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Check out these seed pods!!!

 

Holy crap they look flippin’ cool! 

These plants are grown in the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens, and appear as though there is no planting of them, other than spread by natural seeding in a certain shade area just before the Native Flora Garden. 

The actual flowers in the spring/summertime looked flippin’ great, and these seed pods which are only slightly smaller than whiffle balls are filled with hundreds of seeds that are covered by a white cotton type of substance for optimal wind pick up.

Way cool!!! 

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I would just like to say that this post is not about making fun of fat people, it is about making fun of a gal who happens to be fat, and what she was doing in the cramped quarters of the crowded D train this morning.

She had her (lumpy and jiggly) body wrapped around the pole, making it nearly impossible for anyone else to hold it in a comfortable position, while playing a Nintendo DS game.  Particularly the game “Cooking Mama“!

At first glance, and even after watching her play the game for a good 20 minutes, the game gave all appearances as being a game that a four or five year old should be playing when they want to help their parents cook.  This game made the original NES Super Mario Brothers look like brain surgery.

Basically the game allows the player to “create” meals from scratch. 

I watched as the fat girl feverishly spun the Nintendo DS pen in circles as she dipped the pork chops in breadcrumbs, cracked eggs, and even sliced her cooked pork chops - all in timed events!

Every now and then I took a peek at this womans face to see if she was as bored playing the game as I was in watching her play the game, but no.  Nope, she was completely entralled by the game, and I happened to notice that as each of her meals got closer and closer to being fully prepared and cooked she would subconsciously lick her lips out of what I can only assume to be desired wants of eating the video game meal.

It was  great morning commute.

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Some of you may have heard of a little thing called MicroSoft Excel.

Some of you might actually enjoy working with it, and feel as though it is the end all be all best way of gathering data in one place.  I for one can’t stand it. 

Don’t get me wrong, I’m flippin’ amazing with my fingers on Excel, and at the same time Excel makes me want to do unkind acts by default.  Simply put, Excel is one of the few things in life that at the sight of its existence I become full of a boiling rage, and it’s not pretty, but thankfully I write the rage out and it goes away.

So some of the fours of readers here might have noticed that I’ve been crabby, nasty, and or flat out cruel sounding these past few days, and or the last week and a half.  Particularly the post that I wrote about having had my credit card information stolen and used. 

When I wrote “I hope to find you (all) one day, and when I do find you, I will first drop you like a pineapple, then I will gut you, glue your jaw to your skull, and then use your head as a soccer ball, and then when I’m done playing around with it mail it to your mother on her birthday.” 

What I meant to say was that if I find you I will force you to work forever on an endless Excel spreadsheet in a dark room.

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Ladies and Gents, meet my new best friend…

I call this new best friend of mine “Blue“, and well, it’s a great friend to have around.  Blue is from Long Island, quiet, cool, smells like fresh picked blueberries, goes down smooth, and after spending a night with Blue I tend to feel drunk off of Blue.

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Well…less that six months after the debut of the original Katie Cut, which has spawned thousands of women to get the courage to go to many a hairdresser that doesn’t have the same skills and expertise that the hairstylist of Katie Holmes has, and then request the Katie Cut only to end up getting a butchered version of it - there’s more good news!

According to Perez Hilton, Katie Holmes has an even newer hairstyle!!!

I personally love this new hairstyle on her one big reason, and that is all of these women across the world that have been walking around with butchered heads of hair for five and a half months are now going to go run out and get this newer version of the Katie Cut. 

Have fun being vein, ladies, and remember, shards of glass hurt, so when that becomes the “it” thing to do, don’t come crying to me.

And by all of this, I mean, DO NOT RUN OUT AND GET THIS HAIRCUT!!!  IT IS NOT FOR EVERYONE!!!

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So I just had a coworker come up into my cube with a question regarding some workload that someone had given her.  Without getting the specifics, it’s a task that cannot be done.  It simply can’t, and there’s no way for us or anyone to do anything with it.

“Can you help me out?  I’m not sure what Babs is looking for on this stuff.  Why is she asking me to do this?”

“Babs is fuckin’ crazy”

“Why does everyone keep saying that?”

Okay, so my “Babs is fuckin’ crazy” comment came out under my breath without my realizing it, but the “Why does everyone keep saying that?” line brought tears of laughter to my eyes. 

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Sometimes people ask me where and how I came up with the name BeehiveHairdresser for this here blog.  Unfortunately the real story isn’t all that exciting, but I was recently asked if it was due to my being a “Beehive” hairdresser of the urban slang vernacular, number two.

For those of you who are like me, and have never heard of doing a beehive, it is: “When you’re doing a girl in the ass, and before you cum you pull out and cum in her hair, and then with your penis you twirl her hair into a sticky hairdo resembling a beehive.”

Classy move, I know…

It actually sounds like such a wild and hard scenario to pull off in the heat of passion, but yes, from now on this is what will be told forth as being the truth behind the name BeehiveHairdresser, and I can’t wait to see the reactions of the inquisitive faces.

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Lately when my alarm clock has been ringing to wake me I find that I pull the covers back, pull myself up off of my tummy, look over at the alarm blaring at me from across the room and say to myself, “That a$$hole!” 

No, I’m not calling the alarm an a$$hole, I’m actually calling myself the a$$hole for having set the alarm that wakes me up to get ready for an unfulfilling day at a job that feels as though it is a hacksaw cutting through my brain, leaving a trail of an endless workflow of boredom in its wake.

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Well, it finally happened to me.  Someone, or a group of people stole part of my identity - my credit card. 

 

Which I’m told has nothing to do with the phishing call that I received on Monday.

I found this all out last night when I got a phone call from my credit card company, to which I wrote off as a possible phishing scam, so I called the credit card company back at the number I have listed as customer service. 

Customer service informed me that my account has been placed on hold due to recent odd activity.  Specifically a purchase of $1.74 for some type of Microsoft product on Monday, and a .79 purchase in Australia. 

Word to the wise…if you’re going to charge things illegally on my account, purchase items that might not look so off the wall requiring my card to get shut off. 

And to the person or persons who stole my card info and or used it without my consent, I’m from Brooklyn and went to high school on Staten Island, so I hope to find you (all) one day, and when I do find you, I will first drop you like a pineapple, then I will gut you, glue your jaw to your skull, and then use your head as a soccer ball, and then when I’m done playing around with it mail it to your mother on her birthday.

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This morning I was riding the D train with my friend Jay, and I happened to get a seat after Pacific Street, with that seat happening to be directly next to a gal whom I’ve seen on the trains for a good three years - she gets off in Manhattan at 34th Street - Herald Square, usually.

After sitting a few minutes I noticed out of the corner of my eyes that the gal was nodding off, literally.  She wasn’t just asleep, she was asleep with her head wobbling left and right, with a good minute there of it being back against the wall. Her head was flailing around so much I thought that she might actually be an actress practicing for an audition of a remake to the Exorcist.

Jay and I couldn’t stop laughing at the head movements, which just so happens to be one of those neurotic things that I worry about when I know that I’ve been sleeping oddly on the subway.

Anyway, her head kept creeping over to me, making a deep tilt left, allowing her head to come within about an inch of my right shoulder for a good five minutes.

Then while our train was pulling into the station at 34th Street her head finally made it all the way onto my shoulder.  I felt it land on my shoulder, and I froze. 

I figured she must have been really exhausted to have allowed such a thingto happen, and since she was a regular train rider that didn’t seem like a loony, I thought about just letting her rest there. 

Her head was there for maybe a second before she woke up and pulled her head straight up and forward.  She didn’t apologize for leaning all the way onto my shoulder - as if she thought that I wouldn’t have realized that her head went all the way onto my shoulder?!?! 

She also didn’t get off the train.

So at 42nd Street all three of us got off, the gal went off to transfer to a downtown train, and Jay and I couldn’t stop our giggling as we parted ways over the entire thing.

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In Touch Weekly is reporting that Britney Spears is pregnant again, and that the source of the knock up is none other than J.R. Rotem.

When I told a coworker of this news, he asked, “How is this happened?”

To which I replied, “Apparently she’s quite impregnable.”

And Britney, please don’t copy my name for your soon to be offspring, Bobby Bacala is all mine.

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In all seriousness, after taking another look at the photo that I posted yesterday of Carson Daly, I can’t help but realize that he doesn’t look well. 

In fact he looks as though he is seriously ill and battling some sort of disease. 

See, last year I noticed that Carson was much thinner than he was in his TRL days.  I wrote off his overly svelt figure as being either from good diet and exercise, or a combo of blow / meth and / or heroin, or possibly he had become manorexic, but now a year later, and with him looking like the walking skeleton of an elderly man, I don’t think that any of those ideas are true.

In fact, from what my eyes are seeing, and what my brain is telling me this image is, my Dr. Beehive intuition is telling me it looks as though Carson Daly is sick with scleroderma.

No jokes or anything about it.  I’ve seen people in real life who had scleroderma, and it’s not a good disease from what I’ve seen of it.  We wish you well Carson, and I hope that I’m way wrong in this thought, maybe you’ll invite me on your show to discuss, or not. 

Take care of yourself, bud. - Scuba Boy

So, if anyone else has any other ideas as to what’s going on with Carson and his excessively thin body, feel free to let me know your guess to what it could be.

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Word on the interwebs is that Carson Daly and his show will resume production on his (awful) late night television show, sans writers.

 

This might actually be a good thing for viewers of the show, because at least without the writers writing up an opening monologue, Daly might actually be able to do something entertaining in its spot - maybe a couple of minutes of a rabbit jumping and or bouncing on a trampoline will do the trick of actually entertainment on that show. 

Since we haven’t seen Carson Daly since the writers strike began, and since it wasn’t mentioned in the press release, no word if pudgy Carson Daly (anyone remember when he was pudgy?), or if emaciated Carson Daly will appear come next week - only one way to find out, and that’s to do alot of meth, stay up all night long, and then watch the show for yourself.*

See you all then!

*We here at BeehiveHairdresser are in no way encouraging anyone to do meth, let alone ever watch Carson Daly.

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I’ve been holding off for months with of a new purchase of sneakers for my beautiful and quite charming feet by claiming that “I didn’t have the money for it” all the while spending at times unnecessary cash on cabs, video games, and gardening stuff…

I know, spending 60 dollars on gardening stuff is way more important than my being able to walk around without having my feet hurt me due to the rubber sole of my sneakers having been walked through, but hey, I’m an enigma when it comes to foot adornments.

Anyway, here are my new sneakers!!!

 

And for all of you ankle fetishists out there, just stop it now!  I know that you guys are going to find this pic through google, whack off, and I just want you all to know that you need help, and not in the way that my ankles can help!

Anyway, the sneakers, they’re so cool, what with their blue on white appeal, and guess what….they have the air bubble in the back of the shoe, right under my heels. 

Yeup, these Nike air bubbles make these new sneakers feel so comfy that it’s as if my feet are walking back in time and are currently in the year 1990. 

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I’m sure many if you have heard the news that Linda Bollea aka Linda Hogan, the wife of Hulk Hogan, and MILF of Brooke Hogan, has filed for divorce from the Hulkster saying that the marriage is “irretrievably broken”.   

Linda pictured in red, and sporting a pearl necklace (zing!).

Now, from what I heard, Linda filed for divorce this past Tuesday, that’s a week ago, and the story broke to me over this past weekend, so I’m not too sure if I’m coming in too late on this here or not, but I’d like to be the first to put my name on the top of the list of people who want to bang Linda Hogan.

This list is open to anyone and anyone to add their name, but just know that the top spot is already taken by me, and should Linda Hogan ever contact me to activate this list I will gladly pass it along to her.

Also, let it be known that since I happily in Cheese, I will most likely be auctioning my spot off to the highest bidder, of which I plan on making loads of cash on for my self profit.  Either that, or I will give the spot away to the person with the poorest of sob stories, but be warned you’d have to have a really good sob story.

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