past, particularly when I was a teenager that I had trouble keeping my mouth shut when I should have and tries to get me to stop once again. All that I’ll say is that I kicked butt in word duals…

Lady: “Oh yeah, well I make more money than you!”

“I doubt that, and I seriously don’t care.”

”You should cause, you don’t have a job and I make more money than you.”

Dumbfounded from the twists and turns of this argument I shook my head and said,

”Yeah, I got up to ride the train and not go to a job, cause I’m just like that.”

More laughter, and I see that people in the way middle of the car are trying to get a better look at us on the tips of their toes.

Jimmy, while laughing: “Stop it bro. Let it go.”

Lady: “You know how I know I make more money than you?”

“Yeah, okay. I don’t care if you make more money than me.”

Lady: “I work for the State, in a good paying job. That’s how I know that I make more money than you.”

“Well that’s great.”

I let a beat go by…

“And are you going to tell everyone on the train your social security number next?”

Even more laughter from the commuters.

“No, don’t be so ridiculous!”

“Alright then.”

Then I turned my back completely to the lady, laughed with Jimmy about the situation and told him,

“I am going to fuck you up your butt so good at 34th Street. It’s gonna be great!”

We then went on and on talking to each other in lisps about watching movies like the Notebook, soaps like Days of Our Lives, how sad we were about the news of the cancellation of Passion, how great Christopher Street is, and our other boyfriend “Pasquale”.

Pacific Street finally arrived, people got off, and more people got on. The lady who got into it with me moved away from me, and told the people coming on the train to “just push everyone aside and step on.”

Wacky Jamaican lady, I doubt that you’re reading this, but if you are, just know that you made my commute way better and more entertaining than I could have possibly have made it by myself, as well as many other commuters as well.

Tiki Barber

2007-02-14T09:23:00.001-05:00

Yesterday the NFL’s Tiki Barber of the New York Giants couldn’t have made his retirement more official when announced that he would joining the crew of NBC’s Today show.

Personally I don’t want to see Tiki retire, and as a lifelong New York Jets fan I would have liked to have seen Tiki play for the gang green. This way Tiki would know what it feels like to play on a losing team other than the Giants.

Excuse me...

2007-02-13T11:55:00.000-05:00

While Igby and I go lower our risk of a heart attack.

HINT: I am on the right.

Thanks to todays news, I shall now classify napping as a chore.

Snow!!!

2007-02-13T10:45:00.000-05:00

No, not 12 inches of Snow – Informer…

Supposedly there’s the first “substantial” snowstorm of the winter on its way that will begin later today in New York City. In preparation of this event I decided to wear a pair of much older shoes to work, this way I don’t have to worry about ruining shoes that I normally wear. Genius, I know, but like all things brilliant they lack some basic function similar to nerds lacking common sense, my shoes lack the ability to be worn and walked in quietly.

Every step that I take in my left shoe creates a rather noisy squeaky shoe fart, I find it to be very annoying, and naturally for some reason everyone that is usually out traveling most work days are in the office today, creating many occupied cubicles that I need to walk by loudly to do anything.

Part of me thinks that I should just make sure that I take lots of extra and unnecessary walks around the floor today until the squeaky shoe fart is no longer heard by my ears, and becomes just a sound that is drowned out before my brain registers it, kind of like cars passing in the streets, and planes flying overhead. In doing this, I will be relieved from the annoyance of it’s sound, and in the process of doing this, I will most likely annoy everyone that works on my floor.

Sounds like another productive workday ahead for me today.

My Journey Home...

2007-02-12T16:49:00.000-05:00

Coming home from the monster truck rally was a long trek. It took about 30 minutes to go five feet in the parking lot, and then another hour and a half to get to the Metro North train station in Brewster, NY. I bought my ticket through the ticket machine, helped the person who didn’t know how to use it, and then waited for about 15 minutes until a southbound train arrived.

It was a cold wait on the outdoor platform, and I hadn’t drained the lizard since about 12:30PM and the time now was around 6:05PM. That is an enormous length of time for me to hold it, and I had to go as soon as I could. Thankfully I got into the car with a restroom.

I went to open it and found that it was locked, so I decided to sit nearby facing the bathroom that way I would know immediately when I could go. About two minutes passed and the guy who sat behind me went to go open the door, found that it was locked, paced around a few minutes and then sat back down. When the door opened, I was going to race my way over ahead of him, and do my business.

About ten more minutes passed with the door light reading “Occupied” and I made the realization that if and when someone walked out of that bathroom they would most likely look like hell, and the bathroom would smell like the Fresh Kills landfill.

Other people went to open, waited, gave up, and then sat down. This went on for nearly 40 minutes before a small line finally formed by the doors, and one of the ticket agents finally had the heart to tell them that the bathroom was completely out of service.

I was going to have to hold it until my arrival at Grand Central. This was torturous not only due to my bladder wanting to explode, but also due to the “mature” gals that sat in the seats next to me.

They were “so grown up” and kept telling each other that statement in a serious manner, they wouldn’t shut up about how great their lives were, and how so and so is an idiot for getting moving in with her boyfriend. Those two 23 year old recent college grads with blonde hair, blue eyes, pale white skin that kept going on and on about their trips to the tanning salon must have been the life of the Saturday night apartment party at 90th and 1st.

Other notable comments from them:

“Those are nice jeans.”
“It’s so hard to find size four jeans”
“I have three degrees, one in teaching, Italian, and business. I can do anything.”

I wanted to barf the entire way from their B.S.ing.

I finally arrived at Grand Central around 7:30PM, and went scouring for the closest bathroom.

Somehow I magically found the side bathrooms that I can never find when I need them, only this time they were boarded up for construction. My bladder was hurting.

I started walking the wrong way around the concessions, and the OCD in me made me have to continue walking the long way to get to the other bathrooms.

I saw the signs getting closer and closer, thinking it was heaven, only to find that when I turned the corner there was a line of three people.

A line of three people might not sound bad, but with the large population of homeless men that frequent the mens rooms, a line of three people can take forever to get through, simply because homeless act as if they own the bathroom, because in a way, they do. These were three people that appeared to not be homeless.

Given the homeless situation of Grand Central mens bathrooms I am never quite sure what to find in there.

This time all of the stalls were taken, with what appeared to be homeless legs and feet, with exception to one pair of college ankles and sneakers. These feet were bouncing all over the place while the person fiddled around with toilet paper to cover the bowl.

When my turn came up, I went to the first urinal that opened. A man had just used it.

As I started to go, I looked down, and that’s when I saw something.

Was it? Yes. Yes. Yes, it definitely is. A turd.

That’s right, on the right side of the urinal, inside the water was someone’s turd.

You would think that the guy ahead of me would have warned me, “Hey buddy, you might want to think twice about that one.”

Seeing as it was on the far right, and I was going towards the far left I just kept going, then I started laughing.

I was standing there laughing at the scene from Kingpin, when Randy Quaid’s character is taking a dump in a urinal. I just kept thinking of different scenarios as to how this turd may have happened arrive at its destination point, all the while my “Sideshow Bob” laugh kept getting louder and louder.

When I was done I would have warned the next guy, but there no longer was a line.

It might have been for the best, this way someone else hopefully walked upon the unpleasant surprise and laughed till they cried too.

Popping My Monster Truck Cherry…

2007-02-12T11:13:00.001-05:00

A few weeks ago my oldest sister called to see if I wanted to go see a monster truck jam in Harford, CT. This type of event is way out of the realm of things that both she and I would do normally, but because she has three boys under the age of seven, she got five tickets. My brother in law was definitely attending the show, as he’d be the driver, along with my three nephews. My sister had planned on going despite her being something around six months pregnant.

At first she invited me to take her place due to a “doctors appointment” so I agreed to go, and then a week later her doctors appointment had been mysteriously cancelled and that’s where I got the impression that she just didn’t want to be seen as THAT family…three kids and another on the way at a monster truck show.

I had a few expectations for the show and the experience that goes with it. I expected that I would most likely have awkward small talk in the mini van with my brother in law, there would be a drag net of northeastern American hillbillies for the crowd in attendance, I would finally get to see the faces of that family that had no teeth that I missed when I attended the Dutchess County Fair this past summer, lots of very large / disgustingly unhealthy overweight people would be in attendance, the monster trucks would be HUGE, the blonde woman driver with breasts the size of Pam Anderson that I saw on the monster truck DVD would be there, there would be lots of screaming kids all over the place, I would become addicted to going to monster truck shows and have that be my “thing” that I just love to do.

Needless to say, no experience lives up to all expectations.

Both coming and going there was awkward small talk in mini van with my brother in law, there were not nearly as many hillbillies were in attendance that I hoped for, and I did not see that toothless family in attendance, but they could have been on the other side of the arena.

I was shocked at how many people were in attendance that actually went to go to see this because they thought it is a great way to enjoy their lives – not too many people looking like first timers to me. I got to see many people that had to stuff themselves into the seats of the arena.

The local radio station morning show crew that did a halftime show are all heavy set with exception to the rail thin annoying guy, and all of the women from the morning show had stretched out lower back tattoos that just scream “I was on Girls Gone Wild eight years ago!”

There was no Pam Anderson look-alike driver from the DVD driving there.

The man sitting next to me just had to go out and buy a Grave Digger flag so that he could be THAT guy whose main goal in life is to annoy me by sitting next to me once and wave a flag back and forth like he’s a six year old watching a Memorial Day parade go by holding and waving his flag proudly.

The monster trucks were not nearly as big as I thought they would be, and they were way louder than I was expecting, drowning out all other sounds of people, for which I was happy about. I was very grateful for being given earplugs and was bored by the monster trucks after five minutes – they were one trick ponies. The show was so directed by obese people walking around the arena floor wearing headphones that it was similar to watching a cargo ship being unloaded.

My nephews loved it, and part of me did too, simply because I finally got to see the Grave Digger. For me seeing the Grave Digger crush a bunch of cars is along the lines of me seeing the guy who played Larry on Three’s Company picking up a lady in a bar – it’s just cool.

The show wasn’t only monster trucks; they also had lawnmower racing and motocross stunt jumpers. I oddly found the lawnmower racing to be way better than the motocross jumps. I fould that the entire time of the lawnmower races and motocross jumps were happening I was waiting for a crash to happen. Not a crash that would hurt anyone, just one that looked dangerous, and it was then at that exact point in time that I felt I should just give up and start actively watching Nascar.

For me, the best part of the show was when the ring announcer asked for a disposable camera from a fan so that he could take some great photos of the motocross jumps for the fan. After the photos were taken, the roadie threw the disposable camera back; it went directly through fans hands and caught her square in the eye. CLASSIC! It was great in that it didn’t really hurt her, and she saw the camera going to hit her face, particularly her eye from a mile a way.

After the show as we walked through the parking garage I kept hearing “those little boys are so cute” in reference to my nephews, but in my long term memory I would have it be that all the women just kept looking at me with stars in their eyes, and throwing themselves at me.

Then on the ride home my two and six year old nephews argued the entire way home about whether or not we would drive left or right on the circle in the development that they live in. This argument got so heated that my six year old nephew announced to his father that he “did poo poo in his pants” and that we should go right on the circle so that we could get home quicker.

It was an obvious lie. A good one, but a lie.

Monster truck show, check.

To The Men & Women Who Took # 6019…

2007-02-12T09:26:00.001-05:00

I keep seeing on my tracking system that you guys keep using google to find out test results and instead of finding the results you keep being directed to my blog. In some cases the same person has google searched half a dozen times within five minutes only to keep finding my blog, I can’t kelp but think that the person in that situation, doing that google search, felt such despair when they kept searching the same keywords only to keep finding my blog. Let me give you a head up, the search results are most likely not going to change 45 seconds later –especially when it’s 3AM on a Friday night in Rockland County, NY.

While I am grateful to be getting such high placement in google searches, and I hope that you all keep coming back because you enjoy what you read, I feel as though I am doing a disservice to all of you.

With this in mind, I shall offer all of you my memory.

I recall that the instructions that DCAS gave out at the beginning of the test informed us that the test results would go out by the USPS sometime around 2/22/2007. So sit tight, and we will all get our results back within about two weeks – hopefully.

If we - meaning I, cause I don’t care what other people got as long as I get placed in a good number on the list…don’t receive my test results by the beginning of March I am going to call DCAS.

I hope that this helps, good luck, and maybe we’ll be in the fire academy together.

Another Extension Of My Hand…

2007-02-09T16:10:00.000-05:00

I couldn’t think of a better way to spend my Friday afternoon than attempting to make a stab at diplomacy with regards to China. So with that in mind, here is my attempt to create world peace and harbor nothing but good feelings toward my fellow man. In case you didn’t already know this about me, I would like to get to know my readers in China better.

Here are some questions that I have for my Chinese readers…

-What’s the big news in the Henan Province nowadays?

-Was the actual news swept under the rug and replaced with the Anna Nicole death story on your side of the world too?

-Whose side did you take in the Trump / Rosie saga?

-Is there one Province that everyone doesn’t like for one reason or another? Think New Jersey for Americans, and New Foundland for Canadians. Which Province might it be your home country?

-Didn’t those Super Bowl commercials suck this year?

-If you’ve ever been in New York City, have you eaten out at a Chinese restaurant? Could you recommend the one that you find to have been most like your homelands cooking and taste?

-Just for fun do you guys ever walk around saying things like “Ooooh yeah.” And “Eh?” in a Canadian accent?

If you could let me know, I would be most grateful. Maybe a post in the comments portion, or maybe you’ll send me an email? beehivehairdresser@hotmail.com

I look forward to hearing from you.

-Beehive

Sometimes…

2007-02-09T11:38:00.000-05:00

I just want there to be a snowstorm just to break up the monotony of a freezing cold dry winter.

When there is a good snowstorm people will write their names in the snow, i.e. Megan. Other times people will write names plus a tag line, i.e. Megan was here, Megan is the best.

I myself enjoy going around and seeing what people have written, and then adding my own taglines to the end, i.e. Megan was here, to suck cock. Megan is the best 20 peso whore this side of the Mississippi!

I enjoy going home after doing my add-ons, and envision what Megan is thinking the next morning, when she goes outside to find that “Megan does porn!”

The Internet

2007-02-09T09:24:00.000-05:00

Yesterday's Anna Nicole news, made me once again think about how the internet is a very strange place. A person is able to find out way too much information about people in a very quick and weird manner – weird in the way that humans have figured out how to get enormous chunks of information to fly at the speed of light through fiber glass lines, copper coaxial cables, T1/T3 lines, and bouncing through the air off of satellites, in only 1’s and 0’s, throw in a bunch of data center nodes, firewalls, routers, and whatnot, to give you way too much information after a simple Google type search on almost any given item in less that 0.02 seconds.

Forget the age-old question of why are we here; the new question I have is “How did they figure all of this out?”

Anna Nicole Smith…

2007-02-08T15:56:00.000-05:00

CNN.com is reporting that Anna Nicole Smith is dead. Not sure how true the story is, and I honestly feel saddened by this news. I hope that it is just an out of control Keith Richards type story.

UPDATE!!! 20 minutes into this saga, and the news has kept up with their first story of her passing, and now, because of this, I do feel that the terrorists have won... :(

UPDATE!!! 23 hours into this and the big news is that she is still dead...

The War On Common Sense…

2007-02-08T10:22:00.001-05:00

Last night I received a phone call from one of my sisters who is 29. She had just returned home and her house smelled of gasoline, so she checked the stove and found that she hadn’t fully turned off the pilot on one of the burners. The flame was off, but the valve had been left open, allowing gas to permeate throughout her home. She immediately turned off the gas, and called me.

Here’s our conversation, keep in mind that this is a woman who was always near the top of her class, she’s also a college graduate, and I am someone that barely graduated high school due to my being bored by it, and having not cared about schooling in general.

Sis: I don’t know what to do, and I’m scared to call mom, cause she’ll freak out over my not realizing that I didn’t turn the stove off. I don’t know how to get the smell of gas out of the house. What should I do?

Bee: Umm…open the windows and let the air clear out.

Sis: How many?

Bee: A few, and make sure that they are on opposite ends of the house so that you get good cross ventilation.

I heard windows opening.

Sis: Okay what about if it smells of gas upstairs?

Bee: Does it?

I then heard the sound of footsteps going up stairs.

Sis: Yeah.

Bee: Open some more windows and air it out.

Sis: How long do I need to air it out?

Bee: Until the gas is no longer there.

Sis: Is that going to take a couple of days?

Bee: You turned the gas off, right?

Sis: Yeah.

Bee: Should be less than an hour, just check before you close the windows that the gas isn’t still in there.

Common sense: 1
Sister: 0

You should watch her drive a car…

Public Safety Announcement (aka Sergeant Slaughter’s message): If you are ever in a building and smell gasoline don’t go walking around trying to find out where the smell is coming from. You can pass out and die very easily from doing such things. Also, don’t light a match or spark anything; you can explode, along with the building that you are in, which often times will lead to fatality. Instead you should evacuate the building, and call the fire department, and or your local gas company. The fire department has breathing masks and equipment specifically designed to track the amount of gas in the air, which will allow them to safely and quickly find out where the leak is, and stop it.

Neither Here Nor There…

2007-02-07T15:49:00.001-05:00

After having an awful day yesterday that involved hitting a car that almost mowed me down as it flew by within inches while in reverse, dealing with scum of the Earth “Financial Planners” at work, finding out that two of good my work slacks have holes on the right back pocket from my wallet, having to deal with riding the F train during rush hour when everyone on board is a complete idiot, and being offered a job that I would probably enjoy doing and learn a lot from but cannot possibly do right now so I had to decline due to lack of being able to live on peanuts an hour - my mind is still spinning.

With that in mind…

Get it? Huh?

No? Oh well, here’s a story from your Uncle Beehive.

Here’s the tale of when I was only one degree from Kevin Bacon.

I was standing outside of a venue on Church near the Tribeca Grand, and had heard that Bacon was inside the bar next door. I knew that this rumor that I couldn’t really care about was most likely true, since during some of the conversations that I had while drinking to quell my moods with the bartender/owner on previous nights it had come up that Bacon frequents her place often.

I was standing outside talking to a buddy of mine, “Herb”. Herb was going on and on about some story that was most likely not true when I saw Kevin Bacon walk by. I interrupted Herb, and said, “There’s Kevin Bacon.”

Herb searched, spotted, locked in on him, and then said, “Watch this.”

Seeing his eye movement, and hearing his words made me worry for a moment, since he is one to tell stories that involve lots of under the table crime related themes, that seem like they are only fantasy, yet I wouldn’t doubt if maybe one or two were actually true.

I thought to myself “What have I done?” and “I’m most likely going to get arrested as an accomplice in an assault on Kevin Bacon.”

Herb turns and walks in what one would view as an aggressive walk/posture toward Bacon and his friend as they were waiting for the street light to change, and shouted, “HEY YO, BACON!!!” while pressing his chest out towards Bacon looking as though he wants to size up Bacon, eat him for dinner, and then just beat him up for no good reason.

Bacon turns and said, “Yeah” in his cool manner of “yeah, I was in Footloose AND Tremors.”

Herb, shouts “HEY I JUST WANNA KNOW WHERE YOU GONNA VOTE?” (This was right before the second Bush Presidential election theft of 2004)

Bacon gestured west and said, “Down by the water.”
Herb, “YOU’RE NOT REGISTERED IN PHILLY NO MORE?”
Bacon, “Naahh, I’ve been down there for about 18 years now.”
Herb, “OKAY, GOOD STUFF MAN. GLAD YOU’RE VOTING.”
Bacon, “Great.”

The light changed and Bacon walked off with everyone saying a friendly good night to one another.

Herb turns to me and grins, “Wasn’t that great?”

WTF???

“How is asking Kevin Bacon where he votes great?”

“See, the next time I’m in Philly and I’m at a political gathering (Herb’s family are big in PA politics) and I see him, I’m gonna ask him if he remembers some guy on the street in New York asking him where he votes, and then, I’ll be in with him.”

“Yeah, okay Herb.”

Some two years later I guess that makes me some plus two degrees from Kevin Bacon, twice removed, carry a one and then multiply by eight…yeah, that’s about right.

Long Johns

2007-02-06T16:53:00.000-05:00

This week has marked the first time that I’ve worn long johns since I was about age eight, and after three days of wearing them as an adult I have come to a few conclusions.

1. They actually work in keeping my legs warmer from the cold temperatures.
2. They don’t make me feel too hot when I am inside.
3. Whenever I walk through my office corridors I feel as though the butt portion of the long johns are bunching up to the point that they look as though I am wearing an adult diaper.

Intruder

2007-02-06T11:52:00.000-05:00

Last night as I turned the key to the front door I began to hear the ringing of an alarm, and I immediately thought, “Oh my God, my place is on fire!” The thought of a fire blazing inside my place made me try to get into my place faster, so that I could run around my living room in the panic of not knowing what to save first, while every now and then looking at the fire to see just how big it got, only to freak out over the fact that most of my physical possessions would soon be burned and lost forever.

So I proceeded to open up my inner door in a more hurried fashion to see just what was on fire when I realized that it was not the smoke alarm that was going off, it definitely wasn’t the alarm to my alarm clock, and that left only one thing that could be ringing so loud - it must be the alarm on my stove.

The alarm on my stove going off?!?!? But the only way that it could go off is if someone sets to timer to begin counting down…

This made my mind jump to the conclusion that an intruder must have broken into my place, set the timer to some unknown amount of time, hid themselves, let the alarm ring off the hook for God knows how long, and that I most likely had upset the intruder by turning the blaring alarm off that he or she had been listening to while sleeping so contently.

So I did what every grown man that shouldn’t be scared of such things anymore would do. I turned on every light in the place as quick as possible, and I then did a room by room search for a now awakened intruder, who just might be wiping eye crunchies out of his eyes.

The living room was immediately cleared; so I went for the dining room, and that’s when I saw the dining room table, with it table cloth on top of it. I was worried that an intruder might have been lying across all four chairs to conceal his body under the cloth, so I creeped up to the edge of the table and the WHAM! I slung my head and arms under the table ready for a showdown. Nothing, it was clear. The bedroom was next, I ran back there and dropped to the floor in an attempt to surprise the intruder that could have been hiding under my bed, nothing again, clear. I checked the bedroom closet, and found that it was clear.

This entire time I kept saying “Clear” “Clear” as I went from room to room.

Next up was the bathroom, when I looked inside I wanted to kick myself for accidentally buying the frosted shower curtain liner that hinders my seeing right through to the shower. So I nervously shoved the shower curtain and liner to the side with a “WHHAAA” only to find nothing again, clear.

This left one good room as a possible hiding place, the Tony Bennett room. The door was left open at about a 45 degree angle, so I assumed that someone must have been hiding behind that door. So I ran and kicked the door open, and then threw my body into the door so that I could keep the intruder trapped behind the door while I could fumble with the light switch. Clear.

Now I was really scared. With all of my rooms cleared it meant that there was only one place left that an intruder could possibly be hiding – inside the coat closet.

In order to try and clear this closet I would end up having to put my body in the line of fire if the intruder had a gun, and since I didn’t want to get shot I thought that maybe I could just leave the intruder inside the coat closet, leave my coat on a chair, and hope that the intruder would just let himself out of the closet and my then out of my place after I went to bed in a few hours.

I contemplated this for a few minutes until I thought I was crazy for thinking that the intruder would just let himself out without killing me, or maybe even just wounding me to the point that I could not walk, leaving me for dead, and then set the kitchen alarm to go off. I had to at least try to clear this closet, even if it meant death.

I wanted to get the upper hand in this duel of hide and seek. So I tiptoed quietly up to the closet door, and the in one swift move turned the knob, pulled the door open and lunged in at my other coats and suits.

Clear.

My apartment was clear. No intruder magically broke in, set my the alarm on my stove, and let in ring off the hook, regardless of whether or not they stayed or left. The intruder just weren’t there to begin with, and I will just keep telling myself this.

The way I figure it, it was most likely that the stove alarm is breaking down since the alarm went off for no reason a few weeks back as well.

Tune in next time, when I might have walked in on an intruder that broke into my place, left everything untouched, with exception to the toilet being flushed once, and has consequently run the entire time while I was out.

Remember My Missed Connection Post???

2007-02-05T14:31:00.000-05:00

This one from last week, the ad got picked up on gowanuslouge, and then by gawker. I’m so happy to see that my apology has spread, and hopefully it is finding its intended recipients.

And You Are???

2007-02-05T11:13:00.000-05:00

I was once inside the viewing room at the Museum of Television and Radio with my buddy Y. He and I were watching a bunch of Andy Kaufman stuff that can probably be found on the internet easily nowadays and without having to go to a museum at such costs.

Anyways, we were watching one of Kaufman’s specials when a door that was labeled “PRIVATE” opened up and a museum rep came out with three men. One guy looked very familiar, yet I couldn’t place his name.

“Y, look it’s that guy from those movies.” I said casually. He looked like the guy from Mickey Blue Eyes, and The Godfather. It was what’s his name???

Neither Y nor I could place his name for a half an hour as he sat next to me with two other men watching something.

Then the name popped into my head, JAMES CAAN!!!

That’s who was sitting next to me.

I felt like George Castanza with the thought of “Isn’t it weird to be sitting next to James Caan while at the Museum of Television and Radio” as I gave Mr. Caan the look over to see if he was sporting any bling.

Caan did have bling on; he was wearing a huge gold ring with some type of enormous stone in the center of it. It looked as though the one and only Mr. James Caan was wearing a college class ring?

Why would he do that???

I gave the look over once again, and could see that the ring was actually a championship ring. I looked at Caan’s face again, and then realized that the man wasn’t James Caan, but in fact it was Frank Gifford, and the ring was the 1956 NFL Championship ring that he won when he played football with the NY Giants.

They kind of look similar, see, the top is Gifford, and the bottom is Caan – or, is it the other way around? ZING!

This raised a new question in my head, particularly “What the hell is Frank Gifford doing inside the Museum of Television and Radio?”

So I did what all inquiring minds would do, and subtly leaned over to my right to see what they had been watching and laughing about for the previous half an hour.

I turned the corner, looked, and saw lots of old Super Bowl commercials! They decided to go to the museum and watch Super Bowl commercials!?!?!?!?

Not only that, but they found each commercial to be better than the previous one. Almost as if they had never seen a commercial before, let alone seen anything remotely funny before.

Maybe the three of them really never watched any of those commercials in the past, or maybe they all got really stoned and thought what the hell, lets go watch old commercials, or maybe they just have a genuine interest and love of commercials and they got together once a week to sit down, watch, and reminisce over the good ones – kind of like a coffee klatch.

I don’t know what their reasons of watching those commercials were for sure, but I would bet to say that Frank Gifford laughed his ass off last night during the game breaks last night, and that maybe, just maybe he is still giggling about the talking apes plotting on how to steal Bud Light this morning.

Habla Espanol???

2007-02-05T10:12:00.000-05:00

Por que? Mi llamo Beehive. Adonde es el bano? Soy biblioteca en la esuela. Aye, dolor de estumago!!!

My Spanish isn’t what it used to be when I was in the prime of my Spanish fluency in remedial summer school Spanish class, however, someone in Barcelona requested a translation of my blog into the Spanish language. Here it is, way cool!

Welcome my newfound Spaniard friends.

Mi casa, y su casa.

Chinese Blog Readers…

2007-02-02T16:15:00.000-05:00

I would love to know more about all of you. Your fellow countrymen have visited me in the past, and I’ve seen your kind on other people blog tracking too, same IP addresses and all.

What do you think of American bloggers? Are you sitting around a huge group of people reading them our blogs? Making fun of us silly Americans? Are you an expatriot living abroad? How’s life? Do you blog as well? Do you only really look at blogs while wasting time at work too?

What sorts of news channels do you get?
Here in America we are no longer allowed to get the local channels from our non local markets, I lost my feed from Los Angeles. They say you guys have giant information blackouts over there, is it true?

What do you think of Americans? Do you have the same distaste for the French as we do? Even though we don’t really know why. Where do you guys vacation? Are you only looking at our blogs in hopes of finding out what’s going on with American Idol? In school was everyone forced to be penpals with a school from another country as us Americans? If so, what country? What’s your take on fast food? Global warming? Remember Happy Days with the Fonz? Wasn’t he cool? Do you guys get weekends off over there too?

Do you think that I look like someone you know? Cause most Americans think I am the spitting image of a friend of theirs, and if in fact I looked like some young Chinese man that you’re friends with, it would make my head explode.

Basically, what’s you’re deal? I am very curious…

Creepy Patrol…

2007-02-02T13:17:00.000-05:00

I was looking for a video online from when I was an extra on SNL; it was a sketch that had me as a dancing church lady with Dana Carvey. Youtube took down all of the ones that were obviously placed there without proper consent from Broadway Video; however, there is a clip of the sketch up on youtube.com labeled “Re: Ted Haggard Bashing Gays - from JESUS CAMP the Movie” and it has me dancing in it.

According to his website Ted Haggard is the Senior Pastor of New Life Church, and President of the National Association of Evangelicals. I never heard of Ted Haggard until last fall when news stories about him surfaced that he resigned from the Evangelical church that he started out of his basement due to “sexually immoral conduct.”

This sexually immoral conduct allegedly had something to do with his massage that he received from some guy from Denver, CO and according to CNN.com Haggard admitted to also buying methamphetamine. To which Haggard entered “rehab” for - the meth, not the guy on guy stuff.

HAGGARD (To say the least)

Somehow Haggard found enough time between his buying meth (buying not doing meth?) and getting massages from men that involved “sexual immortality” to be taped for the documentary called Jesus Camp. From the title, and trailer, I am creeped out by the documentary, even though Haggard did not direct Jesus Camp; the subject of kids going to any kind of religious camp is just creepy to me.

Here’s the trailer, I have no sound on my work monitor, and I am told that Haggard bashes gays on this, if it is true, even more the creepy.

Now this forces me to go out and rent this movie that I find creepy just from trailer, and title alone, just to see if indeed Haggard referred to that clip from SNL actually on the film.

I hope that Haggard doesn’t refer to the sketch, or worse, have a copy of the sketch himself in his own private collection of sorts.

THAT would be oh so creepy.

And if you’re interested I’m the eighth church lady to enter the scene, and end up on the top left corner of the screen.

God Damned Hippies!

2007-02-02T11:06:00.000-05:00

Last night as I walked home from a trip to the supermarket without a clear mind (I ended up buying milk AND Yoo-Hoo chocolate syrup), I ended up passing one of the neighborhoods regular local yokel crazies.

We approached each other from opposite directions on the sidewalk. When I was about 50 feet away I moved over to the far left to avoid her path on my far right, at around this time she end up cursing the neighborhood. She was shouting, “God Damned fucking neighborhood! This place is going to the shithouse!”

These are usual phrases that this particular woman shouts as she walks “harmlessly” through the streets of Brooklyn. Then as I passed she called me a “God damned hippie!” She then went on shouting that all of the good damned hippies (me) were ruining the neighborhood.

I love Brooklyn…

Post No Bills

2007-02-01T15:00:00.000-05:00

Right before I went down to get some lunch a short while ago I went to freshen up a bit in the men’s room, and that’s when I saw the new sign that someone typed up and posted above the middle urinal.

Here it is:

In case you cannot read it, allow me to quote it:

“Attention Slobs!!!

Please confine your urine to the urinal.

If you have a problem, please see a doctor.”

I might not be a rocket scientist, but I think that the person who wrote this is referring to whoever keeps missing the porcelain of the urinals – by a lot.

While I understand that there are some morbidly obese men on my floor who have most likely not seen their wankers since they were around age 10, who have no idea where they are aiming, or where they are dripping are to blame. I do not believe that they are not they acted alone when it comes to this crime.

Over the past few months there have been a rash of new bankers moving into cubes and offices on my floor, and this problem of urine on the floor in front of the urinals has become worse and worse to the point that a game of hopscotch is needed to see just where you can step without getting the bottoms of your shoes filthy. While I am not blaming these new bankers for the filth, I must say that they are supsected to be behind it. It is almost as if these new bankers enjoy playing the game of who could pee furthest and still get it in, and it must come to an end.

Mysterious sign maker, I applaud you.