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.

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.

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.

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.

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.