Sep 22

All that build-up for that?

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Well, it’s pretty much over folks. After a few assorted forms of opioids, half a dozen glasses of lemon juice, some incoherent rambling and one ineffective attempt at sexual touching, I have finally passed most of the kidney stone.

I have to say that I feel far less manly after seeing the little bit of shrapnel that caused me so much grief. I was expecting a marble-sized, jagged rock to slowly work it’s way through my urinary tract, while I bit down on a leather strap and cut into my arm with a bowie knife to take my mind off of the pain for a moment. After it finally came out the end in a glob of stone and blood clots, I would punch the barber in the guts, drink half a bottle of rot-gut whiskey and get on my horse, only to head to the next town, where I would bed their womenfolk and …

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Sorry, lost my train of thought. Where was I? Oh right, realizing how much of a little girl I am. I find it hard to believe that such small pieces of conglomerated minerals could wreak so much havoc on a person’s pain tolerance. I was truly doubled over in pain, even after the morphine and T-doll. Anyways, I’m still alive, and very sorry I didn’t have any decent material for my blog yesterday, my mind wasn’t really into anything but staying alive for my new family. (Yes, I know. I may exaggerate a little, but give me a break, I’m new at this) Anyhow, I have a day to heal up, and then back to the grind.

Please remember to feed Jake,

Birdman

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Sep 21

Days Of Yore

Birdman

Seeing as either nothing is happening, or I just can’t remember what I did today, I’m going to go back to when I was working out west and tell you a little story. There was this guy that I worked with, let’s call him Randy. Now Randy was a bit of a pothead, and he may have been playing with less than a full deck, but this guy had balls, as you will see from this story of my time in the north.

Randy was in camp, about a ten hour drive from town and he had run out of weed. He got his old lady to drop off a care package at the shop, so that it would go out on the next truck. The boss told Randy that they weren’t in the business of transporting drugs, so if he wanted his package, they were going to open it to make sure there wasn’t dope in it. He was also told that if they opened it and found weed, that it was getting flushed.

There was a lot of protest, but he wanted his package, so they opened it, and lo and behold, there was an ounce of weed, some aspirin and a few chocolate bars. They flushed the weed down the toilet and put the rest on the truck that was heading north.

Now Randy needed his weed, so he went to the consultant (the liason between the oil company and us) and told him that he couldn’t work without his headache medicine. The consultant then put him on a medivac flight to the hospital to get the medicine he needed.1)I don’t even want to guess what it costs to get an A-Star for a few hours

This is where the story starts getting good. The helicopter dropped him at the hospital and he went in the back door, straight through, and out the front. From there he headed over to the bar where he proceeded to try and score some ganja from the locals. By this time the consultant had called the shop and freaked on them for not sending his headache medicine. When he explained to them that he had medivacced Randy to town, they phoned the hospital.

No Randy. Next they tried the bar, had him paged, and he answered. Needless to say, Randy was promptly told to go and pack his things for his trip home.

Don’t fear though, he makes several other appearances throughout my time there.

Please look out for each other,

Birdman

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Awesome footnotes   [ + ]

1. I don’t even want to guess what it costs to get an A-Star for a few hours
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 🙂

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Sep 19

Sweet, merciful Jesus

I just say that for effect, but I’d almost start believing in God if this pain would go away. I’ve never had kidney stones, but I’m pretty sure I do now. I’ve been waking up with this horrible pain in the right side of my back for a couple of nights, the likes of which I’ve never felt. If I had to choose what it most resembles, I’d have to go back sixteen years or so to Peterborough on a Saturday night, when twelve guys (probably closer to four) got me down and kicked the piss out of me. They obviously didn’t do a good enough job, because when they were walking away laughing, I yelled out something that might have insinuated that they were cowards. Well, let me tell you this, even cowards don’t like being called that it seems, because they chased me, and being a bit wounded myself, I made it about three feet before I tripped, and then it began again. Wow, I thought I was getting my ass handed to me before. This was way worse in every sense of the word. Anyhow to make a long story somewhat shorter, I was pissing blood for a while and I never drank in Peterborough alone again.

Remember that time I started with one story, and finished with another? Get used to it, I’m a bit of a wild card.

Now I’m at the Trenton hospital, feeling like I just got boot-fucked in my tender bits. I love waiting around with the other patients, singing old negro spirituals and playing charades until, one by one, we are called in to get our fates handed to us by doctors dressed in zoot suits, who sing your test results to the tune of “Yankee Doodle Dandy” .

After we are released with clean bills of health, we march to the beat of a different drummer, all the way down to the Sherwood, where the hospital buys us a round of drinks, and we are thoroughly entertained by a one legged stripper. Sorry, I was just having a painkiller dream. What really happened is that I waited for half an hour,  got urine and blood work done, got an IV shot of some dope, drank a big jug of ice water, had an ultrasound, got a prescription, and went to the ball field for chili and cupcakes. Happy birthday YaYa, enjoy ten while you can, we expect you to have a job by the time you’re eleven.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve just dropped my nightly dose. It’s bedtime for Birdman, and hopefully the future Mrs. Birdman will come in and rub my back.

Please be safe my children,

Birdman

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Sep 18

I Was So Frigging Wrong

A bit of a handful

I thought a better way to get back at the carnies would be to assail them with both little girls and two of their friends. Four girls between 8 and 10 should be enough to drive them nuts right? I didn’t have a chance to notice, because I was constantly trying to keep track of the four of them. Also, it turns out that carnies don’t pay attention to the rules that are written on their signs, and will allow children that are three feet tall to go on a ride that has a 48″ minimum.

I guess I shouldn’t assume that they don’t care. It could be that they are unable to read words or string those words into sentences. Yeah, that makes a bit more sense now.

As we wandered the fairgrounds, looking for the next ride, a young voice cried out:  “Look, a girl with no shirt on!”

I craned my neck in all directions, brimming with excitement, only to realize that she was talking about the top half of a buxom blonde painted on the side of one of the carny booths. Her hair was strategically placed to cover her ample breasts, and her come hither smile was most certainly making me blush.

I said:  “It’s probably a mermaid.”

I mean really…who wants to start explaining to a ten year old that some of the workers in a traveling carnival might not be the purest of souls?

She replied:  “Oh yeah, because not all mermaids wear sea shell bras. Some of them can’t find enough sea shells.”

 

That got me thinking , maybe that’s the reason my old neighbour out west never wore a bra either. Seashells are probably very hard to come by when you live on the Alaska highway.

Another thing I have noticed is that the carnies are a harder looking bunch than they used to be, what with neck tattoos and piercing of all known extremities becoming so popular these days. I was actually a little frightened to put these children into the care of someone who looks like he might be a striker for the Hells Angels by night, and run the Tilt-a-Whirl by day. Actually, if the Angels ran the midway it would be a much tighter ship, and probably a lot easier to find weed.

Speaking of weed, it’s harvest season and if there is anyone who needs confirmation on how good their crop is, just drop a bag off to the old Birdman. I will smoke some and tell you what I think of it. I will then publish your name, strain and prices on my blog, along with all of your contact info. I’ll also let you in on a little secret… The bigger the bag, the more I’ll like it. 😉

You are all beautiful to me,

Birdman

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