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I know that it is May, and that NYC has a snowstorm or two in the middle of summer on record, but it’s going to be in the 80s today, and one of my coworkers just got me with a small (albeit perfect) snowball.

I can’t wait for Mr. Met to arrive…

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Since I don’t have the luxury of being able to get by on what was left of my “work” pants collection while I await final word from the dry cleaners on the status of my lost pants, I had to go out and buy some new ones.

After work on Monday I took the E to 14th Street which allowed me great access to what I feel are the two best Banana Republic’s in Manhattan - the one in the Port Authority Building, and the one over on 5th Ave.

The Port Authority one is the better of the twobecause this one is way out in Chelsea AND sometimes has trannies working in the Men’s department. Both of these items leads the wide variety of homophobes to stay clear of this particular Banana Republic, which translates into having a better selection of clothing/sizes to wear as well.

My first stop was the Port Authority one, found a couple of Polo type shirts that I could wear for work, and was shocked to find out that the store didn’t have my size in the style of pants that I wanted.  It was during the checkout of my shirts that I realized that whenever I sign on the electronic credit/debit screens I always click clear instead of accept, thereby needing to repeat the process, and then only to repeat said process yet again until three or four times into it finally figure out what I am doing retardedly wrong.

So then it was off to the one on 5th Ave.  Which usually has more frat boy and trust fund looking types of shoppers.  My size of 30 x 30 was missing yet again, but I couldn’t leave empty handed, so I had to do something very shameful.  I had to try pants on in the store. 

To my surprise 31 X 30 fit rather comfy on the waist.  I bought two sets of pants, one black, the other and off black. 

When I got to the cashier to pay I asked her for the huge favor of getting rung up on two separate receipts since I was using a 20% off card on one of the pants.  I wish I could say that she did it no problem, but it only unlocked her Inspector Gadget mindset and decided to inquire on why I would need such things.  This was ensued by a five minute conversation as to just how and why a dry cleaner would lose my pants, and why I didn’t want to keep the pants that weren’t mine.

Since she was so inquisitive it was obvious that she wasn’t from NYC.

So there you have it.  I have two new sets of pants that are a size too big, fit comfy, with the only drawback being that my butt doesn’t look nearly as good in as the 30 x 30’s.

I’ll keep you all posted over the dry cleaner mafia still holding my pants hostage.

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Go outside and play!  It’s a gorgeous day out there.  The sun is is bright, and the breeze is cozy warm.  I just got back to the office from some time out that included a much needed trip to the local swing set. 

All this being in the sun makes me want to nap.

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Last night I ended up catching “Live at Gotham” on Comedy Central.  I was shocked to see it on tv, and thought that it was only some type of internet podcast - forgive me, I live under a rock. 

From what I saw on the episode last night, the show looked to be a replacement for the long running “Premium Blend” that showcases up and coming comics.  The only difference to Premium Blend being that they shot the comics in the club setting of Gotham Comedy Club over on 23rd Street, rather than a theatre in Times Square.  It was good to see that Comedy Central went for this change in how the comics were shot.

My hat goes off to Chris Mazzilli and Michael Reisman the owners of Gotham, and all around nice guys - okay that’s a slight lie.  Mazzilli is a nice guy, and I’m only assuming that Reisman is a nice guy.   My point is that my hat goes off to them for bring actual stand up comedy back to tv with this show.  Believe it or not, being able to pull off an hour show like this is ground breaking.

See, I performed back at the original Gotham Comedy Club way back when, doing bringer shows there as a way to get stage time. 

Bringer shows are simple, anyone who reserves a spot, brings the required number of people allotted (it used to be 3) gets “x” amount of stage time.  Most clubs do this as a way of filling in the audience for most non prime-time weekend shows. 

Anyways, one particular Friday night in the spring of2000 I was doing one of these bringer shows, and I was all set to do some weird new stuff that I honestly just hadn’t worked out fully and in hindsight wasn’t really that funny.  My plan was to go up and doing some jokes about being a modern day son of God living in NYC, only it lacked many a punchline. 

That night Gotham had extremely funny and talented comic Jessica Kirson as the MC, and the only other act that I remember to go up was amazingly funny and talented comic Danny Cohen.  

I clearly remember being extremely nervous about performing that night because it was going to be the first time that I was allowing my mother to see me perform - one of my sisters was the other seat filler, and funnyman Rock Albers was my third filler.

When I arrived at the club, I signed in, and went downstairs to wait for the show to start - it was something along the lines of a 6 or 6:30PM start time. 

The show started, the place was packed for a bringer show, and I spent my time waiting to go up by pacing around the bar area, and by going up and down the staircase to the basement lounge.  It was during one of my trips going up the staircase that some guy gave me a really hard shoulder bump as he passed.  I let it go, and went about my way. 

As the show progressed Jessica would do some time in between the acts to bring the good energy back into the room as bringers tend to be energy sucking vessels on audiences.  A trend immediately happened as the show kicked off.  After Jessica would call up the next comic to the stage, which stops all of her joke telling, a guy sitting in front of the stage would call her fat as she greeted the next comic.  It was a very cheap and low class heckle.

This happened after each intro, and was making Jessica quite frustrated because she couldn’t really stay on stage and take the guy on because she had just called a comic to the stage. 

Before I went on stage I was warned of the heckler, and wasn’t sure who it was from the entrance point.  I went up, had my six minutes of poorly formed material planned, then proceeded to do alright all things considered - alright being I had the attention of the audience, had them laughing, but was far from killing the room. 

Less than 30 seconds into my set I began to saw the guy that gave me a hard shoulder bump in the staircase sitting in the middle table three seats in, and heard him moaning.  I ignored the moans and kept going since I thought no one else could really hear him. 

As my set progressed the guy kept moaning louder and louder to the point that it was obvious to everyone in the room that he was moaning, and little did I know that this was the same guy that was heckling Jessica.  I could tell that the crowd didn’t like him, and I just wanted him to shut up. 

So I tried to ask him a question nicely, thinking that bringing him into the act would quiet him down.  He was barely keeping focus on me, and only mumbled words loudly and incoherenctly as his friend was motioning to me to just leave the guy be. 

Around this time I saw that Chris Mazzilli had walked out of the room rather quickly, and then returned with the bartender.  I have no idea what that bartenders name was, but he was a guy in his 50s, with salt and pepper hair, and gave any room that he walked into the ambiance of class. 

The heckler was now mumbling really loud, so I broke the nice guy attitude and got him by saying, “Sir, have you ever fucked a sheep?” 

“NO!” he replied.

“No?  Well, why don’t you leave and go fuck one then?!?!?!”

At which point the audience gave me my biggest laugh of that set, with applause, and the heckler went to jump up to get me. 

Just as the heckler began to move the bartender jumped on his back to prevent him from standing, and whispered into his ear, as Chris Mazzilli stood behind them both. 

Just as this happened all that I could think of was that I screwed up my set, my standing as a good bringer was shattered, and worst of all, dropped an f-bomb in front of my mother.

The room could see the obvious commotion, and I was getting the flashing red light signal to leave the stage immediately even though my time was nowhere near up. 

Both Mazzilli and that bartender most likely saved my butt from a couple of good punches to my face that night, I said one ad libbed joke, then my goodbye to the audience, and walked off to the bar area.

I couldn’t believe that I had screwed up big-time by helping cause such a scene with the heckler, and as I passed through the curtain I was greeted huge smiles, hugs, and handshakes.  All the comics loved what I did, since that was the same guy that kept calling Jessica fat. 

I stood by the staircase laughing with them about the whole thing when the curtain swung open.  I looked right, and there was Mr. Heckler.  Standing there, swaying back and forth, looking as though he wanted to fight, so I just walked away from him to continue laughs at the bar.

About six months to a year later I saw Jessica performing somewhere, a guy began to heckle her, all of a sudden she pulled out some incredible crowd material that just shut the guy down.  I was later told by another comic that this was her usual heckler thing, and that it had something to do with a night at the Gotham involving a heckler calling her fat - this particular night.

As I went to leave the club that night I apologized to Mazzilli, he informed me that it was nonsense, not to worry about it, and that I was still welcome.

My mother didn’t even care about the f-bomb.  When I apologized for dropping it, all she could say was, “I just can’t believe I saw you on stage.” 

Yes, all it took for my mother to be impressed with (albeit still unhappy in my choice of pursuing)  my comedy was get on stage, my words didn’t matter.

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Late yesterday afternoon a water main break in NYC’s East Village left hundreds of people without water.  This makes me wish I could have been a fly on the wall to the scores of complaints from angry residents saying, “This is beginning to get ridiculous.  I pay $2150 a month in rent, and I can’t even take a shower in my kitchen like a normal human being!!!”

Oh, to be that fly…

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Last night I was falling asleep on my couch while I was watching the history channel somewhere around 9 or 9:30.  In between my many strong attempts to keep my eyes open and remain awake I thought I saw a commercial about a male maxi pad. 

My brain couldn’t fathom why someone would actually create and then market a maxi pad geared specifically for men, but my mind clicked the image of a dude maxi pad into itself, I laughed, and then passed out into a deep sleep.

The commercial was very straight to the point at being a pad for men, and it then cut to a picture of a the L shaped male pad that had what appeared to be ball jiggle room cupped at the bottom, being placed onto a 3-D drawing of a grown man with a round crotch.  In the diagram the pad got tucked in by the balls, and then wrapped up and around covering what looked to be enough room for a modest sized boner - leaving the ever so sensitve butthole uncovered.

I barely remembered this commercial and thought that it could have just been a dream.  I scoured the internet looking at the known female maxi pad websites to find their new section for men, and all of them came up empty.

Then I remembered that it was called a “guard” instead of a “pad”, googled, and then WHAMO! 

 

I hit the mother load - I’m assuming that this is the same product that I saw on tv.  I’m fairly sure that marketing and advertisers came up with this being called a guard so that guys wouldn’t be turned off at the idea of wearing something that looks like a creased and folded up maxi.

Since I couldn’t fully wrap my head around the idea of a male maxi pad, since I’m not the brightest in the world all my mind could think of was that this male guard was for guys who thought that they might have a wet dream or something along those lines in the middle of their day at work or something, and needed a good tool to hide it.

Sadly, it turns out that I was worng, and it isn’t really a maxi pad for men, it’s actually a guard for incontinence.  Oh, and it gets worse.  If you look at the way the male guard is shaped, it appears as though due to the much need ball room at the bottom, anytime that a guy pees it will just pool up down at the bottom - leaving his balls to soak up his yellow mess, or worse drown in it’s own pool of pee.

Then again, maybe this product is geared toward older men only.  This thought makes me wonder if I would trust a little pad over an adult diaper, and I’m going to have to go with the adult diaper being a better guard against incontinence, since I just feel as though that pad would fly out of my underwear after being peed into, leaving me with more than an awkward “I just peed my pants” moment. 

Cause it’s one thing to pee your pants, and it’s definately another thing entirely to pee into an L shaped maxi pad for men, and then have it spill out all over your pants in the most unpee-like stain possible.

While I have never used this product, I will have to give it two thumbs down.

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NFL players Clinton Portis and Chris Samuels are now defending the troubled Atlanta Falcons quarterback Michael Vick over his alleged involvement in dog fighting.

Defending Vick isn’t a douche move, but for a grown man to say that dog fighting is a “prevalent” part of life in 2007 is.

CNN.com has this quote, “I don’t know if he was fighting dogs or not,” Portis sais.  “But it’s his property; it’s his dogs.  If that’s what he wants to do, do it.” 

Portis’ statement makes me really wonder what his belief on how correct it was for colonial era slave owners to treat their property inhumanly, let alone the killing of their property.  Would he be all gung ho with this “do it” mentality?  I think not.

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There are two kinds of people in the world, those that think that Kelly Clarkson is fat and ugly, and those that think she is gorgeous.  I fall into the latter half of people.

I remember when she first burst into my world after that whole American Idol thing, and I couldn’t stand her.  This was based soley on her being from American Idol.  I wasn’t and still am not a fan of that show, and I thought that she would be a flash in the pan pop one hit wonder with that “moment like this” song. 

Then Clarkson came out with that second album, and I found myself shocked to find that I was actually into her singing.  Then I found myself watching her videos whenever they came on tv.  She was rocking my world.

It was somewhere during this time that I developed a huge man/boy crush on her, and whenever I heard people trashing her I always thought to myself that those people are just plain old wrong, or envious of her success, and then route for her to win. 

I can barely get how people can contistantly keep calling her fat or ugly. 

Yes, she’s fat compared to Nicole Richie, and everyone is compared to Nicole Richie, but in reality she’s not a fat person.  She is adorably cute, and has some healthy meat on her bones, that’s all.

Plus hear’s the good news, she has a great new music video where she’s upset at a guy!  Personal sidenote, I would give my left pinky toe to be a guy that gets yelled at her in one of her music videos.  It would be awesome.  If anyone can make that happen, go for it, and try to bargain with the producers of the video to allow me to keep my toe.  Thanks.

Here’s her new video.   

Ugghh…embedding isn’t working for some reason…so here’s the link to Kelly, and her all her glory: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A45C4XKllYQ

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At 8:40AM it tastes rotten, as if the water has been slept on by some really hot and sweaty guy. 

At 9:58AM the water tastes fresher.  It has the slightest hint of a pick me up in it.

At 11:15AM the bottles have been changed a couple of times by now.  If it still has an older bottle in it, then it has the cool taste of vanilla, and if it has a newer bottle, it tastes like dust.

At 12:37PM the water tastes like the greatest thing ever intvented, by its sheer existance of being a tool to get up and away from your desk.

At 2:07PM the water tastes like a cerebral hermorrage on crack.  You’ll wondered why you came back to work after and hour and a half lunch that involved “one heck of a burrito”.

At 3:12PM the water tastes and smells like rolling hills of fresh cut grass.  It makes you want to lay face first down in a cup, sip, nap, and then repeat.

At 4:39PM this seventh cup of water makes you realize that life isn’t that bad, since you get to go home within 21 minutes time, and tastes like a great microbrew, which is just what you needed.

At 5:01PM each sip of this cup of water tastes like molten lava, due to your having to stay late at work and “be part of the team”.

At 6:43PM this water tastes like your rotting fleshy insides are being eaten alive as the water slowly goes down your throat.

Then, at 9:06PM the water tastes like your bosses private area, but this is mainly caused by the moisture of your bosses privates still being on your upper lip - why else would you be at work so late at night?

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I’m bored, so I’m am googling things that I once new, and I’ve got to say that the best thing about Wikipedia is that anyone can go in and update a topic to make either more relevant, or just to screw with people.  

 So it should come as no shock that the Wiki page for my high school alma mater has been screwed around with.   

While I have had nothing to do with either the creation of the schools page, nor did I have anything to do with the “fixes” that were strategically placed on the page, I must admit that I quite like these amendments.  Specifically finding out that part of the future is that “We like to have sex” and for finding out that the school “is home to a real idoiot named Thomas Quinlan.”*   

I can barely contain myself during this anxious wait that I’m having for someone to write in “St. Peter’s Boy’s – home of the Peter’s Pansies.”   

*While I have never met or heard of Quinlan, I’d place a safe bet that his in fact a real idiot.  

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I’m not sure how this all of a sudden happened or what have you, but I have clearly given up on some aspects of shame in the workplace.  Mainly nose picking. 

I’m not going to lie, I love to pick my nose, and I love it despite of its inherent danger.  Nothing clears out my crusted up nose better than a couple of dips from a fingertip, nothing.  Oh, and I’m fairly certain that I’m not the only one who feels this way.  

Sitting in air that just gets pumped back into the building isn’t too good to breath.  Just an hour or two of inside the building allows enough small particles to build up in my nose forming a good sized crusty “bugger” that then causes my body to heat up slightly, and also prevents my body from taking in as much oxygen.  In these cases I go for my trusty pick. 

Don’t get me wrong, I do blow my nose when necessary, but nose blowing is usually second rate to picking, and only works well on wet snot, not crusted up buggers, there is a big difference.  See, nose blowing never seems to get all of the big chunks out that should come out, and picking on the other hand does.  Once I pick everything clean, I am able to breath so much better, and I honestly feel good to go back and about my day in a good frame of mind. 

So I used to make trips to the bathroom for my nose picking emergencies, taking full enjoyment in flicking my nose waste to the floor and or wall.   

I know that this sounds and is quite disgusting, and while it is… I’m honestly just going with the flow of the many disgustingly natured men that use the restroom on my floor.  Plus, when I see that our collective buggers having been cleaned up, I also assume that the pee speckles that have been seen all over the place must have been cleaned as well.  Like I said in the past, men on my floor have poor hygiene habits, while I partake in the poor snot disposal, I am certainly not one of those gross men that leave behind wiped ass paper on the floor of the stalls.  Now THAT is gross!

Anyways, my point is that I’ve given up on some levels of shame in the office.  The main one being picking my nose.  See, I’ve noticed that I just don’t care anymore while sitting in my cube at the aspect of being caught red handed (ZING!) picking my nose, and as such, I simply pick my nose fairly freely when I feel the need to.  Only taking precaution if I hear or feel footsteps coming my way.   

The only level of shame that I have in picking my nose is that each time I pick my nose in my cubicle I keep hearing that strange guy who drunkenly peed next to me in a closet that had a drain in it at a concert in NJ once, who said, “If only your mother can see you now!”  It just rings in my head over and over. 

For those who are honestly grossed out by my picking, think of it this way…some people use a bidet, others wipe like savage beasts.  You don’t see bidet users looking down at wipers do you.  So don’t look down at me for nose picking – plus you know that you secretly pick too.  You so do, don’t kid yourself.

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I know that I’ve been giving nothing but lack of praise for this season of the Sopranos, and let me just say that last nights episode was anything but lackluster.  It was by far the greatest episode of the season! 

The entire episode I was on the edge of my seat with worry about what would happen next, which is something that I didn’t believe the show would be able to do with only three episodes left.

Spoiler Alert Below…

When AJ was out onto the diving board, standing there contemplating suicide, and then actually going through with the attempt made for great television drama.  Seeing his struggle in the water, and then his reversal of his mind where he now wanted to live was ever better.  Then Tony’s jumping and to save his son was mmm mmm-good TV – yes, what I’m saying is that the show was as good as a really good dessert. 

Later on in the episode where Tony beats up the NY mobster, and then goes all American History X on the guy – WAY MORE AWESOME THAN ANYTHING!!! 

I have absolutely no idea what will happen to these characters over the next two episodes, but from the quick clips that they gave as previews, everything looked fucking amazing!   

All that I know for sure is that I can’t wait to see more. 

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I’ve always wanted to be there when a gorilla escaped from its enclosure at a zoo, and today, sadly, I missed yet another opportunity.    

One day my friendly really similar to me genetically brother, we will meet up on the paths of a zoo, and maybe, just maybe we’ll give each other a high five in passing.  

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As the terrible news was reported yesterday the dry cleaners may have lost my pants.   

I went back to the dry cleaners yesterday to get an update, and sadly I must report that my pants are indeed lost.  While currently listed as MIA, a two-week search and rescue mission is already under way, having both dry cleaners and customers on the look out for my missing pair of black slacks.   

A statement from the dry cleaner lady was that she blames herself for the mistake, and subsequent loss of the pants.  She further went on to say that she was very sorry about the wait that we must endure before making the claim that the pants are officially lost forever, whereby the dry cleaners will fully reimburse me for new pants – she even referred to these particular pants as “My favorite pair of pants”, which sure is putting a whole lot of words in my mouth.  I didn’t wish to cause more strife, so I reluctantly remained quiet about the fact that my favorite pair of pants are in fact jeans that do not get dry cleaned, but that’s neither here, nor there, and it’s certainly not going to help in our search for the safe return of the missing pants.   We here at beehivehairdresser.com encourage any and all people who may have seen someone either walking with or wearing any pants similar to the ones seen below to email beehivehairdresser (at) hotmail.com immediately.   

Remember, time is of utmost the essence.    

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I’m feeling quite meh right now from eating a blah lunch from my buildings cafeteria.  The lunch wasn’t necessarily bad, and at the same time it wasn’t necessarily good either, it was just sort of meh.   

Good lunches tend to not happen in the cafeteria, as bad lunches and the meh lunches are more the common, and I’ve eaten some really bad disgusting things in my life. 

Here are my Top 5 most disgusting things I’ve eaten! 

A Fly.  I ate a fly once by accident.  I was about six or seven, and playing whiffle ball.  Even though it was the middle of the afternoon I yawned for some inexplicable reason, and swallowed a full fly.  It was down in a choking fashion, and I felt quite sick with nausea afterwards. 

Rare Medium Rare Burger:  I really like it when my meat is cooked medium rare.   When properly cooked medium rare the meat is still full of its juices, and simply falls off into your mouth in one delicious warm heap after another.  Once at a restaurant the chef mustn’t have taken kindly to my request for a medium rare burger, and instead cooked the outside of the burger to a crisp while leaving the middle completely raw.  It took me a few bites in the dimly lit restaurant before becoming fully that I was eating rare red meat.  I thought I was going to die from it. 

Wrong Prescription Medication:  When I was about ten years old one of my sisters and I were both sick, and on prescribed antibodies.  I remember going to the refrigerator thinking I was being so mature and taking out what I thought was my medicine all by myself.  Took two tablespoons, swallowed, went to put the medicine back, and puked it all back up in the sink.  I have no idea what medicine she was on, but it sure as heck didn’t agree with me. 

Cats:  You’ve all heard horrific news stories about Chinese restaurants being closed down for cats right?  Well, this is one of those stories.  I hadn’t eaten Chinese food for a decade due to some cockroach incidents as a youth.  When I was 18 and working in the far West Village my coworkers all wanted to order Chinese from their usual place which as they said it had “The best dumplings around”, and I thought I’d give Chinese another go round.  I ordered Chicken with broccoli, a fairly safe meal.  Yet I felt very uncomfortable in the eating my meal.  The chicken didn’t fully look like chicken, and the guys I was eating with kept going on and on about how our meats all looked different than what they should have.   I know that at the time they were just ribbing me about it not being chicken, but less than two weeks later the Board of Health had closed down the very same West Village Chinese restaurant for having dozens of frozen dead cats in their freezer.  Finding this out made me just swallow a gulp of air, sigh, grimace, and move on. 

A Four-Year-Old Reggie Bar:  The Reggie Bar was a candy bar that was endorsed by Baseball Hall of Famer Reggie Jackson.  From what I remember they were chocolate covered thick peanut butter candy bars, and for some odd reason I actually liked its taste.  They came out in the late 80s or very early 90s, and never made any kind of splash other than at baseball card shows and conventions.  I hadn’t seen one for a couple of years, and I thought I was very lucky to find a box of them on sale at the Upper Deck baseball card convention over at the Nassau Coliseum in the mid 90s.  I’m guessing the Reggie Bar that I had was roughly four years old, because it had been at least four years since I had last seen one.  I ate it while sitting in the car with my dad while we checked out what we bought.  That particular four-year-old Reggie Bar was the most disgusting thing I have ever eaten in my life, and it ended up leaving me spitting up and dry heaving in the parking lot.  

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