Sep 23

I May Have Jumped The Gun

Birdman

I woke up this morning feeling like I had been trampled by a herd of Woodland Caribou. I guess I got feeling a little too rambunctious and invincible at the thought of finally being rid of the stone. I have slept and lounged around all day, and barely had enough energy to type this blog entry up.

I’m back to work tomorrow, so I guess it’s good to rest. What the hell am I saying? I shouldn’t be feeling this old yet. I’m not even forty for the love of Pete. Wait, am I forty now? No, I’m pretty sure I’m thirty nine still.

Holy shit, time is starting to gain ground on me, and I don’t like it. Two weeks ago I was riding my bicycle with my brother on what we thought was the longest bike ride taken by man. We got to pack a lunch, and ride to the gravel pit, where we set up camp and ate our sandwiches, hand picked apples and cookies. We had a wineskin full of Freshie and a few survival tools in the backpack (I think there was a compass and a jackknife). We were knights on our hard journey, and no one could have told us that four miles could easily be cycled in an hour or so. Okay, maybe that wasn’t two weeks ago, but it certainly couldn’t be have been thirty years, could it?

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Every once in a while I’ll notice it in the mirror. The lines, age spots, tired eyes, etc… I wonder what we do it all for? Is this what life was intended to be like for the human race? I have a hard time believing that from the dawn of existence, (I’ll let you all figure out what that means) we were meant to work our asses off, just to be able to possess some “things”. I love Thoreau’s outlook on life from the shores of Walden Pond. He realized that there is more to life than keeping up appearances and slaving your life away for someone else. He wanted to live his life deliberately, and so he did.

There is a life to live out there, and we shouldn’t go to the grave with any regrets, so call your brother up. Ask him if he wants to go for a ride or a beer and talk about how you miss those days. Maybe that gravel pit is still there, or the offspring of that apple tree. Eat a couple of apples while you throw rocks at nothing and think back to simpler times. Cherish these moments, because you can, and because you never know if you’ll get the chance.

Enjoy what life has to offer my friends,

Birdman

P.S. Don’t have too many beer when you get together. There are few things worse than staving drunk assholes, crying about how they need to spend more time together, and vomiting beer mixed with sour apple chunks.

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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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