So it’s officially the Fourth of July, birth of the great place we call America…and what do we do on this day? We blow shit up. Fireworks galore, alcohol, grilled food, bonfires…yeah, I love America. This is probably not the best time to write, as I am intoxicated, but it’s a well deserved occasion. There is a lull in the party at the Bradley home, and I just felt compelled to write to my audience. I’m surrounded by a few friends, most of which I call family, my two children are inside “camping” out on the living room now that fireworks are over. My father has just recently left for the night, as did his buddy, and now I’m left with just the handful of people that I can tolerate being around for more than 20 minutes. My ex-wife and her boyfriend showed up just to see a few fireworks and to see the kids,my brother and his army of children also showed up to enjoy the food and festivities. Now here I am, listening to random conversations watching people sneak out to my back porch to fool around, and what have you.
What does all of this mean? It means it’s been another successful shindig that has been thrown by me. Here I am, listening to my “Jewish” friend ramble on about God knows what, but it is entertaining. He’s not ACTUALLY Jewish, but I have publicly wiped ashes on his nose despite his knowing of it, and proceeded to tell random strangers he was a jew and I had wiped his past ancestors on his nose…great bar joke. At least it left me with that great story and laughs for many years, I was a horrible person at one time, but…shit happens. Currently they are discussing religion, the three of them, while the other two are hopping on the good foot and doing the bad thing in my screen in porch. This is my house and I am literally without. And I kind of prefer it that way. At times, yeah, I acknowledge the fact that I am completely alone when it comes to the love of a woman, but on the same hand, I acknowledge it and am happy about it.
I’m alone. I have nobody asking where I am, what I’m doing, concerned with the little details on what I am doing. It’s a blessing and a curse. We were actually on the subject of my past “love life” and my actual number, which I had to turn to my best friend to get a closer to exact number. I’ve lived my life fully, I’ve been in love. I’ve loved, I’ve lost, I’ve fulfilled my so called “bucket list” of love…I’d say with the exception of a midget, but legally that happened. She was 4’9″ and over 18, by law that is a midget. So technically, that’s been accomplished. Go me, right? Which in turn makes me think of ‘I Hope They Serve Beer In Hell’, a quote/unquote autobiography by a gentleman named Tucker Max, whom my son is named after. Read the book, or if you are short on time, watch the movie. I own both.
I’m rambling, I know. But shut up, I’m the one writing damnit. I’m at a stopping point anyway, so if you made it to this point, congrats, you deciphered my cryptic drunk blog, I’ll try to add some fun pictures as usually tomorrow when I dust off the old labtop and write a new blog. Until then, remember, this is my adventure…what’s yours?