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I hadn’t seen him in months, and I thought about him almost everyday.  I thought about all the fun we had together, and how was always able to make me feel good about myself in less than 20 minutes of his presence.

 

He was my beacon of hope that I had consistently brushed aside so that I could sit around a play video games, sip my vodka tonics, and waste my life force while surfing the internet – for months on end.  He was my rock, and I missed him.

 

Of course I’m talking about none other than fitness guru Tony Little.

He came into my life like a bat out of hell late in the winter of 2006.  It was a winter that marked lots of newfound freedoms and lots of time sitting on a stool drinking the endless flow of Stella.  Oh Stella, I miss you too.

 

All of this hanging out with Stella did one thing to me, well two things actually, first, it got me drunk, and secondly, it ended up giving me a small beer belly for the first time in my life, a life that had up until then been lived in the style of being the svelte nearly hairless wonder that I had always been.

 

Gone were the days of my natural six pack abs, it was the last beacon of life that I had known only as a given, and I now had to face the world knowing that there really was never going to be anything else in life that was just given to me, ever again.

 

I’d like to say that I cried at this realization, and instead I found myself dry eyed, confused, and annoyed.

 

Having remembered how big my dad’s gut was at times, this newfound small gut of mine had to go ASAP.  I wasn’t about to allow it to grow like the invasive yuck that it was.  I needed to drastically cut back on the amount of time that I was spending with Stella, and wanted to spend more time with an 8 Minute Abs on DVD.

 

I wanted to be all Lucille Roberts-like, trim down, and flatten my tummy.  I looked high and low for this DVD, and even swallowed my pride big time by asking people that worked at both DVD and exercise stores if they had 8 Minute Abs on DVD - I asked multiple employees at said stores, and each time I asked, I blushed from sheer embarrassment at the sound of “8 Minute Abs” rolling off my tongue.

 

Turns out, no one had it.  This left me with the task of finding something that would be just as good.  Two hours of looking at just about every fitness DVD case at Virgin Records, and I found it – Tony Little’s Ab Reduction DVD.

 

Having no job to go to everyday, I started waking up at 11AM, and after my usual morning nap that I would have a mere 45 minutes after getting out of bed, I would get down to business with the abs DVD. 

This DVD bacame my own personal meth addiction, minus all the negatives.  Many a day was spent doing lots of varied crunches, and soon enough I had lost my beer belly, but sadly wasn’t able get the abs that I once had – the kind that came from no effort.

 

At first I was kind of disappointed in the fact that Tony wasn’t yelling at me during the entire DVD, part of me wanted him to yell and be all manic, the way he is when pitched the Gazelle (pictured above), instead he came across more caring, and Tony Robbins-like – which was good in and of itself.

 

Months went by, and I kept at it.  “SQUEEZE! SQUEEZE! SQUEEZE!” would be all that I heard from Tony – in regards to abs, ya perv!

 

Then a week went by, and I didn’t touch the DVD, then another, and another, and another, for months on end - until last night.

 

Last night, I was ready to meet that old pal of mine, the one that always had a smile on his face when I would see him, the one that would put a smile on mine, and now today, I left feeling great.  Great in the sense that Tony Little is back in my life, and helping be completely ready for the big upcoming test, and or maybe, just maybe, a morning show reporter interview.

As you can tell from my two posts yesterday, I have had a lot of time on my hands while on the clock at work this week – I’ve been faux working since Monday afternoon, due to the only thing I’m waiting on, is being held by a mentally unstable coworker, who no manager would dare bring forward to HR due to fear of they themselves getting on the chopping block. 

 

So, I’m here, bored out of my mind.  I even had time to update my resume, which is a task that I’ve been avoiding for months, but yesterday I was so bored with having gone through every blog imaginable, that I couldn’t possibly do anything else at work to occupy my mind other than that resume.

While my resume mainly reads “fully licensed Investment Advisor”, who works in middle and back offices, it doesn’t officially state, “That doesn’t wish to be one.” 

I usually find that looking in the job market for new jobs that I actually might enjoy doing, to be one of the most futile experiences I can possibly go through in life. 

Jobs listed either pay well, because you need a dozen year awful work environment experience.  Or they don’t pay well, yet require an MBA, which in either case I would be miserable in doing both of these types of jobs – let alone the fact that I lack an MBA. 

Or, the job will sound great, but pays little to nothing when it comes to salary in the greater sense that this is NYC, and I’m not talking about the non-profits here.  Why would I want to work somewhere that would never allow me to be able to get ahead in life AND doesn’t really give a greater cause to society?

Or, the job will sound great, and promise all this money, but it is a con artist type of job, that runs through the loop holes of the legal world.  I’m not down for flat out ripping people off on things.

Or, the job will sound great, but it is in a field that I no experience in.  This type of job will usually so great that I would be a fool not to apply - and this is how I just applied to be a reporter for a cheesy local morning news show. 

You know how when you arrive back in the United States, you end up having to go through customs, and they ask if you have anything that you need to declare that you want to bring into the country?

What happens to the people that went to foreign countries for plastic surgery? 

You know, the men that go to Thailand for the sex change operation, and the women that go to Brazil for the butt implant jobs.    What happens to them?

Do they need to declare something along the lines of “I’m bringing in a new ass.”  Or “These breasts and vagina were bought overseas.” ???

Do these people usually attempt to skirt through customs without having to pay the tax on those items? 

Or do they freely admit that they are bringing in pieces of plastic and silicone? 

Do the customs agents laugh each time they hear about yet another butt implant? 

Are butt implants that popular that the customs agents no longer find it amusing to see someone with a new ass?

What would happen if you got caught, do they send you to jail? 

“What are you in here for?”

“Oh me?  Oh, I never paid the proper tax on my vagina…”

 What happens in these circumstances? 

It was a warm day sometime in 2001, and we had just received our quarterly huge order from Proctor and Gamble, which meant that we had roughly 600 large boxes of t.p., tissues, and adult diapers along with various other things, spread out all over the corner in front of the store.   

Jack was on the top of the stairs sending down the cases; I was positioned in the basement at the bottom of the roller, and had Tony, the storeowner, down in the basement with me, to pass the cases to.

We were about 30 minutes into the getting the order down into the basement when I heard what sounded like a large Italian American man asking Jack for a specific type of hairspray – TRESemme Ultra Mega Hold to be exact.  Jack informed the guy that we didn’t have that type, and that we had Ultra Fine Mist, and Extra Hold hairspray from TRESemme.  This man didn’t want to take no for an answer, and asked if we could order a case that he would gladly purchase. 

Jack shouted down to Tony, asking if he could order a case of the Ultra Mega Hold hairspray for this guy, which is something that Tony would gladly do if he could, but he couldn’t, due to the fact that Tony knew that none of the wholesale order books carried that specific line anymore. 

Since we used to carry the Mega Hold, and it was no longer available in the order books Tony assumed that they didn’t make the Mega Hold anymore, and told the guy that.

Upon hearing this, the guy stuck his head down into the cellar doorway with this question:

“Hey Tony, do you watch the Sopranos on HBO?”

“No, I don’t have HBO.” Was his answer.

“Well the hairspray isn’t for me, it’s for one of the guys on the show, he’s famous, and he’s in your store right now.”

At this point in time Tony, Jack, and myself had only heard of the Sopranos, we knew that it was about the Italian Mafia, and since none of us had ever watched an episode to date, we didn’t know who was on this show. 

So we went upstairs to check out who this apparently  “famous guy” that was in the store that had previously been graced by Colin Quinn, Lorraine Bracco, and members of the Wu-Tang Clan, the Lordz of Brooklyn, among who were in the world of B and C level celebrities – side note, long ago funnyman Jim Norton had worked for the limo place across the street, he was in all the time.

I walked into the store and spotted one really Italian looking guy in the store that appeared to be the biggest Guido’s that I’ve ever seen, and I grew up in a predominantly Italian neighborhood, and have Italian cousins mind you.  I assumed that this was the guy from the Sopranos. 

His hair was slicked back, it was dyed a weird shade of brown all over, and the sides of his hairline came out like wings.  It looked as though the man could jump off of a cliff and glide safely down to land using only the hairstyle.  Despite this abnormal look, it appeared as though not a single strand of his hair was out of place. 

Had I ever seen the Sopranos prior to this day I would have known instantly that the guy was none other than Mr. Paulie Walnuts.

“Tony (Sirico - a.k.a. Paulie Walnuts), I got the owner outside” The initial guy from outside shouted.

Paulie Walnuts and I walked outside where he went up to the owner, Tony, and shouted,

“The Mega Hold, The Mega Hold” Just like that, no full sentences or anything like that. 

Tony (the owner) informed him that he didn’t think that they made it anymore.

Walnuts then became physical, in a nonviolent manner.  As he shouted that he believes that they still made it, he pulled double duty, by lightly backhand slapping Tony’s gut and lightly touching his own head of hair, going on about how the Ultra Fine Mist and the Extra Hold weren’t strong enough for his hair.

Tony backed up a little with each backhand slap to his gut, and Walnuts kept on him. 

Tony felt very uncomfortable in that this “famous actor” was attempting to shake him down for of all things, hairspray, so he invited Walnuts and his rather large middle aged male assistant into the store to check out the order books that we had, pointed them out the TRESsemme hair products section and it left them speechless for a moment.

Walnuts immediately had that frantic look on his face that I’ve now seen a thousand times from watching the Sopranos, and said aloud something along the lines of “My hair!?!?  What am I gonna do about my hair?”

Walnuts and his assistant left the store empty handed, and disappointed.  By the time Walnuts got into the SUV to pull away just about every guidette within a two block radius was clamoring for a chance to talk to “The Paulie Walnuts” and wondered why he was in Brooklyn of all places…

Simple answers, he was born and raised in Brooklyn, and had apparently just moved two blocks away from the store, out of his “Ma’s” house, and into a luxury condo down near the water.

A couple of months later, the owner of the store, Tony, came across the TRESemme Mega Hold hairspray in the books again, and decided not to order it, Paulie Walnuts or no Paulie Walnuts.

The news that I received over the weekend of my brother in laws friend having been found dead of an apparent and most likely drug overdose, inside of a YMCA in Jersey, has made me think about some circumstances that I might not find to be all that bad to die under given that we all have to die, and that quick deaths are better than slow ones, and that quick painful deaths are way better than slow painful deaths, and that really odd deaths are always more fun than heart attacks, and car accidents.

Just remember, I’m in no shape or mindset to go anytime soon.

Shark Attack  As long as I could see land somewhere, and knew that it is nearly impossible to swim back to shore, I think that a shark attack in which a good portion of me is eaten wouldn’t be that bad.  The entire time that the shark and I are fighting to my bitter death, I would be thinking How cool would it be if someone from the shore is watching this through binoculars right now!  This is a story that they will be telling their grandkids.  This one thought makes it all worth it for me.

Sunflower Attack  I’ve always had the thought that if any flower or plant could grow a mind of its own and begin walking, that it would definitely be a sunflower.  Seriously, they have those big round shaped flowers in the shape of a head, and those flowers are in the exact place that a head should be - if it were to walk upright. 

Scene:  It’s a grassy field in the rolling hills of Upstate New York.  I’m walking through the field by myself, when all of a sudden I spot one tall and visibly angry sunflower coming my way.  The sunflower sees me, points at me, then motions across its throat with some leaves the you’re dead sign, then it starts plucking out its sunflower seeds, and hurling them at me like there’s no tomorrow.  I try to run, but the sunflower is too fast for me to escape, and then when it gets close enough it knocks me to the ground, and proceeds to beat me dead as if it’s the Joe Pesci character from Goodfellas. 

I wouldn’t mind this one, simply because throughout my being attacked I would keep thinking to myself that any medical examiner that examines my corpse would be left completely clueless as to why there were sunflower seeds jammed in my back, and why the black and blues were had the shape of some unknown object.  As such, they wouldn’t ever be able to solve my death. 

This would create such a mystery and folklore that would have it that aliens kidnapped me, found my packet of sunflower seeds, didn’t like them, and had me whacked because of it.

Elephant Attack  As long as it somehow involves me attempting to save someone that inadvertently wandered into the elephant exhibit at the Bronx Zoo, I’m fine with being trampled, and tossed around like a rag doll for the spectators, and maybe, just maybe, it would become a daily event.  At 1:50PM each day, Bronx Zoo officials would announce,

Ladies and Gentlemen, our elephant show begins in ten minutes.  You don’t want to miss the Beehive Hairdressers mauled body being tossed around like a rag doll by two elephants for 15 minutes until they get bored.  Remember, only ten minutes to til show time!

Giant Squid Attack  If I were ever in the predicament of finding myself alone, floating, exhausted, in the middle of an ocean, when all of a sudden a giant squid attacks me, I think my being eaten would be an amazing thing.  Going out this way would allow me to not have to continue the suffering of a long and drawn out death by dehydration, or suffer death from sun blisters, and the entire time that I’m being attacked I would be thinking about how cool it is to see a giant squid in action.  I would be able to see the mouth opening and closing and it getting bigger and bigger, and for some odd reason I envision a giant squid not only eating me, but slicing me into pieces as I pass through its mouth.  The wonder would grow and grow to such a point that I would have to dive head first into its mouth to see what happens out of curiosity.

Zebra Attack  I always thought of zebra’s as being peaceful and gentle animals similar to horses, only with stripes, however, horses can be angry animals too.  Given this, I wouldn’t put it past a zebra attacking me at any moment in time.

I imagine a zebra attacking and killing me to go something along these lines:

(Giggling) Hey, check out that zebra.

Wow, a zebra!  Now that’s a really beautiful animal.

Look at its cool stripes.

Wait, why the heck is a zebra running loose in Union Square?

Is that thing charging at me?

OWWWW!

Help, this zebra is attacking me!

(Laughing) I mean it!  This thing is really giving it to me.

I think this thing wants me dead!  Help!

Why aren’t any of you helping me?

I think I’m bleeding, but I can’t see that part of my back to know for sure.

(Laughing) Don’t any of you have any compassion?

Can I just see that photo that you just took of me on your sleek new digital camera?

(Laughing) This thing really hurts!

Wait, I can’t see the LCD from that far away, can you come a little closer?

This zebra has a really beautiful coat of hair.  It’s so soft.

(Laughing to the point of tears) Don’t you stick your zebra ass in my face!

And, dead!!! I bet you didn’t think that I envision a zebra sitting on my face until I died as being the way I went, but in my book, that is the mostly likely scenario.  My obituary would read:Beehive Hairdresser, aged 26 years.  Saw the zebra, and didn’t think quick enough.