Nov 07

Trying a new thing here, if Mrs. Birdman complies

I want to have an argument with the old lady on the blog, but I’m not sure if she will go for it. I think that calling her the old lady will probably fire her up enough to do it right.

My thing is this, I like to have adventures, and she thinks that adventures mean brushes with death. I say that an adventure can just be going for a walk in a park that you’ve never been to.

Mrs. B:  Well that would be true if you were like an average fellow, who walked through the park at high noon, perhaps with a lovely non-shedding dog along with you.  However, you are more the ‘adventure seeking’ type, who sneaks into the park, ninja-style, at 11pm all dressed in black, and seems surprised when you get jumped by a gang of pimply-faced teens looking for their next bottle of Sailor Jerry.  I’m just saying that trouble follows you because you call it up and invite it out for the ‘adventure’.

Birdman: That is mostly untrue. Anytime I put on my ninja gear, there is a job to do, and I do my job well. The gang of teens deserved what they got. The point I was making was that I hoped for some adventures this winter, and you jumped to the conclusion that I might harm myself. I will be completely safe while working this winter, they have rules to ensure this.

May I remind you of the stories you have told me, of going through the ice in minus three hundred degree weather?  (Maybe I am exaggerating on the exact temperature, but it was cold).  Or how about the time when you laid on the ice under the truck trying to fix some stupid thing while your core temperature dropped lower and lower?  Because apparently you were not clever enough to realize that laying on ice is a bad idea when it’s colder than a witches tit out?  Also, you have regaled me with stories of your near death experiences.  I say ‘experiences’ rather than experience because there are SO MANY.  You are not a man who pays attention to detail.  You forget shit.  Is it so hard to believe that I might not trust you when you say: “Trust me, Baby…it’s totally safe!”  *angry face*

Holy shit, you really remember a lot of things. When I was laying on the ice, it wasn’t an adventure, I needed to get the truck moving again. It was1:30 AM, -40C and the airlines had broke. I wasn’t out there thinking it was a fun time and all the cool things happen to me. I’m sure glad I didn’t tell you about the time… never mind. Anyhow, those are just things that happened, and we don’t work alone in the bush anymore. There is a buddy system, and we have to check in every hour. Totally safe, trust me. By the way, you looked really pretty today in your ponytail.

Thank you for mentioning the pony tail.  🙂  I know you are only trying to soften my VERY LEGITIMATE CONCERNS with your cunning flattery.  Did you like the vest I wore too?  I wasn’t sure.  Maybe it was a bit too puffy…?

That wasn’t flattery, baby. You know I love your hair back, and you looked really urban chic in your puffy vest. I was worried that your torso was going to overheat as your arms froze, but you seem to be okay now. I’ll never understand vests, because they don’t make any sense to me. Is it okay if I go on some safe adventures that don’t seem life threatening? I promise that if I think something is going to kill me, I’ll stop immediately.

Okay Baby.  I love you.  *big stupid smile* But please do exercise all caution and come back to me as soon as you can.  I will miss you more than you can imagine.  xo 🙂

Oh, I can imagine it. I think you know that. Is this the end of the debate? Shit, I need a little over 300 more words. Okay, I guess I can tell you that I’m growing my hair into a ponytail and calling myself Dack when I get back in the spring. I will probably end up addicted to coke as well.

We will talk.  Do not in anyway consider the preceding 3 words as an endorsement of the above. 

I am agreeing that the debate is done.  I was victorious in asserting that you have a terrible habit of almost dying, and you are victorious in getting me to concede that you probably won’t kick it this winter.  I love you baby, and although I wish you weren’t going, I am fully prepared to spend all of the money you are bringing home.   Now give Mama some sugar…it’s cocoon time.  *wink*

Okay, I guess I am going to fuck these fine people out of 150 words or so, but they were probably going to be jibberish anyhow, and cocooning trumps all.

Hey hey mama said the way you move, gonna make you sweat, gonna make you groove,


Oct 30

Of meetings, good food and better friends

Well, I’m not in fine writing form this morning, but I thought I would let you all know that if Gadget says he needs to see you in his office downstairs for a meeting, DO NOT GO. It’s a trap, and not a very clever one either. I’m a little fuzzy on details, but I think I was molested by Cleopatra, a breathalyzer, Inspector Gadget and Penny. I ate a lot of delicious treats, and I think we finally got rid of all traces of Sour Puss and Tequila Rose from the basement office.We also want to thank Lucille Ball and the surgical team for making sure we were transported safely to and from the party. You guys rock our world.

I hope that the freaky McDonald’s clown is able to stop by the house and check in on Mrs. Birdman while I’m gone, because she might need someone to do some odd jobs around the house, and clowns seem to be pretty handy with that type of thing. I am glad to have so many good friends and neighbours that take the time to invite us to events and make us feel welcome wherever we go. We truly know how lucky we are, because it’s pretty rare to enjoy everybody’s company when you go out. Most parties you go to, there’s always the assholes that everyone sidesteps and avoid like the plague. I have actually locked myself in the can with a six pack before, because it’s more exciting than talking to some people, but not with the friends we have. I do believe every last one of them is interesting and funny, but I’m also drunk when I’m around these magnificent folk, so take that with a grain of salt.

Hey, remember that time I did a Jello shot with the gummi worm and almost choked to death? That was last night. The sad thing is, I forgot about it, and twenty minutes later was choking down another one. Jesus, I’m damn near forty years old, why the hell am I acting like a teenager? I thought I had grown out of the shooter phase many moons ago. I guess it’s the crowd, because when I get around this bunch, I feel like partying like a not very well hung porn star. It’s pretty nice to be around people that make you feel at ease enough to get that hammered, you just don’t have to worry about shit.

So thank you all, and I say that from my old lady, my best man, and my own self, for the fun-filled night and for the friendship. It’s never taken for granted. We have to go now. I got an invite to the $10000 dream prize party, and I need to wash the blood off my hands.

You can’t rollerskate in a buffalo herd,


Oct 12

The Circus Was In Town


First of all, I want to let you know that I’m probably embellishing this story, so if you know the story, don’t get all pissy because the details are off. I heard it in camp about 8-9 years ago, and we all know that sometimes guys lie. That being said, I’ll tell you about Mumbles, his son-in-law (we’ll call him Cletus) and the fucking circus, because Dennis reminded me of it today, and it’s pretty funny.

Mumbles was an operator with us a long time ago, and I don’t know if he’s still around or not. I didn’t know him very well, maybe rode to work with him a few times, or saw him at dinner here and there, but you wouldn’t say we were buddies. I think the only reason I remember him is because of this story and the fact that his nickname was Mumbles. I am not going to explain how Mumbles got his name, and if you need me to, I want you to walk out your front door, find the first person you see, and ask them to kick your ass until you cry.

Doot doot doody doo do, doot doot doody doo do....

Doot doot doody doo do, doot doot doody doo do….

Anyhow, Mumbles’ daughter was with a real asshat, who wanted to borrow some money for a vehicle or a house payment or something like that. I don’t even remember the exact amount, but $2000 seems to stick in my mind. So Mumbles got out of camp and lent this dude the money, thinking it was going to help his daughter out of a jam, even though he was less than excited about her choice of men.

When he heads back to work, Mumbles finds out that his idiot son-in-law took his daughter to the circus while it was in the area. A LOT. It seems that they spent all of the money that he lent them, minus $200, going to the bloody circus.

How the fuck do you do that? It’s a goddam circus for Christ’s sake. (Sorry for the taking of the names in vain.(not really)) I find it hard to believe that two people could spend $180 at six circuses, let alone $1800 for however many they went to. (I’m guessing three). Are they twelve year old kids in the 1920’s?  Two crazy kids, falling in love with the romantic, nomad life of the circus, losing their money in a con game played by a one-eyed roustabout who promised he would let them run away with the rest of the filthy transients. Perhaps they paid a lion tamer’s assistant to have a three-way while he dressed up as a clown, or maybe the handler got the elephant to give him some sort of trunk job. How else could you blow a large wad of dough at a circus? The possibilities are truly endless if you ask me.

How the hell could you be sad at a time like this, Mr. GreenFingers?

I can’t say whether or not Mumbles really knocked Cletus out to get the two hundred bucks back from him, but I want to believe he did.  I like to think he was whistling that old, familiar circus tune while he did it.

“Doot doot dootle ootle, doot doot dootle, doot dootleootle, doot dootleootle…”

Kick that dumb bastard once for all of us Mumbles.


Mamas don’t let your babies grow up to be cowboys,