I live in Brew City and this year, the Brewers were doing VERY well. Although my fiancé and I are Cubs fans, we still support the local team. DoubleP and I secured Cubs v. Brewers tickets a few Saturdays ago. Little Friend and his son, Needs-to-eat-a-Sandwich came to the game with us. We call him that since he’s a skinny little bugger (ok, he’s seven) and Little Friend made this observation of his own son the other day, so who am I to dispute the new moniker?

Unfortunately, the tickets were standing room only, so of course, having the attention span of a gnat, I got a little bored and started messing with Needs-to-eat-a-Sandwich. He is a quiet kid at first, so I mess with him to get him to open up a bit. I proceeded to shove an entire 2-pound plastic bag of un-shelled peanuts down his pants to get him to laugh. Yeah, I realized 10 seconds too late, that if I were seven and weighed 40 pounds soaking wet holding a bowling ball and someone shoved a bag of peanuts down my pants … yeah, not so funny. The kid had peanuts in parts I don’t think he ever knew he had. Little Friend and I cleaned him up, dumped the peanut debris out of his shoes and we were back to observing the game in no time. I bought Needs-to-eat-a-Sandwich a licorice rope to redeem myself. Not sure how redemption works in children’s eyes yet. I never did ask Little Friend if he ever found peanuts floating in the tub after bath time …

The Cubs ended up winning and DoubleP and I were elated. Little Friend was disappointed, but Needs-to-eat-a-Sandwich was REALLY disappointed. He is a Brewers fan through and through. But then again, does a seven-year old grasp a hundred years of Cubs history without winning a pennant?

We slowly make our way out of the ball park, beating a path through the pissed-off crowd. Wearing Cubs gear in a sea of Brewers fans is a road fraught with uncertain treachery. We were engaged in conversation about the game while we walked along. Little Friend held Needs-to-eat-a-Sandwich’s hand and kept turning his head to speak as we were all walking in a row. We continue walking and then we hear a loud bang-clang-ping- almost like the ping of something hard against the steel hull of a boat. Little Friend is no longer walking in sync with us. We looked back to find Little Friend holding his hand to his forehead. Much to our amazement, that thud/ping was Little Friend’s head against a light pole in the middle of the sidewalk! He asked me if he looked all right and at this point, I’m losing it because I see a gash in his forehead. Had I brought cereal and milk along, I would have been able to use the large gash as a fucking bowl. Actually, it looked like he just fashioned a vaginal opening into his forehead, but it wasn’t really a good time to tell him that. So, I tell him that he is DEFINITELY going to need stitches. He asked me AGAIN if he looked all right. I assumed he wanted some sort of diagnosis in regards to the possibility of a concussion, so I made him aware that his eyes were dilated. Yeah, not the answer he wanted. I think he wanted a “you look fine, it’s just a scratch” comment, but I wasn’t very perceptive at the time since I had consumed many-a-beer. I grab facial tissue out of my purse- thank God I was getting over a cold, hence the wad. Had I not had it, he would have been bleeding profusely and having his kid see that would have been awful. The potential of a father profusely bleeding, then son profusely vomiting- it would not have been a good scene. But being the stoic fellow that Little Friend is, he marched straight back into the ball park to get to the first aid station. DoubleP grabbed Needs-to-eat-a-Sandwich’s hand and we try to keep up with Little Friend who at this point was holding the tissue to his forward and cruising like he found out they were handing out free vasectomy reversals at the first aid station.

We waited outside and entertained Needs-to-eat-a-Sandwich. I went in to check on Little Friend to find two 150-year-old retired nurses standing over him (I’m almost certain they served in the field during WWI). They explain to him that he will, indeed need stitches. You think? That gaping, hemorrhaging wound in his head? No, really? I consider them to have the combined IQ of a cold hot-dog and ask Little Friend where we should take him to get stitched up. One of the fossils escorts him to the bathroom believing that if he should faint by some miracle she would be able to catch a man weighing 100 pounds more than her.

Two hours and five stitches later (surprisingly, I thought it would have been more– maybe even internal ones) and requiring his ex-wife, CC pick up the kids at the hospital, Little Friend was feeling VERY embarrassed. I think to this day, he still replays the entire thing in his mind in complete awe that he managed to stroll into a light pole. I’m thinking we must be the most interesting people to talk to if Little Friend can be SO engaged that he bites a light pole. Seriously, it is not as if he ran into the thing, we were walking at brisk pace, if that.

Here’s the kicker: Little Friend drank 12 ounce ONE beer during the tailgate portion of our day. He clocked himself on the light pole after his liver had already metabolized the miniscule amount of alcohol he had consumed 4 hours prior to entering the game. Yep. Ever been SO sober that you do something that catapults you full circle to drunk? Ask Little Friend.

Je connaissais déjà quelques noms de dessinateurs connus grâce à leur blog…Monsieur Boulet (que j’ai eu le plaisir de rencontrer durant le festival de la BD à Marseille à Luminy en 2005…pfff ça commence à faire!) et Mademoiselle Penelope Jolie Coeur!

Mais le web regorge de blogs bd…illustrations, anecdotes de vie, journal de filles….Je remercie donc DoubleP qui a eu la très très bonne idée de réaliser un fil rouge ( la chaîne des blogbédéistes ) remplis de liens de blogs créatifs! Une idée originale qui mérite d’être connue…J’y ai même retrouvé le site de Miss Bean dont j’avais déjà apprécié la créativité dans la confection de visuel pour tee-shirts!

Peut-être que moi aussi je pourrais faire parti un jour du fil rouge…je crois qu’il faut que je travaille encore mon style….