BeehiveHairdresser.com

It is with extreme sad sorrow that I have the burden of informing all of you that 2006 has days to live. 2006 came down with a very bad cold late last week, the cold developed into pneumonia, and 2006 isn’t expected to make it through the weekend.

I realize that this will be tough on all of us, just remember that 2006 would like for all of us to remember the good times, and laugh about them.

I know I myself will without a doubt remember some of my favorite memories that I spent with 2006 like the Ron Mueck exhibit at the Brooklyn Museum. My many strolls through the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens with the Cheese while falling for one another. The many brunches at Dizzy’s. Watching TV with my Grandma. The wonderful summertime blooms of my front garden. Discovering the fun times of blogging at work, and I will forever remember that wonderful hot summer.

2006, Fred Flintstone is the smartest person that I have ever known and he said it best. He said, “Wilmaaaaa!!!” In regards to the words “you’ll go down in history”.

With that, 2006, from all of us over in the land of Beehive Hairdressing I say to you, WILMAAAAAAAA!

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The other day I went ahead, splurged, made the biggest purchase that I have ever made, and ordered this:

It’s a Bowflex Revolution, and in a one to two weeks it shall arrive at my place in eight boxes. Then six weeks after that I will be able to truthfully state that I have a Bowflex body. Yes, I will be that obnoxious and I honestly tell everyone that I have a Bowflex body.

I can’t wait.

I kind of want to pay it off by starting up my own pay per minute porn site featuring videos of myself.

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To My Tummy,

The love hate relationship that we’ve had over our lifespan should just stop. Can’t we just put all those times that I filled you up with booze and ice cream, or the times that you allowed virus’ inside you to be behind us? Seriously. I want to make peace with you, with one condition. That being, do not ever allow another virus into my tummy like the one we had in there yesterday.

Thanks,
B.H.

P.S. Thank to that virus, it now looks as though I’ve been doing my crunches nonstop this week.

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

To One Of My Field Reps,

You emailed me on Thursday 12/21at 6:01PM saying that you needed help with something that expires on 12/31/06, which requires that you do 20 hours of training, AND that you are going to Cabo, Mexico 12/22 through 12/29, AND that you would like me to help you out with getting it all done.

Good luck with that.

Thank you for waiting until the very last minute and then trying pawn the blame of your complete lack of responsibility off on me.

Situations like this make my workday worthwhile. Really, they do. Especially when you begin to Cc the entire world from Cabo, of your plight to get me to do the things that you should have taken care of yourself weeks ago, I thoroughly enjoy watching people like yourself drag themselves down like that.

Best of luck come January 1, in attempting to make money off of commissions when you can no longer legally do so.

Signed,
The Man Who Is Not A Salesman, But A Professional

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Welcome to the final installment of I Am A Pig On Tuesdays. This week follow along side as I discuss our favorite hottie, the person who comes up lucky number 7 on a google image search of Ms. Menopause.

Isn’t she breathtaking?!?!?

I know, I know. Calm down boys. I know that you are all finding my Ms. Menopause google search woman to be by far the sexiest, most refined, and by far the most exquisite Babe of the Week thus far.

Just remember, as the saying goes, save the best for last. Which is why Bettie White is looking finer and finer with each passing day, if you know what I mean.

Wink wink, nudge nudge… hehe. God she’s a total hottie.

If it’s possible, and that’s a big if. If anyone out there is capable of giving me the belated Xmas gift of a threeway involving the sexier than sex Ms. Betty White, and the hotter than the hottest hot flash Ms. Menopause I assure you that I will name my first born after you as a show of my thanks to you.

Let get to a judging…How hot is Ms. Menopause on the HUSS Scale???

HUSS HUSS HUSS HUSS HUSS HUSS HUSS

She is a perfect seven out of seven on the HUSS Scale.

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You might not know this, but I do have another blog, and believe it or not, people have been requesting that I update it. So, if you are interested in this other blog I must warn you that I tend to tell stories involving poop and things of that nature. Still interested? Good!

Follow this link to read about how I pooped and barfed all over this guys bathroom floor.

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It was a fantastic weekend for celebrating the fictional birth date of the Lord and Savior who has inspired millions of people to be extremely and bloody violent in his name over the past 2000 or so years. I mean, not celebrate a traditional pagan holiday. Yes, it sure was.

This year I found myself celebrating this occurrence by routing for the JETS to win over the Dolphins, and what a Christmas gift that win was, however, for me, the best part of Christmas was waking up with Folgers in my cup. Yes, it sure was.

AAAYYYOOOOOOOO!!!!!!

For me the best parts of the day were:

5) Playing with my sisters dog.

4) Having too much wine at noon, and then attempting to put together hot wheels race car loops. Then getting frustrated and cranky after 45 minutes in my attempt to put a second race track together and giving up on the whole thing – honestly it was way too hard and needed better directions. The directions to the second one stated on the first page “If you need more detailed directions visit this link www.”

3) Walking my nine and a half month old niece around by my fingers while she didn’t realize that I was walking her, and then watching her realize that her daddy who she thought was walking her was actually sitting on the couch.

2) Watching my nearly three-year-old nephew open his little big wheel from Hot Wheels. After opening the bag and seeing the big wheel he asked my sister “Is that for me?” & “It’s mine?” with the look of complete innocence and joy at the gift. He had the face on that I imagine I would have if someone gave me a million dollars cash, and said, no seriously this is for you. Then watching him roll around the house in it for a good half an hour.

1) Watching my three nephews try to figure out how they can all sit next to me at the dinner table, and then subsequently begin to argue and fight when they realize that they all cannot sit next to me. Then get to watch all of them reject the thought of sitting next to one of the other Uncles at the table. Then one of them dressing up as a Knight/Dragon Slayer, and seeing him run around with a foam sword and helmet.

Yeup, I’m still the best!

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I cannot access my blog and when I am taking a crowded subway home the high school kids sitting next to me complain to each other about their Christmas break homework assignment, and how lame and boring the given book they were assigned to read is. In times like this I sit quietly with my eyes closed, until I find out the title – Lord of the Flies!

How could they think that Lord of the Flies is boring? Mind you that I myself have never read the book due to the fact that they made it into a movie, but I imagine the book to be just as good as the movie.

Sheesh! Kids today!?!?!

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If you haven’t read Part I I suggest you read that first to get up to speed.

Yesterday evening after getting out of the subway I stopped off at the store that I once worked at and bought some wrapping paper. I chatted for a few minutes over there and went along my merry way. As I approached my hedge line I became more and more horrified at what my eyes were seeing as I got closer. The next door neighbors cut off to the ground the entire front portion of the hedges. Leaving my hedge line looking mutilated and barren.

I opened my door and dropped off the wrapping paper and then rang the door of my neighbors repeatedly until they opened the door. The elderly wife answered from the second floor porch with her Greek accent “Who is it?” Since it was dimmly lit I took off my hat and told her it was Beehive and then inquired “What’s going on with my hedges?” She went on to say that her husband has been cutting it, and I went on to tell her that it was clear that they have cut my hedges and that they have no right to cut the hedges anymore than they have already done. That these hedges are indeed my property and not hers. She appologized with “Sorry, sorry” in a fashion that led me to believe that she was just yesing me to death. I then informed her that the hedges mean a lot to me and that if there are cut again I would have to call the police. She said, “my husband, he did it.” I informed her again to just make sure that he stops. This concreted my assumption that she was yesing me to death.

I was polite throughout the entire two minutes of conversing with her. I went back into my place and was about to get changed when I realized that I should take pictures of the damage.

I went back out to the same store that I just bought the wrapping paper at. As I walked up to the store I figured I would buy Ammonia so that I could kill off the entire neighbors garden. I walked into the store angry, picked up the big bottle of ammonia, picked out a disposable camera and placed them on the counter. My buddy Dan who works there made a comment on the items in a joking manner to which I replied, “Actually this is for revenge and this is to get photographic evidence against my neighbors.”

“What?” was his reply.

“You heard me right. I am going to kill my neighbors garden with ammonia, and take pictures of what they did to my hedge line!”

“What happened?” Dan said. I filled him in on the goings on and felt more calm about it. Then I decided that I would wait until 10PM before doing anything illegal. This would give me time to think, calm down, and not actually do anything illegal. For the record I did not do anything illegal and did not even open the ammonia.

On the way home I saw a cop car pull over in front of me. Me being the honest guy that I am I felt guilty about buying the ammonia. I crossed the street and did not look at the cop car. I was afraid that some customer in the store had overheard “kill” and “neighbor” and called 911 thinking murder was going to happen. I got home and felt relieved when no cop stopped me.

I got home and took a bunch of pictures of the hedges, and when I was done I was still full of testosterone and needed to work out anyway, so I got a great shoulder and leg workout in. It felt really good that work out.

I called my mother who is the actual owner of the house / hedge line and asked if we should get a police report made anyway. She did not wish to do so out of neighborly politeness, and asked if I could get one of my Greek speaking friends to translate the message of how the hedges are not their property and to stop cutting them back. I agreed with her wish, and went to another neighbors house.

My friends were not home, but the father was. He agreed to translate for me, and wanted to take a look at what happened first to get a better idea of the situation. He looked at the hedges and said, “They definitely shouldn’t have done this.” Then seemed very weary about talking to the old greek man.

I asked, “Are you afraid to talk to the old man?” To which he replied, “Yes, I am. I know he’s going to become immediately loud, angry, and it will be a long drawn out scene. I don’t want anything to do with it. Give it another day. If he does more cutting I will translate for you.”

Seeing as I cannot force the man to translate I agreed reluctantly. My mother called to see of the outcome, and by then she had spoken to my sister and husband who I assume convinced her just how wrong the neighbors were to do such a cutting. I asked again about filing a police report as proof that the greek man is cutting the hedges that it is our property and she said, “She said a police report would be wise, and that I should do what you feel is right, and do it in a calm manner.”

Around this time the Cheese rang the bell and came in. I greeted her hello and brought her up to speed, and that I was going to see about filing a police report.

To be honest, at this point in time I did not want to see anyone go to jail, I just wanted to have a report to have as proof that the greek man is cutting down my hedges, I only wanted this in case he continued to cut the hedges down and/or cement over my hedges when I am not there, this way a law suit can be done efficiently and I can put my hedges back in the ground. I only wanted paper evidence of what has happened and verbal or written police warning to cease all cutting of the hedges.

I called 311 and requested to be put through to the non emergency 68th Precint line. The 311 operator asked what it was concerning because she might be able to help. (If you have never used 311, you are missing out. These operators know just about everything in the city and how to go about it quickly.) I explained how my next door neighbor has decided to start chopping down the hedges on my property and that I just wanted to file a report. I figured I would call and ask the precint first if I should go down in person or if they should send a car in a non emergency fashion. The 311 operator informed me that this should go through 911 because it is an act of vandalism / destruction of property, and that 911 legally must be used. So I got transferred over to 911 and had to explain again. I gave them my info and was told police would be there shortly.

I told Cheese of these developments, that the police were on the way, and then I paced around a little. The Cheese told me that she would go watch TV in the Tony Bennett Room while the cops came. I paced some more. Then I couldn’t take the pacing anymore, so I put on a jacket and waited outside.

I was on my stoop for less than a minute when I saw the cop car turn the corner and mosey its way up to my place. Two officers came out, a male and a female officer. From a distance I showed them both my palms so that they could see that I was harmless and so that they would not shoot me.

I explained how I called 311, I just wanted to make a report, and that I was sorry that 311 made me go through 911. I then went on to show what happened and brought them up to speed as to what had happened. The police said that there is no report that could be filed for such a situation, and that since I seemed like a reasonable man and that we should talk to them. Then they asked more questions like these:

Q: Who planted the hedges?
A: The people who built the houses in the 1920s.

Q: How long have I lived here?
A: My whole life.

Q: How long have your neighbors lived there?
A: Since around 1990.

Q: Where’s the property line?
A: Follow a line with your eye from the roof line down, you will be able to see that the hedges are on my side.

Q: Who usually takes care of the hedges?
A: I always do.

Q: Have you eve had trouble with them before?
A: No, I actually help them at times.

Q: Is the man upstairs Italian?
A: No, Greek.

Then the other cop asked the female cop, why did you ask if he was Italian?
A: This sounds like something an Italian guy would do. Just cut it and not ask first.

So then the police rang the door and I stood down the steps. At this point I informed them of the “F bomb” I wrote in the note the day before. They laughed over my usage of the term “F bomb”.

The old lady answered from the porch again. The police informed her that her husband needed to stop cutting the hedges since they are not on his property, and that he should not have cut the front off. The old lady insisted that the hedges were her property, and that her husband had cut the hedge and that he has every right to cut the hedges. The police informed her that it was indeed mine.

At this point she began the process of screaming at the cops and waved her finger down at me saying, “Shame on you!” I remained calm and tried not to say a word, as I did not want to encite anything. The old ladies screaming naturally made everyone open their doors and see what is going on. The downstairs tenant and next door neighbors all wondering what happened.

I asked the downstairs tenant if she spoke greek and if she could try and calm the old lady down. She did, and the old lady calmed down a bit, but was still all riled up.

The cops asked to speak to her husband and replied that he couldn’t go down the stairs since he is 91.

—He can’t walk down to talk to the police, but he can make it down two other times within the previous 24 hours to do the physical task of cutting and bagging hedges—

When hearing that the man was 91 the cops faces dropped and said they they didn’t need to talk to him. The old lady invited them up, and they refused to question him. They turned to me and said, “We don’t want to get the old man all riled up too and have him drop dead on us.”

The cops then asked the old woman why her husband has decided to start cutting my hedges, and she replied with “Because they are in my way, and I don’t like them there.”

This argument is justifiable if at the same time a person insisted that a block full of parked cars in legal parking spots was obstructing their way of walking on the sidewalk. They don’t and it doesn’t…

The old lady told the cops that she would come down and show them how the hedges (which do not move into her way magically) are in her way. The cops did not want her to come down, said goodnight to her, and informed her no more cutting should be done.

As the two officers and I walked away I asked, “What can I do if they keep cutting my hedges?” The police informed me that I would have to go to Landlord/Tenant Court to settle the dispute. I asked if I could have their names and if there was any piece of paper that I could have as proof that I at least went to the police with this matter. I was given their names and badge numbers, along with the 911 ticket number to my call.

As I was writing the information down the cellar door to the neighbors opened up and the old lady shouted, “See, I show you.” The police informed her again that there was no need to. I informed them that she usually brings the garbage out now, and that she is probably doing that.

Sure enough she brought the garbage to the curb. Along the way she made a point to have the bags bump into the hedge line.* She said, “It is in my way.” Then violently shook the hedges. The female cop warned her to stop shaking the hedges.

As this was going on the I spoke to the male cop and informed him that I really am nice to her and her husband, and that I always shovel in front of their place whenever it snows no questions asked. To which the cop replied, “If I were you I would stop shoveling their snow.” Which if you read yesterdays post already knew.

The old lady then told them that she could show them again, to which the cops replied, “No thanks, we got a more important call.” Got in their squad car, and left.

The good thing about this is now I at least have documented proof that she and her husband are responsible for the cutting my hedges illegally, and I at least now know where to go if I need to take further legal action. The bad news is that I will forever have unfriendly neighbors living next door to me, but I guess it’s a good thing that they are old. Oh well…but they just shouldn’t have chopped my hedges.

*The path from her cellar door to the curb is three plus feet wide, and has about five garbage cans blocking most of the path. For whatever reason they do no use the garbage cans, instead they pile big bags of garbage close to their house and pull them around the garbage cans. I also don’t know why she only uses the cellar door to get into her place. The front door has a wide pathway of eight or so feet, it also has a banister, and is much safer than the dark cellar steps.

When I got in and explained it to the Cheese she said it sounded like a Seinfeld or Curb Your Enthusiasm episode. I hope that when I get home no more damage has been done.

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To New Yorkers At Large,

I don’t know how many of you might already be abreast of the situation, but I need to tell you all that there is an apparent outbreak of some type of diarrhea in the city.

I know this to be true because last night on the R train during the evening commute I saw a pile of dried human diarrhea. Maybe it wasn’t so much a pile of diarrhea as it was the remnants of the explosive dump that someone took while sitting in between two seats on a subway car, it was dried up, yet still splattered against the floor, wall, and seats. Three fellow commuters did not even notice the scene until it was too late.

People of New York, you have been warned!

Sincerely,
Beehive

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

To The Makers Of Hot Wheels Little Big Wheel,

WTF?? Seriously, WTF? You gave detailed directions on how to assemble the little big wheel and no direction whatsoever as to where all of the stickers should go. A couple of Sundays ago I took my time to carefully make sure that I put the little big wheel together properly so that my two year old nephew does not kill himself while riding it. I also went through the painstaking task of finding all of the places where the stickers should go. I am glad to say that the little big wheel that I built looks great with all but one of the stickers given to place on the sweet ride.

Where does the last sticker go? It is a cross between an “L” and a boomerang. Did your company place that “L” shape sticker in there to mock everyone that puts it together and allude to us all being a bunch of losers? I have sat, thinking long and hard at the big wheel as to where this last sticker should go and there is just no place for it to be put without it looking like a retard placed the “L” sticker on it. I watch TV & played PS2 all the while your sticker silently mocks me from my dining room table.

Please just let me know where to put it…

Thanks,
Beehive

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For the many of you who have never been to my place I will let you know that I live in an attached two family in Brooklyn. I garden in the front and back yards, and have a hedge line that is part of my property line. The hedge line is in between the path to the cellar steps of my place and the attached place of my elderly neighbors.

I’ve tended to this hedge line for years and years and years, before I did it, my dad took care of it, before him, my grandfather took care of it. It is one of two remaining hedge lines on the block. Two and a half foot high metal fences that are painted black have replaced all of the rest on the block. To be honest my hedge line looks way better than the one up the block due to the constant trimming that I do.

In the summer I trim it as needed, which is about every two or so weeks, and then every few years in March I cut back about a third of the hedge line so that it will keep its shape, and so that both cellar steps are able to be accessed. I always clean up all of the cut pieces so that there is never an issue.

Last night I went out to the supermarket around 9PM, the hedge line looked the way it has looked for the past few weeks – cut in a box form, and mostly leafless from the winter cold. I came home about 20 minutes after I left and as I turned to go up my steps I realized the hedge line looked different.

I went back to inspect and saw that my elderly neighbors cut the entire length of the hedge line off on the side facing their cellar walkway. It was not overbearing and blocking their right of way to their cellar steps. They just up and cut the things right off.

This immediately sent my blood boiling. There are only a few things that I take very personally, and damaging a plant that I have tended to is grounds for justifiable anything on my part. Part of my brain was telling me to ring their bell and beat them up. The other half was telling me that beating up a 90something year old man was not a smart thing to do. Then I thought I will kick in their entire picketed fence, I realized that this would be way too obvious that I was the culprit, especially since we could see one another through their cellar door, plus I do not ever want to be arrested, and I would rather live my life in a legal fashion.

I went back into my place with my groceries, paced around, and decided that I would just write a note instead. It went like this

“NEXT TIME YOU
WANT ME
TO CUT MY
FUCKING HEDGES
CALL ME!
THX. BEEHIVE
917-XXX-XXXX”

Then I angrily walked over to their front door, I slipped the note into their mailbox, and then I cautiously walked back to my place so that I don’t break anything in the fit of rage I was feeling.

I got inside, and sat in the Tony Bennett room trying to figure out what happened, and also plot out my revenge – which of course will be lame and at the same point they will most likely not even realize I am being vengeful.

Based on the fact that this was done at night and under the cover of darkness it is safe to assume that they knowingly knew that they should not have just cut the hedge line like that. Since the man is in his 90s and his wife in her 80s I am fairly certain that they could not have cut and bagged an entire 20 feet of hedge line in less than 20 minutes. They must have had an accomplice. Their own “Kato” & “A.C.” if you will*. It might have been their 40something year old son, but I highly doubt it since he has never helped them do anything physical. The help might have been their downstairs tenant who is in his 30s and strong enough to cut and bag things fast. Or, the help might have been the mysterious man that was huffing and puffing his way up the block as I walked down with my groceries. Either way, they must have had help.

My revenge will be done within the law, which is most definitely passive aggressive. My revenge will be that I shall never help them again, ever. This might not seem smart, or even be perceived by them, however, I have shoveled in front of their house for years and years and years since they moved onto the block without any thought of receiving money.

I did it just for the fact that they are elderly, their physically able son would never do it, and I didn’t want to walk on ice or have anyone slip and get hurt due to their lack of clearing a path. (There is an old age home two blocks down and our front walks are utilized by elderly 24/7 to get to the supermarket)

There are other things that I can do too, for instance not give the friendly hello again. Consider it gone. I will not take the broom while sweeping in front of my place and sweep the few feet over into the front of their walk out of “niceness”, I will no longer clean their drain in the inner courtyard that we share (it is impossible for them to access it without a ladder), and I will certainly no longer help them turn the soil in their backyard in springtime. Yes, slowly but surely their lives will be slightly inconvenienced. I do reserve the right to continue to receive fresh fruits and vegetables from them if offered!

When it does snow, and when they sure enough do not clear a path in front, or pay a kid $20 to do it for them I will most definitely be the douche bag that calls 311 and demands that they be ticketed, same to be said if they attempt to illegally rent out their basement as an apartment again.

These are the main points of revenge that I can do. I think of them kind of like the sanctions against North Korea – usually lame, and meaningless to the people that the sanctions are meant to effect.

*OJ is innocent.

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So there is a new woman working on my floor, and I swear to God she looks strikingly similar to female pro wrestler Luna Vachon* – minus the side of head tattoo.

This new woman walks around with a frown on her face, looks very tense, and has somehow managed to scare each and every person on the floor so far. Only the last part makes me slightly envy her.

*Note that this is not the babe of the week. I cannot access the proper photos needed at work this week, I will post “I AM A PIG” this evening.

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Welcome to this weeks session of my being a pig. I would like to introduce the world to my choice for this weeks Babe of the Week, the Spirit of Christmas.

Sweet sweet Christmas…

You know what they say about Christmas, right? It’s better to give than to receive. I myself am all for this saying, as long as I am on the receiving end of Christmas giving, and when Christmas looks this good:

This good:

And this good:

I would be a fool to give up any receiving of what the Christmas Spirit might give.

Yes, thankfully I didn’t grow up in some family that did not believe in the Spirit of Christmas, or in a family that was some other type of form of Christianity other than Catholic, for if it wasn’t for Catholicism there wouldn’t be the need to over give thanks to Catholic guilt.

Catholic guilt is the greatest thing about being a Catholic. The Muslims have Mecca, the Jews have Saturdays, and us Catholics have guilt. It is what makes us who we are. Without guilt us Catholics would only be a bunch of people that don’t practice what is preached, and Sundays Masses would only be a mass gathering of people that can’t hold a note to any song. Guilt is the tide that binds us together!

Guilt is what makes photos of the Christmas Spirit like this:

This:

And this:

So good!

Sure there are good photos alone, but ad guilt to the mix and whammy. You have a rocking good time. Who hasn’t eaten a gallon of ice cream and then felt guilty by it? Evangelicals, that’s who!

If us Catholics never felt the guilt, we would turn into a bunch of obese Southerns who can eat whatever they want without any guilt whatsoever. This is not the picture of the Christmas Spirit:

Nope, it sure isn’t. That is a picture of what us Catholics call a demon child.

Now if you take anything away from reading this weeks Babe of the Week, the Spirit of Christmas, take this:

This:

And this:

For they are the true meaning of Christmas.

Now lets hit up the old HUSS Scale. How hot is the Spirit of Christmas on the HUSS Scale???

Judges….?

HUSS HUSS HUSS HUSS HUSS HUSS HUSS

There you have it, a perfect seven out of seven.

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Over the past few years SNL shorts have been what I find actually funny on SNL. Here are two that I really like. An oldie and a new one from this past weekend.

Laser Cats

Dick In A Box

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Due to the drunken events of last night I will once again attempt to relearn and remember not to mix wines and vodka.

My head, back, tummy and butt are all sore.

On a side note, I am told that I still looked great while butt naked and my head in the garbage can vomiting…

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Let me start off by letting it be known that I am an idiot. I’ve had a unicycle in my place for the past few years. It was a left over or hand me down from someone else, and has always been missing one pedal. Since it only had one pedal I never attempted to do the impossible and ride it.

That changed today.

Today while doing laundry I figured I would try to ride it. I went over to the bike shop, filled the lone tire up with air, and then went in and to buy a new pedal. The trick to buying a pedal is that they come in pairs, not as a lone pedal. I was asked plastic or metal. I asked to see both. Then the guy in the shop said the metal came in black. I looked at the black metal pedals, then at the unicycle and saw that black metal ones would look best.

The guy wheeled my unicycle into the back, and had the guy in the back install the new pedals. It was wheeled out looking like cross between a tricked out 18-wheeler and a bride to be. It was beautiful.

I proceeded to wheel the unicycle home where I found out that I needed to do a 2nd rinse on my clothes. While I waited for the 2nd rinse to finish I figured I could use the time wisely and jump on the unicycle to see if I could ride it.

This is when I learned a few things. Balancing on one wheel is way trickier than I thought, metal pedals weren’t the wisest choice to learn how to ride a unicycle, and I was out of good medical ointment supplies.

I tried twice to balance on the unicycle. The first I almost fell on my back. The second time I decided to hold onto a railing to balance myself. I had my right foot on the right pedal, as I went to put my left foot up, the right foot the pedal down, this caused the unicycle to move forward bringing the metal pedal with it’s gorgeous grip spike directly into my shin.

OUCH OUCH OUCH!

It hurt. I went to go for a third try, and then felt my leg. There was a fairly big pump bulging out of my shin, and I was pretty sure I was bleeding. I lifted the pant leg to find that there was a good two-inch straight vertical gash on my shin.

Now I’m no doctor, and since I am one of the brilliant Americans that does not have health insurance I assumed that this did not need stitches. I hope that I am correct with my self-diagnosis, and that my Macgyver-like medical abilities of patching the wound up with some freshly bought Bactine and sterile gauze pads will allow the wound to heal – I hope.

The good news is that the fish head tongue tattoo on my upper shin looks like it is dripping blood from its mouth.

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