Sep 25

Old horses

Well, I dragged my slightly crippled ass to the ball tournament and kept the bench as dry as I could for the real athletes on the team. I still don’t understand how we got a fourth game, but we did, and that’s all that matters. I didn’t get to see the final game, but I was there in spirit (which, incidentally, is usually better than when I show up), and I still get to go to the dance later, so yay for me. I am going to be the designated driver tonight, and try to present myself in a respectable manner. This is a new endeavour, so wish me luck. I was able to resist beer, jello shots and pregnant gummy worms, so I should be able to make it through the night nursing a beer or two.I’m actually looking forward to hanging with the gang tonight. Sure we knock back a couple after the games, but most of them were well on their way to being shitfaced when I left at 2:00 pm, I shudder to think about how fun those bastards are going to be by 8 or so.

I used to play ball a lot when I was young, and enjoyed the hell out of it, but when I started driving truck, I couldn’t commit to any specific times during the week, so I didn’t play anymore. We actually lucked out this year, by finding a very fun and cool group of people, that coincidentally, play on Sunday nights, and don’t give a shit if we win or lose. That’s our kind of crowd, and our kind of schedule. I can’t wait to barrel roll for you bastards next year.

 GO STRAY CATS GO 

Please don’t let Kenny drive,

Birdman

 

 

Sep 24

I was expecting a little more fanfare than that.

You would think that after being off for three days, I’d at least get a bugler or a piper to announce my return to work. I mean, I am the star employee, aren’t I? I guess he did ask if I was feeling better, so that’s kinda good, and I had a pretty easy day, as far as trucking goes, but not one cartwheel, YAHOO or town crier. Hmmmmm, maybe mom was right, I may really be replaceable. Damn her and her all knowing ways.

Speaking of completely random topic changes, (and that is why we’re here, isn’t it?), why is it that it’s mostly men that pay for sex? I would think that all this talk about equality would have changed things on that front. I know all kinds of single women that are always going on about how they can’t get laid. Yeah right. Like you don’t have the time to walk into a bar and yell, “I’m horny”. You ladies can deny it all you want, but if you’re just looking for a quick romp, seven out of ten men will jump on that pony and ride it til it dies. Thankfully, I’m one of the other three guys, you know the ones that are usually drunk in the background guffawing and shouting encouragement to the others and then running home to tell their better half how they didn’t have any fun, and were only thinking of her the whole time.

I really am one of the lucky ones. After thirty eight years of searching, I found the perfect match for me in every way. Every day is something new and amazing, and I wake up each morning excited at the thought of getting off work and going home to those three beautiful ladies. I know there are a lot of dads out there that completely understand that feeling, but this is all new to me. Up until now, the greatest connection I’ve ever had, other than my mother, was with animals. No not like that, you bunch of freaks. I mean that bond, where you would do anything in your power to protect them, because you can, and they might not be able to fully protect themselves. Where you value another life more than your own, and have recurring visions of what you would do if a bear attacked them, or a car veered off the road towards them. You know every time that you will sacrifice yourself to give them the chance. Jesus, that’s pretty grim, if those are my visions, right? Should I maybe see someone about that? I truly hope it never comes down to it, but if it does, I already know that I will be riding that bear to the ground with my thumb in it’s eye and my Leatherman in it’s neck,screaming “Get them to the car, I’ll be ok”.

Don’t let the bedbugs bite,

Birdman

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?

image

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.

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

Sep 17

Carnies Beware!

The girls chose the fair, and they’re feeling ornery. I dare any dirty hawker to tell T that she’s not tall enough for their ride today. The child scares me sometimes, when she gets that look in her eyes like she just ate a can of fury.

I can picture the mayhem now, and it pleases me, because I love keeping carnies on their toes. You just know those vermin are rising from a drug/alcohol induced slumber and can’t really handle shit like a real person. I want to see kids puking in the seats of the Teacups and the Strawberries by 11:00, and if someone could shit themselves on the Gravitron before noon, that would be spectacular.

That’s when the bastards start coming out of their meth haze and start the harassment of the passersby. I like it when they try to goad me into playing by insinuating that I can’t win at their game. I usually counter with “Yeah? Well at least I win at life.”,  then I strut away laughing maniacally towards the street meat and deep fried Mars bars.

Sweet baby Jebus in a manger, I love those five dollar bundles of ecstasy, sooo rich with nutrition. I’m kind of wanting to try the deep fried Coke too, but I don’t think it’s made it to the southern Ontario fair circuit yet. I do know that the tooth cracking pull taffy is there, and that’s good enough for this hillbilly.

I can smell them from here.

Take the high road,

Birdman