BeehiveHairdresser.com

I went to the doctor two days ago for this cold that I have, and the guy that was called into the tiny waiting room before me was very much an Italian American guido - a guido who happened to have lots of really bad tattoos - multiple tribal bands, chinese lettering, and general yuck of poor craftsmanship. 

Having overheard his conversation with the receptionist, I knew that he was there without any insurance.  I’ve been in his position of not having insurance, so I know that he must have had good reason to go to the doctor uninsured.

Then when I was seating in the tiny waiting room I realized that I was across the hall from bad tattoo guido guy, and I could easily hear his very loud voice carry through the walls and closed door.

This is an excerpt of their conversation.

Guido:  So I work outside, and I touch alot of things, and I got this hear rash on my crotch and I don’t know what it is.

Doctor:  Let me take a look.

Guido:  Yeah, I don’t know what it is.  I’ve never seen nothing like it before.

Doctor:  Sir, that’s herpes.

Guido:  Get the fuck out of here.   It can’t be.

Doctor:  Listen to me.  It is, I kid you not.

Guido:  My fucking life is over.  How could this have happened?

Doctor:  From sex.

Damn I love my doctor.

I’ve seen jerks comment onother peoples blogs in the doucheiest of douchebag fashions. 

I myself have always felt good about my not having to deal with such jerks - that is until yesterday, when commenter “nicole” decided that she needed to spew her hate towards me over a post written over two weeks ago.

The post in question in which she spews hate towards me is the post in which I railed against Verizon Wireless, and their Verizon 411 connect charges. 

Now to the my naked eye “nicole” appears to be a Verizon Wireless employee…

And after being told by “nicole” to “suck a dick” I thought I’d just say thank you to her. 

If you’d like to tell “nicole” thank you personally, she can be reached at lil_loka_phx@yahoo.com 

Nicole, have a great weekend!

I know I will.

As you all know from my post last week, the one in which I spoke about having to choose between my lifelong dream of being a contestant on the American Gladiators and going to a New York Mets baseball game that happened to be bucket hat day - I ended up picking the Mets game. 

I remember or at least thought that I remembered having gone to a New York Mets bucket hat day game when I was around seven or eight years old.  I remember getting the bucket hat and feeling so happy and proud of it.  I felt that having the bucket hat made me feel as though I was on the team, that Keith Hernandez could look at me, and see a little bit of me in him.

See this hat that John Olerud is sporting?

That is what I remember my bucket hat being.  Now in hindsight, I realize that John Olerud is sporting a helmet hat, and NOT a bucket hat.

This is the hat that I got from the New York Met game on Saturday…

It’s a “bucket” hat, and it should be called a fisherman hat.

Don’t get me wrong, the hat is a fairly neato hat, but when you expect a hard helmet as the free giveaway at the Mets game and instead end up with this wimpy fabric hat, you end up very disappointed - at least I did.

I ended up giving being strong armed into giving the bucket hat to my five year old nephew who did not attend the game.

When he got his my bucket hat he realized that it was too big for him.  Can you believe my five year old nephew traded the bucket hat back to me for only the ticket stub?!?!  Quite foolish on his part….

Here’s my old friend Tony Bennett modeling the bucket hat.  He says that it looks better on him, but I beg to differ.

What do you think?

Oh, and I know what you’re thinking…that my old friend Tony Bennett looks familiar, and you’re right, he does look familiar.  You might recognize him from your local Krispy Kreme Donuts… 

And he works there on weekends…

That was the joke between my friends was when I was 11 years old.  See, all quarter drinks were a quarter, all except for the ones in this one particular bagel store in the neighborhood - they charged 30 cents for their quarter drink.

So there we be, holding up these quarter drinks…

 

“Hey, how much is this quarter drink?”

“30 Cents!”

So a couple of weeks ago when I NEEDED to find me a quarter drinkI searched all over, then I remembered this bagel store, and figured that even thoughI haven’t been there in ten years, it was my last straw of luck, and I would try it.

Low and behold the 30 cent bagel store had orange and red quarter drinks in stock.  I picked one up excitedly, and immediately asked how much the quarter drink was, figuring inflation probably pushed the price of quarter drinks up to 50 cents…

“Excuse me, how much is this quarter drink?”  I asked.

“Quarter drink.”  The guy replied looking at my hand.

“Yeah, it’s a quarter drink.  How much?”  I repeated.

“It’s a quarter drink.  A quarter!”  He snapped back.

Apparently that guy forgets the days when his bagel shop sold quarter drinks at a premium…oh well.

I headed out of work about ten minutes early yesterday with a massive head cold, and on the way home I just wanted to nap the entire ride away, wake up and feel 100% better. 

Instead I opened my eyes while the train had its doors open at Rockefeller Center and spotted a little Hasidim lady dwarf pitter patter her way past me - my day instantly became better.

Her mere sight put a smile on my face, and I couldn’t close my eyes right away.  I needed to take her in, and process what I was seeing, it was almost as if she was an illusion - to be honest I had never seen a Hasidim dwarf before.

This little Hasidim lady dwarf was the perfect combination between an average sized Hasidim lady, and a dwarf.  She had the normal blue skirt and old fashioned button down top, with her hair in the quintessential hairdo that all Hasidim women have (is it a wig?), as well as the height of 4′2″, and tiniest of hands with her little fingers all pointing everywhere - both classic signs of dwarfism.

As this hasidic lady dwarf sat there with her feet dangling back and forth, she took out her needlepoint set and began to needlepoint! 

I was in heaven!

I couldn’t help but keep a nearly constant stare on her tiny hands pushing in and out of her unicorn setting as she needlepointed the green grass that the unicorns were standing on.

If it were any closer to Christmas, I very well might have believed the Hasidim lady dwarf to be the Miracle of Christmas.

P.S. It was impossible to get a camera photo of her from where I was sitting.  I’ll try to leave a little early again to get a photo.

Have headcold…

 

will nap for food..

The other day I was feeling bored with the usual ways of wasting time at work - blogs, cnn, chess, wiki, water/bathroom breaks, and picking my nose.  I wish that that last one wasn’t so true…

Anyway, I still felt the need to waste my “valuable” work time in a way that I found interesting, only this time I did it with a twist - I was going to try and save humanity!

Or, at least missing millionaire Steve Fossett. 

The best part of this newfound way of wasting time was that for me that it was simple and easy, I didn’t even have to remember which way the horse moved in chess, I didn’t have to click the “a” or the “s” to get a game to work, I just had to point and click. 

See, some people got together and created a website that serves as a way for the everyday person to look for the missing Fossett, and all that you the viewer needed was at least one “good” eye and some way of clicking yes or no.

See the plane in this photo?

You do, don’t you?  Good, cause that’s the last time you will ever see it on your search.  For the rest of your “good deeding” you shall be enticed by the Nevada dessert…

oooohhh! 

aaaaahhhhh!

so boring…. that I could only look at 150 of these frames before deciding that this is the new office dancing baby, dancing cat, and crack all rolled into one!  I love it.

If you want to begin your own expedition to find Steve Fossett, click here to continue.

I remember the first couple of days working at the store as though they were yesterday.  The sights, the people, and the smell have all been ingrained into my memory forever. 

Given this almost crystal clear memory of that time,it is fairly safe to say that I was a giant obnoxious asshole while working at the discount store as a teenager, and I’m not lying with that statement.

Those first couple of weeks I just went in, did what I was told to do for work, and was fairly quiet.  Then after about a month and in a fairly quick fashion I threw my shell away, it was never to be seen in the store again.

I was fairly loud and rude on a regular basis without even realizing it most of the time - and that was when I was sober!  zing!

Anyways, I was a tiny teenager.  I was literally about 5′3″ and about 96lbs when I started working there at the age of 16.  I was so short that I needed to jump up to reach the top shelf!  I was so weak that I couldn’t wheel a handtruck full of boxes into the store because the store had a short three inch ramp at about an 85 degree angle as a step leading in.

Given my tiny size and my annoying attitude, I was easily the target of rough housing by the other stockboys - alot. 

This rough housing didn’t come out of a mean place, seeing as how small I was, they took it upon themselves to ensure that I could take hits without flinching - at least that’s what they said. 

Ever had a barbecue scraper used as a comb on your buzzed head of hair?  Or had a bbq scraper used as a hammer against your head?  Thanks to those rough housing days I have, and let me tell you this, it hurts. 

There would be full on wrestling matches in the basement, or down a narrow empty aisle at any given minute. 

While it was easy for everyone else to lift me over their head, it was easy for me to trip a guy up and be able to keep another guy pinned with only a decent effort.  For me it was all about angling, and leverage against the head and neck of my rough housing opponent.

On one occasion I remember knocking over my manager Rob, who at the time stood a good ten inches taller than me, and weighed about 150lbs plus more than me. 

He was standing in the basement with his hands in a box of Kotex pantiliners, and he had the stereo blasting at full volume.  I shouted for him, but he didn’t hear me over the sound of the Wu Tang Clan blaring next to his head. 

So, I took it upon myself to run as fast as I could the 30 feet to him, take a leap along the ways, and tackle him. 

I hit him with my right shoulder.  He was only able to see me at the last split second and my body bounced off of him, leaving me unharmed, Rob’s body bounced off of me - sending Rob careening into the boxes of Christmas junk, eventually landing on halfway on some wooden palates and halfway in the drainage pit that we called “the piss hole”.

I stood there laughing like an evil maniacal jerk as Rob just layed there with a look of shock on his face over the fact that I was able to knock him so hard onto the floor, and then Rob got up. 

He wanted his revenge, only I think that I pushed him over the edge with my extra rough rough housing besides cackling at him when he was down.  I immediately ran down the tissue aisle, turned right, ran down and around past all of the toilet paper boxes in my attempt to hide. 

“Come here you little prick.”  Rob shouted as he followed right behind me.

By running the way that I did I stupidly ran myself into a dead end.  Having not wanted to take a really hard beating - which I did many a times there for going over the line with the various stockboys - I climbed up and over the boxes of toilet paper, with my body tumbling over and off onto the other side of the basement floor, which so happened to be right at the bottom of the cellar steps.

“You fuckin bastard!  Get back here.”  Rob shouted.

I wasn’t staying, I ran up those basement stairs, and fled halfway up the block.  I stayed a good distance away from the store until Rob was able to calm himself down that day.

A couple of days later he knocked me to the ground when I wasn’t paying attention on the first aisle.  In doing so, he knocked himself to the ground too. 

Even though he was on top of me at first, I grabbed and held his neck with one arm - rendering him immobile, thereby safely keeping him at close bay from me, with him squirming on top of me trying to free himself.

A couple of days after that he just came up from behind me, picked me up, and tossed me into the boxes of garbage at the back of the store.  After I landed he proceeded to pummel me with punches to the legs and forearm shivers to the forehead - for some odd reason I loved working there.

All my life I’ve known baby showers as being a womans world.  They were grouped together with bridal showers, and bachelorette parties - guys weren’t invited. 

Given this, it wasn’t until somewhere around Wednesday that I actually realized that I was invited and agreed to go to a baby shower! 

I didn’t knowingly say yes to the baby shower, I got baby shower and baby Christening confused, and only realized my mistake when I found it odd that the baby to be Christened wasn’t yet born.   

“Are you sure that I was invited to this baby shower on Sunday?”  I had to ask Cheese.

“Yeah, it’s a unisex baby shower.  I asked to doublecheck.”  She replied.

This only left me puzzled.  I hadnever heard of this, and to me it is the modern day version of walking on water - which used to be unheard of…

“You’re not going to be the only guy there.  X, Y, and Z will be there on top of father of baby to be.” 

“Okay, I feel a little more safe about going.”

Move forward to day of the baby shower, I woke up with a massive headache.  This was caused due to a very low grade fever, sore throat, and nasal passage burning - a cold if you will. 

Seeing that I have knowledge that if I am actually coming down with a cold, I will be the only one who actually develops symptoms and it will not be caught by someone else - I figured, I would go, and make the best of it.

Cheese heard of my low grade fever and insisted I stay home to rest - I, stubbornly and heroically braved my way through all the adversity so that I could attend the modern day walking on the moon unisex baby shower. 

Just before we walked out the door to go to the baby shower Cheese informed me that her friends boyfriend, who I assumed would be there, wasn’t going…

WTF???  How did he get out of it?  I could have used this cold to my advantage… I thought.

This late minute news left me nervous as to what to expect on the male front at the shower, but once there it felt great to see guys there.  Guys that I didn’t even know would be there.

A few minutes into being at the shower more men arrived… 

The first being a rather lanky man whom I had never met, and who walked quite oddly, but since he was so tall I assumed that this was his normal I walk like a caveman walk.

Nope, see he had been bedridden since the morning - due to his having sneezed and pulled a muscle in his neck/back - rendering him barely mobile. 

The next guy came in with a swollen face - he had been riding his bycycle and ended up face first into an open car door - cut up chin, and a big fat lip.

After the greetings, we all confided at how glad we were to find other guys at the baby shower. 

This left me wondering just how much of a coincidence it was that the three of us ended up in such ways, considering that the night before we were just fine and dandy drinking at the bar.

Deep down, I am fairly certain that we were all just terrified by having to go to our first unisex baby shower, and our individual minds & bodies relayed this by “happening to fall ill” in one form or another.

This morning I was greeted by a new face, and an even newer name for a man.  It was the new guy that I need to train, and he has a gals name. 

It isn’t the type of name that could sometimes be an intergender name - it is a one sided name that holds strict nature in the female category.

When he introduced himself to me I didn’t get his name at first, in part it’s from my not recognizing the name as being that of a man.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.”  I asked inquisitively.

“It’s Heather.”  He replied.

“Okaaay.  It’s a pleasure to meet you Heather.”  I replied.

I then had to take a step back internally, and quiz myself if the rather large older man who sat next to me was if fact even a man, or at least even born a man.

As I casually began to go through the steps of what the training entailed I made quick notes in my head - dude has a shaved bald head due to male pattern baldness, heavyset in the gut, not the hips, big man hands with a gold ring of his name “Heather” on his ring finger, and a soft gentle voice.  So gentle voice, THAT’S IT! 

This guy named Heather must have actually been named something else at birth, raised a boy, and then he must have lived part of his life somewhere as a woman named Heather, and now just just prefers to go by the name of Heather.

Then around noon he asked if he could use the phone - he needed to call his son to check up on him. 

After the call (which I eavesdropped on entirely) he confessed that his wife was on vacation, and his son was home alone and that he wanted to make sure that no parties were going on while he was off at work. 

While he sure sounded quite fatherly in his discussion with his son, what college kid has a party in the mornings while his dad is out at work?  

I’m confused…but am fairly certain that he in indeed a man - and was born one. 

btw, I would have totally have been able to comprehend a transgender walking in over this guy with a gals name.

A few notes on the Emmy Awards, Ryan Seacrest sucks, and I hope that everyone in Hollywood finally realizes this.  I do believe that he’s the only host in ANY awards show history to have an opening monologue that wasn’t a monologue, and one that in the monologue place just spat out how the audience is arraigned - while carefully attempting to pass off that he was once romantically linked to Teri Hatcher. 

Besides that, the most notable moment for me was when Terry O’Quinn won the award for Best Supporting Male Actor In A Drama Series - did you see his wife, Lori???

O’Quinn is married to a quite a BBW in the truest of words.  Meaning that BBW Lori’s case is the opposite of the old craigslist ads that touted that a 5′2″ gal who was 350lbs was a BBW - this is so not a BBW.

Terry O’Quinn’s wife Lori, is gorgeous.  While I haven’t found any stats of her on google, from what I saw last night, Lori O’Quinn appeared to be 6′2″ or maybe 6′3″ and 220lbs - now THAT is a true BBW  - she looked like a modern day Viking goddess.

I would wager to say that Terry O’Quinn’s wife Lori will be the number one person googled from the Emmy Awards, kind of like how Helen Mirren’s tits became a top rated google search shortly after the Oscars back in February.

Also, was I the only one that was even just slightly dissappointed by the fact that Helen Mirren had her chest all covered up last night?

Saturday night found me in the backyard of Flatbush Farm.  It is a bar with a seriously great interior, with a great backyard for food, drinks, and chatting. 

We were in the backyard saying our goodbyes to our crowd of people when Cheese spotted a rat creeping out from the dirt of the bushes.

“(gasp) Oh my God a rat…”  Cheese said quietly.

“Dude there’s a big rat coming out over there!”  I said only slightly louder than Cheese while pointing at the rat scurrying back and forth not knowing if it was safe to come out before returning to his hiding place under the benches. 

And with that there was a sudden quiet throughout the entire backyard of drinkers who had been rather loudly talking amongst themselves, with everyone looking at where I had just pointed. 

It was as if the word “rat” is the one word that all New Yorkers can hear over any and all conversation.

It was awesome!