There Are Signs Everywhere

I know, it's been a while since I've had anything to say! I normally post all my thoughts at work, where I have a T-1 line, and can upload pictures with ease...not so much here at home.

Thursday I played in a St. Louis Cardinals golf tournament. It was fun, lots of Cardinal Alumni there (Bob Forsch, Danny Cox, Rick Horton, Ken Daley, Whitey Herzog, Red Shonendienst, you get the picture) but no Vince Coleman. If he was playing, I was going to make it my personal responsibility to see to it that he didn't trip over a spinkler and ruin his team's chances of winning the tourney.

I had a good time and we weren't even close to winning. Our -7 score wasn't even close to the -18 or -20 that won it.

Friday I worked out of my home office and wasn't able to post the "Picture of the Day", so I'll hit you with 3 on Monday. I've got some good ones...

Friday night found us dining with Jefferson and Bridget. We scarfed on Mexican food and jumbo margaritas at a great little place in South City, Chimichanga's. If you're a St. Louisan, do yourself a favor and drop what you're doing and head down there right now. Parking's a pain in the ass, but after all, it's in the City. Grand & Bates area.

After muchos tacos, cervesa and margaritas we headed out to see a friend of Bridget's band play at what was described as a Bar/Used Car Lot.

We traversed the grid of South City streets, and when we got to the state streets, Trixie visibly clenched up and I knew that when we did in fact arrive at our destination, we wouldn't be staying.

We soon found ourselves descending closer and closer to the Mississippi River, and at Idaho or Texas or some other state street we made a left.

Bridget, who's leading the convoy, pauses in the intersection to ask a stumbling ex-patron, who's crossing the intersection, if in fact this is the Bada Bing! tavern.

It is.

Although we didn't actually cross any railroad tracks, we were in fact on the wrong side of them.

My God.

I've been in bars where people have been shot and I've been in bars where I regretted ordering a drink and finished it before the natives ate me alive.

This was more than I've ever seen, and a little bird tried to warn me.

The group makes its way past a row of condemable shacks, past the numerous fenced yards teeming with jumping German Shepards and Rottweilers, to the sidewalk fronting the bar.

And then it happens.

As it begins to drizzle, and as I'm walking under a tall birch tree,

a bird shits on me.

It may have been two birds, I don't know.

Shit on the left leg

Shit on the right leg

Purple shit penetrating the fibers of my shirt.

At this point, I should have recognized the sign, turned around and gone home.

No, we enter the bar.

No sooner do we cross the door's threshold, and we're visually assulted everyone lined up along the bar.

Hoping for a less imposing greeting, we scan the opposite side of the bar.

No luck.

The blue collar bar crowd scowls at us, especially the Yuppie Twins, Trixie and I.

The band is playing somewhere in the back of the place, but I can't find anywhere to sit, or stand for that matter.

It doesn't matter, Trixie shoots me a look and when Bridget asks,"You guys want a beer?" I tell her no thanks, we're leaving...

And so we do.

Driving back home and hoping to stay out and find something fun to do, Trixie and I are mentally gridlocked and can't think of a single thing to do.

So, I head home, tell Trixie to go light the torches on the deck, and grab two wine glasses and a nice Sur-Lie out of the wine fridge.

We pour the wine and laugh at the evening's events, glad we weren't dead and happy to be home enjoying a nice summer night together on the deck.

Then it starts to rain.

God hates us.

We try to enjoy the bottle on the front porch but again, God hates us and has made sure every flying insect from the surrounding four counties is participating in Bug Conference 2005, right under the porch light.

God hates us.

With little fanfare, the bottle is emptied, and we're soon off to bed.

Today we're playing in Jackson's golf tournament and I'm nervous.

I'm not nervous about winning or losing the tournament.

It's Saturday, and I've got one more shot at having a good night tonight.

But there are lots of trees on a golf course.

And where there's trees...there are birds.