It is that time of year again. My give a schit meter is pegged in the red……so here is a little retread from September 2010!
“I would like to apologize to all Texas fans……” Infamous words from the fabled coach down “South”, but relevant to my situation. See, in business, as is in life, timing is everything. Well, given that summer is technically over and my last blog was the “MAH” A Rita, my timing sucks. That said, my latest entry is something I have recently discover and needs to be shared with all. So sit back, relax and take heed.
Proper beer consumption is an art form, a skill that takes years of dedication and commitment to perfect. Once perfected, it is revered by many, mostly the novice or junior drinker, to which I say “Patience grasshopper, patience”. Although I feel I am the Zen master of beer consumption, from time to time I like to venture outside my comfort zone. Today, my vice is something called “Summer Beer” or as those north of me refer to it “Beer A Rita”. Now typically, I wouldn’t dare defile “heaven’s milkshake” (i.e. beer) with a lime or a lemon and god forbid, an orange. But Summer Beer is a wonderful concoction that I shamelessly admit is good Schit! Albeit similar in nature to other summer concoctions, Summer Beer is easy, simple and quite tasty:
4 – 12oz bottles of beer (preferably Miller Lite)
1 – 12 oz can Limeade
6 oz Vodka
Combine all ingredients in a pitcher, stir and serve over ice, with a slice of lime. Easy, breezy, Japanesey.
For more beverage concoctions and food trinkets, please visit me at www.schitbird.com.
“I don’t understand interventions. What’s the point of being told you drink too much by a room full of reasons why you drink in the first place? – Author Unknown
There aren’t many places my family is welcome come Sunday, but one place we have been asked to never come back is Ken’s Pizza in Durant, Oklahoma. If memory serves me correctly and as said before, often it does not, this particular Sunday we were driving back to Dallas after a long weekend at The Lake. The boys were hungry and I had a hankering for pizza…..
“I feel sorry for people who don’t drink. When they wake up in the morning, that is the best you are going to feel all day.” – Frank Sinatra
As we take our ride down memory lane, I can’t help but chuckle when thinking back to Squid Tres’ first day of vacation bible school. And as luck would have it, it was Uno’s first time to teach VBS.
Good VBS teachers are hard to come by and those that are good, know the importance of understanding their pupils knowledge of the subject. Good teachers will ask a few probing questions, get a little feedback and then steer the class accordingly. Logical approach for Uno…….
As I stated in “A Former Life”, there are many reasons why I will be heading south the day my maker comes calling. But should you need further evidence, here you go…..
As it goes with four kids, three dogs and a wife with an insatiable drinking habit, our schedule on the weekends is quite hectic and eating out can rarely be avoided. Often to the displeasure of those around us, our meals are typically filled with colorful conversation; oftentimes loud, typically inappropriate, but always entertaining. Take last weekend for example. Squid 3 (age 10) pipes in: “So dad, do you know why lesbians shop at Sports Authority.” “No, why?” “Because they don’t like Dick’s.” Laughter erupts and beer spit about and all eyes turn to our table. To my right, a good Christian family with a look of disgust. To my left, an old blue hair with a look of confusion. Of no concern to us, laughter continues.
I must deviate from my original plan, but all for good reason.
Too often in life, we wonder around this silly little world trying to figure out who we are and/or what we want to be. But, ever so often, you happen across someone who is quite comfortable in his skin and always true to himself. Regardless of the situation or circumstance, this unique character embraces his nitch in life and everyday he is thankful for it. I can think of no one more befitting this honorable description than Mr. Jim.
With a name like Stratbucker, it is no wonder that Mr. Jim was stubborn as a mule. Steadfast in his beliefs, no expert could convince him otherwise……”You,you,you see, yooou, see ….that’s not the way we do it in Nebraska.” And trust me, if it “isn’t the way they do it in Nebraska”, then by God, it wasn’t the way.
But as stubborn as he may have been, his kindness had no equal. Never in it for the attention, Mr. Jim was always quick to serve and there to lend a helping hand. Be it tending to the orchard, digging a ditch, or re-plumbing a “pressure tank”, Mr. Jim was always there ready for the task at hand.
This past week, we lost a great man. I can only imagine that he left this world with a grin on his face and a hoe in his hand, busy at work preparing the path we will one day travel. God speed Mr. Jim, you will truly be missed.
If you have ever had a conversation with any of my ex wives or believe half the schit I have written, then you are well aware of my eventual eternal position in the afterlife. Assuming the former to be false, then over my next four blogs, you should be able to draw a pretty good conclusion.
Each of my Squids (“children”) has his or her own unique talents and abilities. But the one commonality amongst them all is their command of the English language. Much like their father, I attribute most of this to early childhood experiences. If memory serves me correctly and often times it does not, somewhere around age 6 or 7, I was fishing with my Papaw on the Grand River. The fishing was slow and the afternoon sun was bearing down, “Boy, go fetch me a beer out of the cooler and while you are at it, why don’t you grab one for yourself.” With a schit eating grin on my face and thoughts of finally becoming a man, I gladly oblige. Wanting to savor every moment, I decided to take my time. First sip, this tastes like ass, but surely it is going to get better. I will check my bait and then try another. Reel, reel, reel, snag. Papaw, I think I got one. “You ain’t got one, you just got hung up. Jerk, jerk, jerk, nothing. Jerk, jerk, jerk, snap…… “GD Son, you could f__k up a wet dream. Now give me that damn fishin pole and the beer I gave you. You are obviously too damn young this schit”…….Damn my luck.
The mind works in mysterious ways. Often times, I find it difficult to remember my own kid’s names or what day my wedding anniversary falls on or better yet, how old I am (which I am now part of the 40+ demographic). But put in Smokey and The Bandit or Raising Arizona, damned if I can’t recite it line for line.