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To A Certain Ex Girlfriend Of Mine,

Looks like today is your special day.

That’s right, a holiday just for you.

Read, learn, then go be anger or annoyed or scared or whatever it is you feel.

Yours Truly,
Just Pretend I Didn’t Just Write This & Continue Our Lack Of Communication

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To The News,

You hyped up this whole Danny Devito being drunk on the View as being hilarious, shocking, and full of craziness. This came no where near to be as hilarious, shocking, and full of craziness as Mariah Carey having a nervous meltdown live on TRL during an interview with Carson Daily.

Come back to me when that is topped, or at least is Mariah is beginning to have another one of her “moments”.

Regards,
Disappointed BH

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Dear Bowflex Revolution,

Why do you tempt me so? Why must you be that highly paid ($2500) whore that I want and need, yet know that I don’t want to spend all my money in one shot.

You stand in each picture with the body language that states “I’m spread eagle for you. Take me know.”

10 year limited warranty…I’m yours.

HUSS HUSS HUSS HUSS HUSS!

Sincerely,
The Man Whose Bank Account Will Not Want Me To Call The Next Day

1 Comment »

Instead of going to college or joining the military the same way every other person I graduated with did I went straight into the work force. Let us just imagine that Mayor Mike Bloomberg owned a company valued at a couple of billion dollars and that I worked there, cause he does, and I did.

I ended up at Bloomberg after high school when at that point in time I knew that college just wasn’t for me at that point in my life. I had some connections there from certain family members of mine having worked with/at Bloomberg for decades.

That year the corporate Christmas party was at the Museum of Natural History. Beforehand, I went out to dinner with my brother-in-law, and a guy we worked with named Andy. I had ordered an Amstel with my burger, the waitress took the order, when she arrived back with our drinks she informed me that the bartender needed to see id. The bartender was still at the bar, so I whipped out my id that stated I was 18.

This was one of the tricks that I did throughout my time before age 21 when I wanted to drink at a bar, sometimes it worked, other times it didn’t. I never used a fake id or that of someone else. I was too honest. In this particular case the waitress informed me that I since I wasn’t 21, she couldn’t serve me. I ended up with a Coke.

My sister met the three of us at the pub. She ordered an Amstel, and the three of us laughed and she was left clueless as to why. After our burgers we headed over to the museum.

It was the first Thursday in December, and it was not frigid cold yet. It was just cool enough to be bearable for December in New York City. We went through all of the security and wham we were inside.

Almost the entire museum was rented out for this party. There were dozens upon dozens of paid entertainers dressed as animals, creatures, and a few street magicians floating about. A magician somehow pulled a silver dollar from out of my hand without my knowledge. These were people that had good acts.

After the short magic trick, Mike Bloomberg came over to us, my sister in particular and said, “Didn’t I always tell you that ______ was no good for you?” and gave her and my brother in law a warm greeting. Andy and I were introduced, some small talk ensued, and Mike left to mingle with some other partiers.

Andy and I didn’t want to be stuck with a married couple all night, so we informed them that we were going to take a look around. That would be the last that I would see of my sister and brother in law that night.

We made our way through a couple of the open bars. There were a ton of open bars set up. Then we decided to take a look at what was happening on the second floor. At this point in time I could begin to feel a little bit buzzed. I was smiling and laughing at every little thing.

I have an inclination that Andy was feeling a buzz too. He and I stood on the top of the stairs watching a person on stilts dressed as a tree blend into the wall, and then after a few minutes without moving just start to walk. No one would be ready for that to happen, and women would scream loudly at the scary sight of a tree walking. I remember that I laughed so hard that I spilled some of my drink all over my shoes.

Andy and I were going round for round. He was in his early 30s. Well over 6’, and about 200lbs. I on the other hand was 18 years old and maybe 5’9” / 115lbs at the time. I was too naïve to know that I was setting myself up for disaster.

Andy and I continued to go round for round throughout the museum. We kept wondering where all of the other guys we worked with were. A few hours of this wondering and wandering happened. Finally, we arrived at yet another dance / club themed room, and ran into a bunch of our coworkers.

I will just state that by this time I was flat out bombed. Every time I saw Benny and his wife I would shout out “BENNY!!! WE WERE LOOKING ALL OVER FOR YOU!” Then hug him and his wife. I remember doing that numerous times, and I am told that I did that over a dozen times. I did the same thing to my coworker Joe and his wife.

Drinking lots of free beer takes its toll, and I had to go find a bathroom to relieve myself in a quick way. I told everyone that I’d be back in a few, and was off the find a mens room.

The Museum of Natural History is HUGE! The restrooms there were few and far between. I remember walking up and down flights of stairs. I made a left or two, and then had to ask where the bathroom was.

The bathroom was finally in sight, and I was walking directly towards it when a group of human marching wooden soldiers walked in front of the mens room. This site enamored me. Four of the five wooden soldiers were in perfect unison, while the fifth was slightly off in all his timing.

I stood there and laughed to myself while mumbling the last one is all out of sync. Hahaha!

After I got bored with laughing at the wooden soldiers I went to bathroom.

When I drink I don’t just pee, I make a scene in the bathroom, which isn’t bad when it is a single bathroom, however, when it is a public bathroom like the museum has, everyone knows what I’m doing.

I let my body relax nice and good. Then begin to go, and then moan really loudly to myself. It just feels really good letting it all out in those situations, despite the knowledge that almost all other people in the bathroom are completely annoyed by my actions. It’s just what I do.

I finished up, washed my hands and went to go find that dancing room where I left everyone.

I came out of the mens room and saw the marching human wooden soldiers again. This time they were all in sync. I laughed and told a stranger that they wouldn’t believe how the fifth soldier was a split second off in his timing less than five minutes earlier, and that those soldiers were really cool.

I tried to remember how I got to the bathroom. I had been keeping track of all my turns and stairs up until the wooden soldiers scene. I was lost. I had no idea other than I had been on stairs and made either a left or right, plus another left or right, along with another staircase.

I had decided that I would just wander around until I found it, only I didn’t just wander, I hit up the open bars along the way as needed.

Then there’s a space of time that I don’t have a clue as to what happened. Then I remember I was walking. Then I remember someone calling my name. They were shouting it. I opened my eyes and saw Todd who worked on the floor beneath me. He was holding his hands on each side of my head and asked what I was doing.

Delirious as I was I looked over and saw Mike Bloomberg with bottles of what appeared to be champagne in each hand, along with a two ring supply of personal body guards. They were there to ensure his safety and that nobody got near him that shouldn’t. I told Todd that I was going to go thank Mike for throwing a great party. Todd informed me that this was not the best idea, and told me not to go near Mike. I told him that I would thank Mike next time I saw him.

Todd could obviously see that I was in no shape to be anywhere. He asked how I was getting home, to which I replied Mr. X (my brother in laws brother) was going to drive me home. Todd knew who Mr. X was, and how Mr. X has a short fuse to his temper, he told me that if Mr. X won’t drive me home or if I couldn’t find Mr. X that I should take a cab to Todd’s apartment and crash on his couch. I always got the feeling that Todd looked at me as if I were his little brother since we had a similar face. The guys that Todd worked with called me Little Todd.

Todd told me his address, and asked me to repeat it numerous times. When he felt comfortable with the thought that I knew the address he let me go on about my way. No less than 30 seconds after leaving Todd the only portion of his address that I could remember was that it was in the East 60s somewhere.

Then came another prolonged period of time in which I was apparently walking around, yet blacked out at the same time. I know this due to the fact that when I opened my eyes I found that I was walking next to a guy dressed in a clown outfit.

The clown had his left arm around me, and asked if I was lost. I told him that I was lost and I was looking for Mr. X. He informed me that he would help me find Mr. X. I put my right arm around his clown shoulders and off we went.

We walked and walked and walked. Then I realized that the clown had been walking me in a giant circle around a bench full of partygoers. I did not like that one bit. I thought that the clown knew where Mr. X was, and did not want to help me find him.

I demanded he take me to Mr. X. Due to our arms being around each other my arm easily and unknowingly slipped this clown into a headlock and I screamed,” MR. X! TAKE ME TO MR. X!” Repeatedly.

The clown was begging for me to let him go, and yet I just screamed even more. MR. X! TAKE ME TO MR. X!

It was while screaming Mr. X that I felt my headlock hold come undone and my feet no longer touch the ground. Two people had picked up off of the clown.

I looked to my left with worry and saw that it was Mr. X. I told him that I had been looking all over for him. He informed me that he knows, and that everyone in the company knew I was looking for him due to the whole clown in a headlock and me screaming his name. I looked to my right and the other person was a guy that I worked with. No security was throwing me out.

We were on the way to yet another dance / club type room inside the museum. This room is better known as the Whale Room to actual museum patrons.

The Whale Room was packed. I immediately found an open bar and accidentally slammed myself to a spot to the bar knocking two guys out of the way. I was in the thought that I needed more beer. It was much later in the night of the party, and the bartenders no longer bothered to give cups of beer. They were just handing out bottles.

When Mr. X saw that I had more beer in my hands he attempted to take it away from me, so I walked and danced my way quickly to the other side of the Whale Room where I could drink without worry of being cutoff. I danced my heart out and looked up at the ceiling and saw the whale that hangs from the ceiling was swimming in place. I had been to the museum before and knew that the whale was not supposed to do that. Then I looked at the display cases of the animals and saw them moving too.

I headed over to Mr. X and the guys I worked with, due to the fear of being attacked by an animal and being eaten by a whale. Andy and another coworker were chatting by an appetizer table, and while I attempted to join their conversation I was distracted by the drunk woman with huge breasts that were literally hanging out of her glittery dress, I saw nipple. We all saw nipple – although I didn’t realize that everyone else had already seen the nipple.

I turned to Andy and coworker and shouted, “DUDE I SEE HER NIPPLE! LOOK AT HER TITS! THEY’RE HANGING OUT OF HER DRESS!”

Andy and coworker wanted none of my conversation. In fact they had been quietly discussing her breasts and nipples before I got to them. I blew up their spot. The drunk woman adjusted her dress and titties were lost from sight.

At this point in time Mr. X had enough of my antics and informed me that it was time to go. Naturally with my lack of understanding that I had made a fool of myself along with my lack of knowledge that I had embarrassed everyone that I was with I did not want to leave. I looked at the time and saw that it was only 9:30PM. There were still another few hours left of the party and I wanted to stay for all of them.

Mr. X got in my face and said, “If you weren’t _____’s brother I would have beat the shit out of you already!”

This I understood, and knew that it was time to leave the party.

Mr. X told me to hold onto his shoulders while we walked through the crowd. I took hold, and we made our way along with his date. Mr. X said goodnight to many many people that he worked with along the way, and I made sure to wish them a drunken good night as well. Mr. X did not appreciate my friendly goodbyes to his coworkers and managers.

We got to his SUV, he opened the back door, and I flopped my body onto the back seat. My legs were left hanging out, and I was unable to pull them in. He maneuvered my legs in the back, and closed the door. I passed out.

I awoke somewhere in the 20s on the east side. The car was stuffy, and I needed air. Mr. X and I had some words, and he finally allowed the window in the back to remain open while we drove.

He drove me to my place in Brooklyn. He kept asking if I remembered where I actually lived, and I was adamant that I lived at that specific place. When we got to my place he informed me that he wasn’t sure that I lived there and wanted to walk me to the door to make sure that I got in okay. I opened the door and said, “See, I told you I lived…” At this point Mr. X shoved me into my place were I landed against the wall.

Mr. X closed the door behind his push and there I was. Happy as can be about having a good night, and now coming to a realization to the fact that I completely ruined the party for Mr. X.

The next day I went to work without a hangover. Each and every person that saw me laughed and had a story to tell about my being so drunk that I did….

A few months later my sister was talking with a woman that worked for her, and found out that the womans husband worked the Bloomberg security detail the night of the party. My sister inquired as to why there was so much security around him and if there were any threats.

The woman that worked for my sister said that it was basically to ensure his safety, and no real threats. Only a drunk young looking employee with a shaved head that got too close to him, which described me to the tee that day.

3 Comments »

For the past few weeks I’ve been seeing this Jared Leto lookalike on MTV in the mornings.

I enjoyed the songs and videos I had been seeing. Yet I kept seeing this guy and I always had the thought that this guy is just trying way too hard to look like Jared Leto.

I began to think maybe the singer was having a Corey Feldman/Michael Jackson type phase, only replace Jackson with Leto.

Yesterday I was so bugged out by this mans audacity to style himself after Leto so much so that I had to find out who the lead singer to 30 Seconds to Mars was. This led me to Google, which informed me to the astonishing fact that this wannabe Leto was modeling himself after himself.

That’s right Jordan Catalano is indeed the singer of this band.

I feel much better knowing this.

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It is 9:44AM and I am at work in my cube. My eyes are all puffy cause I am tired. I have way too much work on my plate for today due to the fact that I don’t want to do any work whatsoever. I’ve gone through all of my blog links that get me through my day and have finished reading everything I possibly could. To top it off I’m still weirded out from my MySpace search of a kid that I went to high school with. He has a kid! It’s not so much that a 26 year old man has a kid, it’s more so the fact that this one 26 year old man in particular actually has a kid. This is the same man who during gym would run into the walls of the gymnasium over and over and over with the thought that if he ran hard enough and kicked back at the right time he would do a flip and land on his feet. He was definately not the sharpest. This kid turned man is now responsible for the life of a child!

I just want to go back home, curl up under my sheets and oh so comfy comforter, and then sleep until my body can’t sleep any more. After that, I want to play some more of PS2’s Grand Theft Auto Liberty City Stories. That would be a much better way to spend my Wednesday.

This whole work thing is not doing it for me today.

I’ll post more later, this day needs more blogging in order to pass the time.

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Welcome to I Am A Pig On Tuesday…

This week we take a look at our babe of the week, the lovely Ms. Britney Spears-K-Fed.

Oh Britney, my humble hoe, how we love the idea of fondling your breasts while you dance on our penis. Oh Britney, the worlds little gossip baby machine; you are one of a kind.

Personally I first recall seeing Ms. Spears-K-Fed back in the late 90s when MTV aired Hit Me Baby One More Time. At that very moment I knew that I wanted to tap that ass one day. Sure, a couple of men have been known to have been there and done that. We don’t care.

We don’t even care that you put on a fake Southern accent every now and then, despite having lived most of your childhood in New York City and in Orlando, Florida - neither location known for breeding such accents. We just laugh that phoney accent off under the guise that you are attempting to knock off Madonna’s British accent, only we go with the assumption that you have much less of a working brain than that of Madonna.

Remember: British = Elegant, Southern = Trashy…

Sure at one point in time back in the year 2000 Ms. Spears-K-Fed may have had a superhot body, she was the desire of every straight man’s fantasy that walked the face of the Earth, and it is now darn close to seven years later! Ms. Spears-K-Fed’s awful boob job only looks more awful thanks to the fact of having two kids with Mr. Federline, she appears to be extremely low class based on her spousal picking procedures, she gives off the vibe of being as smart as a goat, along with the sense of having the possibility of being the worst lay ever, and yet with all that going for her, I still find her fuckable.

With this in mind, let us go to the HUSS Scale!

How hot is Britney Spears-K-Fed on the HUSS Scale?

HUSS HUSS HUSS HUSS HUSS HUSS HUSS.

She’s a perfect seven out of seven when she keeps her mouth closed.

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Beehive will continue to get more and more excited with each playing of the same Rocky Balboa commercials. He will become annoyed if the studio starts playing new commercials of the same film.

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Thanks to cleaning up his place over the weekend Beehive found his high school yearbook. He will be mortified to find out what has become of his fellow alumni via the search feature on MySpace.

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A made for TV movie deal will be signed in regards to the family of six that went into the woods searching for a Christmas tree, only never to return…

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The will be a fisticuffs with some fights til deaths at the local Wal Mart in Alabama over that so called new “doohickey that everyone needs to have.”

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Leif Garrett will fall off the wagon, again…

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This weekend in between playing my new PS2 video game – Liberty City Stories – I did lots of chores, and yet to an unknowing person who would walk through my place, they would assume I was a slob. Little did they know that all the cat hair is now gone from underneath my bed, how the cat food mess (she eats very sloppily) is all gone, or how I dusted and windexed things, or how I cleaned my stove and all the counter tops.

All in all, my place still looks like a mess.

Today I did the chore of outside things. Like roofing and cleaning gutters, you know being a “REAL” man. This meant that I had to break out my purple T-Shirt to go do these chores.

Somehow a seven-foot plus rusted metal poll was on my roof. Where that came from I can assume a neighbors roof, but just exactly how did it end up on mine?

I even did some tarring.

Damn I’m so macho looking in my purple T-Shirt.

AND…

I’m already 43% complete on Liberty City Stories, and I only bought it on Wednesday evening. Yeup, I didn’t leave my place this weekend.

AND…

Due to all of this I missed most of one of my favorite Sunday past times of watching the Giants lose football games. I turned the game on four or six seconds left, which I believe was right after the Giants gave up the game winning touchdown to Vince Young in some fashion. So, in the end, I don’t really think that I missed good parts in this sense.

2 Comments »

Never teach young children aged 6, 4, & 2 how to use the TiVo remote control. They will only make sure that each and every person in the house has watched all of their favorite commercials.

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Never again agree to spend the night at the sisters house when my Mother and Grandmother is there too. While the pull out sofa bed is adequate, the many hours leading up to the ability to have some peace of mind are not.

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Never ever allow my 86 year old Grandmother to have the remote control in her hands when Deal Or No Deal is on the TV. She will not allow anyone to dissuade her from enjoying that TV show. If you want to attempt walk in the general vicinity of the living room, you will hear and see her shouting out and jumping on the couch in the same fashion as my other now deceased Grandmother watched Pro Wrestling.

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Offering to pour the wine allows you to pour larger than normal glasses for people, thereby getting the over 50 population of the family gathering tipsy, quickly.

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My four year old nephew stuck his finger in the Turkey’s butt when nobody was looking.

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No matter how hard you try to find a way, it is just impossible to have all three nephews sit next to me at the same time while eating. It’s just IMPOSSIBLE!

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So sorry that I was unable to post this one up yesterday, here are my letters. I realize that none of you could sleep well last night due to my lack of posting.

Very Truly Yours,
Beehive Hairdresser

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Open Letters To People Who Will Most Likely Never Read Them…

To A Certain Woman On The V Train,

On Monday morning in the middle of rush hour you were wearing a blue pantsuit with sneakers that had skulls all over them. While I appreciate your attempt with youth, the fact that you are wearing a pantsuit will always make you too old and not nearly hip enough to get away with such a fashion mistake.

Next time, I will take a photo!

You have been warned…

Regards,
The Man Who Noticed

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To Whoever Made The Decision,

You made the decision to start running the Danny Masterson Clearasil commercials 24/7 this week. Are you trying to inform me that you know that I have fallen asleep on the couch and then went directly to bed without washing my face at night far too many times over the past three weeks? Also, I’m curious why you have decided to use that old commercial. Was it do to That 70s Show going off the air? Or, was it due to longer hair is what is in style for the youth nowadays? Hmmm?

Get back to me on that.

Regards,
Beehive

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To Radio Programmers,

You people suck the big one. Yesterday was Thanksgiving, so today you have blasted each and every station with non stop Xmas tunes. Not only that, but last week I caught you sneaking in a few Xmas songs here and there. All of you as a bunch should be ashamed of yourselves. The only people who actually enjoy putting on the radio and listening to Xmas songs are the extremely old and feeble, and since this is the case, all of those people are not sitting in their car listening to every single radio station that NYC has to offer. Those sorts of people are in places called Maple Grove, Greenwood, and Cedar Hills.

Regards,
Someone Who Never Turns On The Radio With Hopes Of Xmas Tunes Being On.

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Growing up Thanksgiving was a time to reflect on your year, hope that you’ll have an even better year in the next one, spend time with your family, eat lots of food, and watch pap-per-view professional wrestling.

While I did not grow up being close to filthy rich with a silver spoon in my mouth, I also did not grow up with my family being in the poor house either. We always had food on the table, and we were always able to have that literal silver spoon in our mouths on holidays, like Thanksgiving. All this despite the recession of the early 1990s that had left many people jobless, including my father.

Both of my sisters and I went to sexually segregated Catholic High Schools located in the forgotten borough of New York, Staten Island. Although we never lived on Staten Island, it was not hard for my eyes to see that apparently not many of the poor families of Northern Staten Island received word that there was an internet boom in the 1990s, and some of the best economic times in the history of the United States were happening at during that time.

Each year in November, my high school held an annual Turkey drive. This basically consisted of a couple of students going around to each home room class to collect canned goods and money in a drive to purchase more canned goods and Turkeys for some of the many poor families that lived in neglected and impoverished area where the high school is located. Not just any student was able to get out of sitting in homeroom for 20 unnecessary minutes to collect the money; you had to be a member of the LaSalle Youth Club, which was the basic student body group that did public and community services.

Luckily for me, each year I happened to sit in on the LaSalle Youth Club meetings. Originally it wasn’t so much that I wanted to make a difference in the community, although the idea of doing things on behalf of the well being for either an individual or community was of great appeal to me, and it still is to this day. My original reasoning for being in the weekly meetings was due to my friends happening to be left over in the meeting room from some other early morning club meeting. They never wanted to leave the room, and I of course just wanted to be social. Somehow our just hanging out in that room each week landed us on the list of actually being members of the LaSalle Youth Club.

Senior year came about, and we still did our usual thing, just ending up in the club meetings. Only this year was different. We realized that we were the older students in the club meetings. No one was volunteering to do anything. This was a sad sight. Everyone had apparently joined our bandwagon of just happening to be in the meetings and not doing anything.

So, when it came time for the Turkey Drive, my friends and I volunteered to organize it and follow through with the entire drive. It was just the four of us. None of us were ever the coolest guys in the school, and at the same time, none of us cared much about that sort of thing. We did however care about getting the 70 or so families that requested our school raise enough food for them to have a great Thanksgiving meal, and enough left over to keep them fed for a week or two afterwards.

For whatever reason in life, those people ended up on the short end of the stick when it came to the ability of being able to have the type Thanksgiving that everyone I grew up with had each year. My friends (Ponyboy, Yukon, & lets call him Mike) and I came to the decision that we would do our best to ensure that these 70 or so requests would be fulfilled by us.

For the three weeks that led up to Thanksgiving we went around to each homeroom class and collected lots of canned goods and at the end of this time span we also had several hundred dollars to purchase further items.

The Monday before that Thanksgiving we had to stay in school late to get all of the boxes in order for each family, and go to the supermarket a buy the rest of the goods. My friend Mike and I drove to the nearest supermarket with about $300 burning a hole in our pockets.

We each got a shopping wagon, and then went about looking for the items on the list that our faculty member monitor informed us we should get. We counted the prices in our heads as we went through the aisles, and then when $285 hit, we went to the checkout.

Since it was Thanksgiving time, the supermarket was packed with shoppers, Mike and I stood out like sore thumbs wearing our Catholic School white sweaters while shopping. I remember the experience making me feel like Kevin Arnold in the Wonder Years. We noticed that all of the lines were the similar in length, and that one in particular seemed more choice than the others due to a kid that was in our homeroom was the cashier. We went to that cashier - let us call him Steve.

Steve was shocked to see the both of us at his checkout line he started scanning the items. Mike and I didn’t yet have half of our items on the counter, and Steve must have scanned about 20 items when Steve asked, “Hey, is all this stuff for the Turkey Drive?” Our answer was of course a “Yes”. He then informed us that he would take care of us.

Steve then began to swing each item over the scanner at a height too high to be scanned. He did this for a large portion of our items with a huge grin on his face. When we were done at his check out we paid a bill that amounted to nearly $120, and walked away with two shopping carts full of food, cases and cases of food.

When we returned to the school, our faculty monitor asked how much we spent, and was going to give us more cash for the turkeys. When we told him our bill total, and he had looked at the quantities of food we brought into the school his face lit up, and he wondered how we got all that food for such a good deal. We told him the truth, and he informed us that we shouldn’t have done that while he had a huge smirk with a hint of a smile on his face.

Mike and I went back to the supermarket. This second trip was originally going to be a trip for us to pick up 17 (I believe) turkeys for the Turkey Drive. Only because of the fact we didn’t pay for half of the items we supposedly purchased during our first checkout we went to town on getting more non-turkey food for the drive.

Mike and I went around, stuffed our carts to the rim again, and then went back to Steve’s checkout line. Steve’s face lit up at our sight again with the thought of screwing over his boss and place of employment by giving the food away for pennies on the dollar. Steve passed one turkey that scanned and then a half dozen that did not. Mike and I informed him that the faculty monitor warned us that we were not to come back again with several hundred dollars leftover.

Steve did not see this as a problem. Instead, he scanned enough items that brought the cost up to the near capacity of the fund we were given, and then preceded to pass the rest of the items over the scanner without the items being scanned.

Mike and I thanked Steve greatly, and then we left the supermarket for school, again. Both times that Mike and I walked out of that supermarket without paying for all the items we were scared to death. We walked out filled with the guilt of allowing ourselves not to pay for everything, and then when we made it back to the school and unloaded our nerves were calmed and we knew we had gotten away with it.

Nearly ten years later, while I do feel slight guilt at having done this to that supermarket, I am proud of the fact that no family was turned down for a Thanksgiving meal due to a lack of funding and or food to go around from our Turkey Drive.

To be quite honest, we had far too much, and could not give out all of the canned goods during the Turkey Drive. We ended up sending four enormous boxes of canned goods to the NY food bank.

Happy Thanksgiving!

P.S. The statute of limiations has run out on this, and I know plenty of lawyers.

2 Comments »

I just got back from the supermarket. I waited until 8:50pm to go up with the mindset I would let the Thanksgiving rush be gone with the supermarket. I was partly wrong in this. It was still way more crowded than a usual Tuesday at 9pm, and that was with five cashiers open. Although it wasn’t as bad as the 300-foot line I saw in there two years ago.

While shopping I had seen a young six or seven year old boy running through the supermarket without a parent in sight while I was on the express line for 20 minutes this same young boy kept running full speed through the fruit/vegetable areas, out the front door to the sidewalk and back. This made me think where was his guardian of some sort.

Then I got to thinking where all these people that were swapped on the lines around me we from. Did they not ever eat? Did they not ever shop at a supermarket on some sort of regular basis? These people aren’t hipsters, or young 20somthings, they are mostly people in their 30s, 40s, 50s, and 60s. Why the hell do they all need to buy two shopping carts full of groceries???

I know Thanksgiving is here and whatnot, but don’t they have the bare essentials to live already in their closets? Do they really need multiple 20 packs of Scott toilet paper? Just whom exactly are they having over for dinner that might have needs that great?

Then it was my turn at the cashier. I had cleverly placed all of my big bottles towards the customer side of the belt, leaving no room for the older woman in front of me to lollygag at the cashier. The cashier swiped my milk through and bagged it, then my eggs, and while she went to bag the eggs she dropped the dozen in carton on the plastic bag holster. I thought, “fuck, I gotta go get another set of eggs.”

She opened it up and wanted to see the damage. I couldn’t help but look at such an awful sight, and when I did I saw the unexpected. Not one egg was cracked. From the look of the outer package of the eggs one would think at least four would have broke. I told the cashier it looked good and no worries (not that I would worry over eggs or anything I bought at the supermarket) and yet she insisted on inspecting all 12 eggs. She informed me that she is just too neurotic not to check that not one egg cracked.

I stood there, watched, and marveled at the fact that for a moment, just one split moment, someone seemed way more neurotic in a good (or bad) way than I am. It was a good feeling to have.

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Welcome to I Am A Pig On Tuesdays.

This week’s babe of the week is me, Beehive.

I cannot go into much of the details as to why I am indeed this weeks the babe of the week, but let me just say that I’ve been known to be so hot that even I can’t take my hands off myself.

Let’s go to directly to the HUSS scale…

HUSS HUSS HUSS HUSS HUSS HUSS HUSS

I’m a perfect seven out of seven on the HUSS scale, how could I possibly not be.

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The transvestite that is the superintendent of the apartment building up the block from me will write a letter addressed to all tenants, and then proceed at length to describe how normal people should place garbage in garbage cans, plus he will go on to write about how normal people don’t leave wet footprints throughout the staircases of the building, despite the fact of it raining outside.

I swear to God he will.

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My migraine headache will subside, and or go away completely. It hurts pretty bad right now, however, by the end of the week the headache will be long gone.

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My beautiful new nearly wall-to-wall TV stand/unit that makes my living room almost look as though an actual grown up lives in my place will be completely and thoroughly explored by my cat. She will have knocked items over that she shouldn’t have, and she will run away into my bedroom after the crashes and falls of said items.

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My right eye and lips will hopefully be fully relinquished from the terror that has besieged it last week in the form of clementine allergies. My skin in general will be moist again, not overly, just not desert dry as it currently is despite the moisturizer that I have been putting on it along with the award winning amount of water that I have been consuming.

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James Blunt will be forced to cancel a tour date after coming down with a hideous case of violent diarrhea. Afterwards he will be quoted as saying, “If only my music was this good.” No worries, since only three fans will be saddened by the cancellation of the particular tour date.

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I want to go up to the hottest woman I see and tell her that her shit stinks.

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I am not feeling well. My eyes are still swollen and itchy. My lips are dry and itchy. Why? Cause my body is a douche bag and is allergic to clementine.

Google is no help with this allergy. I was hoping for magical rub butter on your eyes sort of remedy to help me out.

My coworkers tell me that my eyes appear to be looking worse than this morning.

Despite the fact that I haven’t had a clementine in over 24 hours I am showing all these signs of the clementine allergen, I just want to eat another, and I know that I can’t.

Fresh fruit sucks ass. I’m giving up fresh fruit and vegetables from all this.

UPDATE!!!

I woke up today (Friday) with my right eye looking as though I was beaten with fists. The swelling has gone done dramatically since that first look in the mirror. I’ll see if I can get someone to take a pic or two at work and post it up.

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