Oct 13

Therapy Thursday

Dear Birdman,

I am a little stuck on what to do. There is a girl I have a crush on. I really want to ask for her phone number or ask her for a date but I’m shy. I’m not sure how to get over it and ask her.  Can you help me? I figured since you got yourself a hot woman, you would know.

Shy in the North

 

Dear Shy,

 

I’d like to thank you for making up a good name, and then tell you that you have good taste in women. You are correct about me bagging a good one.

As for your query, you need to make an amateur porn video to showcase your skills and mail it to her. I’m guessing that you’re too shy to find someone that will star in your short film, so here are a few hints. Call an escort service and give the girl an extra hundred bucks, but don’t tell her about the freaky shit or she’ll bolt. You need to surprise her with that stuff and make sure she’s facing the camera when you spring it on her, so you capture the look of surprise on her face. There’s nothing that chicks find more sexy than being surprised in the sack.

You should also follow her home and go through her trash to find out what she likes to eat, drink etc… You should bug her home as well, and then call her while disguising your voice, and ask what she thinks of you, then when you hang up, you can see what she says about you out loud.

If it’s not very nice, I would throw a frozen brick of shit through her window, if it’s nice though, send her the video.

 

Free your mind, and the rest will follow,

Birdman

 

 

OMG…really?  I feel I must step in.  If you take the advice of this severely disturbed individual (aka my Fiance), you will be finding yourself spending many lonely nights without your crush, and in the warm embrace of a restraining order.  I think you should also know that Birdman is no authority on winning over the ladies.  His track record speaks for itself, with a 1/10 success rate.  I won him in a hand of poker, if you must know.

 

Listen Shy…I have some real advice for you.

 

Be yourself.  Start with simple conversation.  Say what you mean, and mean what you say.  Make eye contact.  Smile.  Then smile a bit more. 🙂

 

There is nothing wrong with being forward: “I think you are really fun to talk to and I’d love to take you out for a coffee/beer/dinner”…whatever.   Watch for her body language.  Is she leaned into your conversation?  Does she maintain and return eye contact?  When talk turns to the more personal, does she change the subject or try to navigate into ‘safer’ waters?  If you pay attention to your crush, she’ll be giving you plenty of signals to let you know if she is or isn’t into you.

 

Remember, you are selling YOU.  So be positive and engaging, and if she doesn’t take the bait, then send me her address and I will have my people pay her ‘a visit’.  I think you know what I mean.  *wink*

 

Your partner in crime,

 

Mrs. Birdman

Oct 04

What…Yo Mamma Never Made You Do Dishes?

Sometimes the Bird has a rough day, and doesn’t have the three hours he needs to create a blogging masterpiece. (He types like a little girl.)

Enter Mrs. Birdman. Or, for now, Mrs. Birdman-to-be. 🙂

My sweet baby has had a long day of being over extended and under-appreciated (imho). I’m here to take a bit of the blogging off his hands, so you fine people will still have some lovely tripe to read on the morrow.

I have to tell y’all, that life around the Bird’s Nest is usually pretty sweet. There are the extended dance parties, the kitchen-window-makeout sessions, and the moments of pure, sweet, total love and adoration. Of course, to counter all of the rainbows and lollipops, there is also the never-ending pile of crap that ends up on the floor, counters, couch, tables and every other possible surface we own.

YOUR turn to do the dishes, asshat.

Let me start off by saying that I love my man, and there isn’t another like him in all the land. He is sweet, kind, romantic, thoughtful, affectionate, honest, loyal, hard-working AND he’s an amazing step-dad already. However, he does have one flaw: He is a total slob.

I realize that I am far from perfect myself. God knows I won’t be winning any awards for housekeeping or decorating, but I do have a tolerance level for mess that is way, way, WAY lower than the Birdman’s. I do believe that we could have piles of fermenting food in the sink that would be left to their own devices, to percolate to fruition and possibly create the cure for cancer, before my beloved would decide there was a need for some soapy water and a cloth. Even then, I suspect it might be a well-meaning relative or neighbour calling in the Haz-Mat Team to forcibly remove the offending science experiment for the good of public safety.

Over the weekend, I went into one of my famous Mess Meltdowns. This is generally preceded by a busy weekend in which my children take full advantage of the fun and enjoyment we create for them, whilst doing nothing to tamp down the urban spread of dirt that they blow through the house. At the conclusion of said weekend, I looked around the wreckage of our happy home, and began to unravel. I started in on a Mom Crusade that would end with the children voluntarily cleaning their rooms (and their closets) and my beloved scrambling to push some dirt around while smiling nervously at me, hoping this state of hysteria would soon pass.

Stand back kids…Mommy

In the end, the room that got the brunt of the cleaning cyclone was the bedroom. The state of disaster in that area was at Defcon 1. By the time I was finished, the hanging closet had been reassembled, the piles of debris had been removed, and no less than 4 loads of laundry had been evacuated from the disaster area. Some of the items recovered from the destruction zone: A book I forgot I borrowed (sorry Jennifer!), enough change to buy coffee for two weeks (score!), at least 4 pairs of long-lost earrings and some other items that really should remain nameless.

I am proud to say that we are now sleeping in a room that resembles a bedroom, even if it is still a den of iniquity. You can tidy up the Birdman’s bedroom, but you can never get all of the dirty out. *WINK*

Hold me closer, Tony Danza,

Mrs. Birdman

Sep 20

Things Might Get A Little Sketchy Now

If for any reason I can’t continue Mrs. Birdman will be filling in for me. Truth is that I’ve never taken morphine before, so I have no clue what will happen next. This Tramadol stuff is quite potent, and the morphine is a backup if this doesn’t work, so yeah. I am having a hard time keeping thoughts in my head, and stringing them up. My baby is so sweet. She just brought me homemade lemonade, oh my fuck that’s sour. I think she’s trying to kill me.

Mrs.Birdman (to-be) here…Birdman has officially narc’d out on Tramadol…I’m taking over the blog-diggiddy. He may be higher than a kite, but he still has enough of his faculties left to correct my syntax and grammar. (I do love that about him!).

Now my man is pretty clever, but yesterday he must have slipped a few IQ points. He took a doctor-prescribed medication without realizing it was a narcotic. I know, I know…you are probably thinking that you know every sweet narcotic that is available. My friends, you may not be aware of Birdman’s brand new pal, Tramadol.

 

T-Doll (my newly coined street-name for Tramadol), appears to be one sweet ride. So far the Birdman has enjoyed levitation (unconfirmed), super-sonic hearing (confirmed), and some pretty outrageous saliva production. I am cautiously optimistic about the salability of T-Doll on the local street-drug market, but I reserve my final judgement, pending any negative side effects. *wink*

According to Dr. Feelgood, the Birdman should be passing that bad boy in the next 4-7 days. Our plan here at the homestead, is to keep him in a drug-induced state of euphoria and perpetual munchies until the anxiously-awaited arrival of The Glorious Kidney Stone.

I’ll keep you posted Bird-Lovers,

Mrs. Birdman (to-be)

Ps. Leave the Birdman some love on the blog, kittens! Let him know what you want to talk about 🙂