Kitties in Diapers Aidan's blog

My Pretentiousness and Madden, Alberta

Warning: If you are a redneck, hick, clodhopper, hillbilly, bumpkin, big truck driving tribal tattoo'in ed hardy wearing frosted tip jacked dude you should definitely read this post. I will most likely offend you and you can't do anything about it, right? Cause it's de internet bro and everything is fair game on it, yo.

This weekend I attended a slow pitch tournament in Madden, a place that will never make anyone's Bucket List. It's labeled as a Hamlet, which is a typical a rural settlement that is too small to be considered a village. It's located 46 kilometres north of Calgary and 16 kilometres west of Crossfield. In other words, in the middle of buttfuck nowhere.

My good buddy who lives in Crossfield organized the tournament for the second year and the same group of friends met in Madden to defend our title. Well, we lost. This year just wasn't as exciting. Last year there was random dogs running around fighting each other. Parents swearing, getting overly hammered and being what I consider inappropriate in front of their kids. However, the privilege to urinate wherever your bladder desired was full in effect.

Not that this will surprise anyone, but I have fully realized that I'm a city boy, a bombastic one. We went to the Crossfield grocery store looking for some grub to bbq up. Not only was there not any veggie burgers, there wasn't even an organic section. What gives cowboys? I settled with watermelon and blueberries.

I just couldn't fathom living in a small community anymore. The never ending gossip, having to make friends with neighbors, seeing flames painted on big trucks, truck nuts,  no music scene, no indie movies, no chai lattes, no festivals, no goodwill, no pompous loose tea houses. I mean, I'd end up being more of a hermit than I already am with nothing going on. However, I'm sure I wouldn't have trouble scheduling a good old fashioned hearts game.

The oranges in the pillow case is when Hymes and I were getting out of the car and a silly jacked up truck drives by and a tit puts his head out of the window and yells “fag!” We tried to figure out who he was calling a fag. Hymes was wearing a wife beater and shorts. We decided that they are most likely indifferent to the beating of women. Meanwhile, I'm by no means dressed flamboyant. Odd, I know. In fact I was dressed quite poorly, probably quite similar to them. So we came to the conclusion that he didn't understand the difference of singular and plural.

It was certainly a good weekend and everyone at the ball tournament was optimistic and looking to have a good time. Shout out to the Extra Foods crew. Props to Mikey V and Claire for awesome hospitality and keeping me from sleeping in a car, because dis city boi far too lazy to set up a tent, dawg.