My Vasectomy - and like Stevie Nicks, I need a Little Sympathy

The Great Vasectomy of 2011 is now complete. Let me tell you, I can't wait until my junk looks human again. I know all y'all are dying to hear the details, so let me tell you. All week I was sort of a basket case waiting for Friday to roll around. I wasn't freaking out about the pain, and I don't think I was really freaking out about any of the strange side effects that I had read about on all those websites I should have ignored. I think I was more afraid of having to be trapped on a table. You know how I freak out at the dentist? Well, if need be, I could easily just sit up, push the dentist out of the way, and go clear my head if I was getting completely freaky. Pushing someone away with a scalpel on your nuts? Not so much.
Anyway, I realize I was an asshole to live with all week. I was testy and couldn't get a good sleep, and was just horrible. However, part of me knew that I just needed to get it done and it would be all right. So I am bound and determined to get a good sleep on Thursday night. The weather all week was weird. It went from 30 below to above freezing in like 12 hours, and it stayed around zero all week, which was nice, except for the freezing rain on Thursday evening. Then, I awake at 6 in the morning on Friday with the wind freaking out, and as we are getting ready to leave for the City, where the great Vas chopping was happening, we hear the highways are a mess. From here to "McDonald", the road was said to be ice covered, and from there to the city, slippery sections. So I am wondering if this is some sort of sign, and I am afraid that we won't make it there. However, we get to the city by 11:30, and as I don't have to be at the hospital until 1:15, we go to Old Navy. That turned out to be a good move. They have this sale that started that morning, where all clearance stuff was an additional 50% off, and everything non-clearance was 30% off. We end up buying like 5 large bags of clothes for the kids and for me, and it costs.... get this... 159 dollars. I think there is some sort of mistake and do a "start the car!" type of retreat out of the store, but when we realize it is indeed right, we make plans to come back if I can walk.
So then we run to Tims to grab a bagel before the vas chopping (I said I couldn't eat anything else, in case I got pukey feeling on the table, but promised I would go wherever the wife wanted to go after the chopping), and I down two Ativan, and we go to perhaps the nicest hospital I've ever been in - City Hospital.
So we check in and long story short, they call my name, and I'm not too freaked out yet. They tell me to keep my shirt on and my socks for some reason, and my gitch, and to get on the table, and then they'll cover me with a sheet. So I sit there and listen to the last guy in the adjoining room get finished up, and then the doctor comes in and tells me what he's going to do and I lay down and pull down my gitch and they cover me with a sheet. I am thinking I would be spread eagle on the bed, like a birthing mother, but he kept saying "no, just relax." It was weird. He quickly gave me a shot, and I have to say that a needle in the sack wasn't nearly as bad as I thought. Indeed, the hardest part up to that point was trying to SHAVE my sack. I don't know how porn stars do it, I really don't. Luckily, I started the procedure on Wednesday night, and I think it was a good 20 minutes. I didn't appreciate at how many fucking folds of skin there were on a ball sack until then. Anyway, the shaving instructions were weird too - it was like "shave the front and sides of the scrotum" but depending on how you are standing, the borders of front, side, and back of a sack is all relative. Anyway, I got it done.
So back to the table. He freezes me and I can feel wetness running down my 'taint, and I realize that if I don't want to freak out, I need to talk, so I am chatting away with this dude, and say "have you started anything?" and he goes "I'm almost done the left side" and I was all "but I only feel stuff on the right side?" but whatever - he's the doctor. The only thing that grossed me out was this sort of gross burning smell, like he was cauterizing something - which he probably was. But that didn't last long.
But then he started the OTHER side.
It started out ok, but then he was yanking, and I got this hideous feeling like I was being kicked in the balls, if my balls were lying horizontally across my waist. Seriously, he was pulling, and the tube or whatever must have ran horizontally along my waist. It was horrible and I groaned and said "OOOOH, I'm feeling that" so he said it was unusual to give more freezing, but he did. Then he asked how I was doing and I fessed up and said "I'm really sweating" because I was afraid I'd puke or pass out, and so he calls the nurse, who was in the next room cleaning up something, to bring me a cloth, and let me tell you, she was Florence fucking Nightingale. When she found out where I was from, she was from just north of here, and we knew some people in common, and she brings me a cloth for my head and under my neck and as soon as I feel the cold, I was fine, but she was still thinking I was some fainting mental patient and she's changing the cloths every few minutes, and I am getting nicely stoned on my ativan, so I am all "no, I'm fine" and she's all "but we need to get your colour back in your face" so then I'm all "I am always pale, don't worry!" and then try to explain how I hate hospitals and dentists and all of that crap and then they are done, but she says "you lay there for a minute" and asks my wife's name and tells her to come in and I am so excited it's done and so suddenly high on Ativan that when Rachel is all "how was it?" I exclaim "AWESOME!" and apparently I am saying it was awesome about 5 times, but what I mean is that it wasn't at all bad, and the only bad part was that horrible pulling thing, which I am still sort of feeling as I type. But anyway, the nurse brings me juice and makes me drink 2 orange juice, and then I hop off the table and go behind the little curtain (she made me pull up my underwear as soon as the doctor was done, but I really didn't give a fuck at that point and would have showed your grandma if you wanted me to) and I'm yelling for Rachel to bring me my jock strap that I was told would be helpful (It isnt), and then I'm going "let me look at this in the mirror" and then I am exclaiming "it's just an ordinary band-aid!" on my sack. I think I was a little over the top, I was so euphoric to have this done. The doctor is giving me instructions and papers and test bottles and Lord knows what, but I'm not really listening. Then we get out of there and I am floating on air. I tell the Mrs. that I am fine to go to Home Sense, which she really wanted to go to, so we do, and even I realize I am high because we get in there, and we somehow separate, and I end up meeting her "with one towel in my hand" and saying we should get these towels. If you know us, you'd know that she always is buying towels and I am always bitching her out, saying "why the fuck do we need new display towels...." and yada yada. Well, yesterday, I bought fucking TOWELS. Two bath size, two hand, two face clothes. I'm the one saying "they will match the picture in the bathroom." Rachel is all "they will??" and suddenly I am Nate Burkis - shaved balls and all.
Then we went to Chili's to eat, and we pigged out. Our server, Tyson, is all Johnny Depp, and kneels and whispers in a drawl everything, and kneels each time he comes to see us, like I'm the king and he's the concubine. And he's got the Johnny Depp thing down and is telling me to fill out the online survey and if I win the contest money, I have to come and buy him a beer, and I want to start howling in laughter, but I just ride the high and roll with it. Then I have to pee. I am nervous about this. I find the can and go to the urinal, and have one FUCK of a time trying to get JT Jr. out of this tight jock strap and over my sweats, and it kind of made me a little pukey feeling, but I manned up and pissed and then it was back to Old Navy for more sale stuff, none of which I tried on because I didn't want to disturb the boys.
Then we went to Costco for 400 dollars of groceries, and since Rachel had to push the cart, I think she now appreciates how Costco is a great workout for the biceps and trices when you hit about the 300 dollar mark of food.
Then we hit the highway, got to town, went to pick up the Boy, as the rest of the kids were staying with the inlaws for a sleepover, and we went home. I had taken my T3s, which always make me tired, then wired, then nauseous, each and every time I've taken them, and I went through those motions, and then went to sleep.
I sleep sort of ok, but wake up having to pee. And women don't get this, but I had a piss hard on first thing this morning. And my eyes weren't open, but then I think "FUCK! OMG! FUCK! It's hard!" and I concentrate really hard and it goes away and I get up to pee. I didn't want any kind of erection happening, since the doctor said to wait a week for sex. So I pee, peel off the horrid jock strap, and take a good look. As the day went on, my junk got more swollen. Tonight, it was the worst. You see, my doctor told me "don't listen to those guys who say they went kayaking/built a deck/played soccer when they had their's done". He said "I had it done. Do nothing for 3 days. NOTHING. Those who do are the ones who have troubles later on. RENT MOVIES!" The urologist sort of said the same thing. I sort of did too much today. TOnight? Well, the swelling made me nauseous to look at. My sack is impressively big, with an extra swollen section added to it. My dick has a shelf now - it's resting in this swollen portion of my sack. And the fact that there is all this swelling, is making me want to hurl. A few hours ago, the swelling was really bad - the old boy itself had this odd swelling in parts. Then I sat on my bag of peas for an hour and it doesn't look as bad. I just hope it goes down tomorrow.
Funny story though - my wife is getting dressed this morning, and i am laying in bed and she's naked and yada yada and I am yelling "stop!" I'm getting the wrong thoughts.... quick, think of Delores." Delores is someone completely gross that we know, who told Rachel all about her stomach flu and the consistency of her poop (long story, but I am making none of this up). Anyway, she's hideous. So then I say "I'm picturing Delores sitting on the shitter with her yellow poop" and then I say, "lets throw in Velma (Delores' mother, who is like 80 and has a deformed hand) and picture her hand" and my wife kills it completely and says "picture Velma's deformed hand giving you a hand job" and that was it. Problem averted.
But I've done way too much today and I'm swollen and my waist has that sore feeling and I am sort of freaking out by the swelling. But tomorrow is another day, so just pray for me.
And I regret nothing. I thought I'd be all weepy that I was soon to be sterile, but I'm nothing but exciting. And that makes me happy. As my wife told me yesterday, she's proud of me. This was entirely my idea. She never mentioned it, and I made my own appointments and own decisions and she never said anything. I'm glad I did it. As long and this shit heals.
Which reminds me, I should sit with my bag of peas before bed.
Have a good night y'all.

Whew.... is it a full fucking moon or what?? Right now I am sitting here on a Wednesday night enjoying a plastic tumbler of wine. Yes, it's Wednesday. Yes, I am on a fierce diet. However, I blame the moon. I have 2 open bottles of wine in the pantry and insanity all around me. Man, what a day it's been.
First, I've been sitting here for the past 25 minutes trying to set up my new laptop. I bought it in December and finally took it out of the box. Let me just say this: I wish I would have also bought the MAC laptop. When I bought the imac and the ipad, I bought a "normal" laptop just in case I didn't like the MAC shit. Well, let me say, after trying to get this sorry piece of shit running, that I am so over Windows. Seriously. The imac? I took it out of the box, plugged that big fucker in, and viola. This thing? 25 minutes of "setting up". Kiss my flat ass, Bill Gates.
Anyway, I swore I'd never become one of those annoying MAC people, and since I still can't wrap my head around half of what the MAC does, because it's just too easy, I won't dwell. However, the one thing that annoyed me about the MAC was the keyboard. It's just a little differently shaped than what I am used to, and I am realizing as I type that this laptop is no better. Major typos thus far - I keep backspacing. Anyway, this whole thing is just icing on the cake.
The day itself wasn't actually all that bad - work was actually ok. It was a busy day, and it's budget season, so I'm extra busy, but all in all, not bad. But then after work, WELL. Let's just say my kids turned into..... well, I'd say complete fucking retards, but I guess I shouldn't use the term retard. You see, I had this long debate years ago with a friend who has a niece that is retarded. "Pat" always got mad when people used "Retarded" to describe something fucked up. I can sort of see why, but then again, I don't use it in a dereogatory way - but whatever. Let's just say that my first two children were insane tonight. I was seriously stumped as to what the hell was with them. Then I realized it was a full moon. Anyway. They got over themselves by bedtime. But one was freaking out after school, the other one after dance, and we didn't eat supper until 8, and, well, even my wife said my supper "sucked". And it did. I thought I was being all pro-active by throwing a pork roast I bought at Safeway into the crockpot at noon in the hopes of having pulled pork sandwiches. Easiest thing in the world - a roast, some garlic, some pepper, and some Bullseye. Cook for 8 hours, shred, throw on buns. It's always a hit. However, I added some different bbq sauces as well, trying to clear out shit from the fridge, and I didn't realize until 8 o'clock that this fucking roast was full of bones and fat. I've never bought a roast with bones before. This fucker was bonier than Calista Flockheart. And the rest was fattier than Kirstie Alley. So then I quickly made some KD since I wasn't sure how much meat there was. Kid #2 hated the meat. Kid #1 ate some of it, but spit out the KD, saying it tasted like raw fish. Rachel then says "your supper kind of sucks". And it did. Well, I never promised anyone a fucking rose garden.
And, our house has become a total mess, and none of us are happy when it looks like an episode of Hoarders in here.
So anyway, here I sit, needed to just relax. Wifey fell asleep on the couch and American Idol is playing in the background. I can't fucking stand Steven Tyler. But I'm enjoying J-Lo. Remember how I used to call her a greasy, big-assed bitch, or whatever? I take it back. It's funny now, because Randy Jackson is so out of his element - it's like "whoa, these judges aren't a punch line". Well, Tyler is - he's so gross.
Anyway, I'm also sort of bothered too right now because my brother in law's father got a quadruple bypass today, and I guess the next 24 hours are critical, and the whole thing conjures up shit.
I just want to set the record straight here. I am NOT always wallowing in dead-mother sadness. It's just that this is the only place I vent it. Most of the time, I'm fine. But when it gets to me, well, all y'all are the lucky ones who hear about it. I've been mostly ok, except for like 3:00 am New Years Day, when I sat up watching old videos on youtube and watched "Nightbird" by Stevie Nicks, which always kicks me in the gut. She wrote it for her best friend Robin, who died of leukemia like my mom, and it's just so sad, and it always makes me weepy. Anyway, my poor wife had to deal with me that night. But anyhooo, even the thought of the whole hospital waiting game has got me thinking, so I know what they are going through - although the prognosis for them is better than anything we were ever given.
What else.... oh, I am set to get fixed a week from Friday. I was freaking the fuck out earlier this week, wanting to get out of it. Margo told me her brother in law isn't happy with his - he says there's "something missing" and then I went on the frigging internet, and see that a bunch of others say it's fucked up their.... well, I don't even quite get what they're saying... something about their orgasm. But really, if it was so horrible, people wouldn't still be getting them. And Lord knows, I don't want another kid.... especially when there is a full moon. Can I get an Amen from the choir? Anyway, wish me well. I can't believe I am doing it, but I am soooooo done.
What else...... It's unbelievably cold here. Like windchills of minus 40. I found an awesome deal for us to go to Fort Myers, FLA., today - if someone would just give me 5 grand, we'll be on our way - hint hint, rich benefactors....
Hey, did all y'all hear about how the Canadian.... I dunno... broadcast standards.... or something or other... wants to ban "Money For Nothing" from being played on the radio, because it uses the word "faggot?" There's some fierce free speech debate about that one. However, what really gets me is that it took, what 25, or 26, years for this to even be an issue? I'm so annoyed with that. I have to say that I was offended back in 85 when the album came out. I didn't think it was acceptable then, so why does it take 25 years? It reminds me of the "n" word debate. I still can't wrap my head around that yet. I remember them using the term on the Jeffersons in the 70s. Then it became something you couldn't even say, but Black people could "Reclaim it" and throw it on rap records.
But I have to say that faggot and nigger are both words used with hatred. And while people will say "oh, the word is used in Money for Nothing to show the ignorance of the blue collar working selling the appliances", I don't doubt that - HOWEVER. If the blue collar worker was saying "the little nigger with the nappy hair and big dick - the little nigger, he's a millionaire" (to the tune of Money for Nothing), would THAT be played on the radio?? No. And while I am completely against the whole censoring of the "n" word from literature, I don't think it's acceptable in popular music, by Dire Straights or by rappers. The same for the word "faggot." "Faggot" isn't like the English "poof" or whatever the hell it is they say. It's a word full of hatred. Let me tell you, I remember distinctly being called a faggot in grade 10, by this big neanderthal asshole (who, it turns out, I found out years later, dated my wife - this is the boyfriend I aways have the jealousy issues with, and it all stems from that episode, because he was such a big fucking arsehole and I never, ever forgot that moment, and years later when I found out they dated it all came flooding back). Anyway, it was totally unprovoked, but let me tell you, there isn't anything more hateful you could say to a skinny, bookish, awkward kid than to have a big hulking neanderthal bellow a hateful "faggot" in his direction. So maybe I am sensitive, but I wouldn't be hurt if Money for Nothing just went far away. And really, besides "Sultans of Swing", do we care for anything else they've done? Not really.
So that's my sermon.

a Bootleg of sorts

Here is the post I never finished from a few weeks ago. I give it to you now, unedited:

My holidays are coming to a close. I go back to work on Tuesday. I really wish I had another week, but beggars can't be choosers. I've spent the past 9 days eating, drinking, and being merry. I've also watched a lot of retro TV. You see, my kids got a few seasons of Survivor and 2 seasons of Project Runway for Xmas, and my wife got another season of Love Boat, and we've been hooked on watching the latter two shows. I've learned some interesting things watching these shows.

First, Isaac was a fucking STUD. In the past three episodes, the brother was getting it on with his girl Charlene (but he wouldn't accept that his Mama, Pearl Bailey, was getting it on with her man friend in her cabin - it became a whole "it's ok for you but not for me, chile" type of thing.

Then the next episode, Charlene was gone, and Isaac picks up this serious woman who was writing her dissertation on Black History (I guess she went on the cruise to study, because that's all she did when she wasn't getting it from Isaac). This studious girl, who was played by someone from Good Times, I think, was offended by Scatman Curruthers, who doing all this jokey jive stuff. More on that later. Anyway, the NEXT episode we saw tonight was Isaac meeting his favorite singer, a Diana Ross type played by Diane Carroll, and he convinces her to let him come to her room for a drink, and then the next scene has him naked in her bed. I tell ya, the man is a machine. I know that Doc was portrayed as the studly one, but whitey PLEASE - I don't think he EVER saw action from anyone younger than 60. So yeah, Isaac - who knew?

My next observation has to do with Julie. We're watching season one, so you can't really tell that she's a raging cokehead, but I never noticed just how horrid her role was. As a romantic 8 year old, I admit I had a thing for girls with that fluffy blow-dried hair - Donna Pescow, Marsha Strassman from Welcome Back Kotter (seriously, could there be anyone MORE hideous?!), and Julie. However, she comes across all nice and caring, but there was this blind girl on the cruise, who was dating Dezi Arnez Jr., who used to be blind and now could see, but he was engaged to a girl in Mexico and it's a long story, but this poor blind girl would be crying in her coffee on some sad-assed deck and Julie will walk up and say "here is a rose for you from Timmy" or whatever his name is, and then walk away, leaving Blindy all by herself to find her way back to the room. And the decks she was on looked like they were next to the furnace room, so Julie just didn't give a shit.

But then poor Julie wanted Scatman to teach her how to do the "ham bone". the hambone is where you start slapping your thigh and start rhyming with the words ham bone. Like "ham bone, ham bone, Isaac's fine, until he gets herpes for doing the crime" - you know, that kind of thing. Anyway, Julie was slapping her legs and doing the ham bone, and it was really quite sad.

You know, we have a lot to learn from the Love Boat. We really do. Anyhow, I better get out of here and off to bed. Ham bone, ham bone, time to sleep....