Do you like the smell of Blog-pouri?

Current mood:mawkish

Category: Blogging

So, it's become a bit of a tradition for me to write an introductory blog every time I get a new reader. Everybody, meet M-….She is a big fan of The Damnwells music, which puts her street cred as "legit. Too legit to quit". M-, this is everybody.

This week's special guest lurker may very well be Mr. Dezen, who recently did me the great honor of subscribing to this blog. I must confess, though, that it makes me a little nervous knowing that somebody that has a real talent for words may be watching. Dezen, if you are reading this, please know that I tried to auction off both my pinky fingers on EBay to attend the premiere of Golden Days and subsequent concert. My wife kept nagging me to throw in a kidney. THAT's how big a fan she is.

Anywho, not a whole lot has been happening lately. And I like it that way. So, there is only one thing that I can write about: My Vasectomy.

After the birth of my daughter, it was decided that I'd better have a vasectomy. By that I mean that my wife decided that I'd better have a vasectomy. So, I went to see the urologist. Of course, the doc wanted Cissy to come in for the consult. After all the talking was done, the doc (who is probably a full 14 inches shorter than I am) said, "Okay, take off your drawers ('cause we are in the south, after all.) and let's take a look". Now, this brings me to the very essence of this story: What is the protocol for what to do with one's hands while getting his scrotum examined? It didn't seem like I should place them behind my back, like I was listening to a speech. It didn't seem like I should clasp them together behind my head. I damn sure couldn't put them on the doc's head. In the end, I did what I had to do. I placed my hands on my hips, arms akimbo. Awkward, yes. From my vantage point, I couldn't see the doc's face, but Cissy could. She reported that, as I lowered my undies, a look of awe crossed the doc's face. "Why…", the doc stammered, "…Why I can't ethically do any work on this perfect set of testes. I might as well deface the statue of David…". After much begging and pleading from my wife, though, the doc finally relented and agreed to the procedure. After we left the office, Cissy asked "Why did you have your hands on your hips? That looked extremely posed, and more than a little gay". Thanks for the support, Ciss….

Well, the office gave me a printed list of instructions. The night before the procedure, I could either shave the coinpurse, or they would do it for me. Being the go-getter that I am, I decided to tackle the problem head on and start a-shavin'. Unfortunately, I haven't had too much experience. I say that because when I laid back on the table, the nurse took a look and brought out the shaving kit. After calling two more nurses in for some lifting help, I was successfully shorn. After that, the actual procedure was a breeze.

But…..I had to have a follow-up semen test to determine that I was, in fact, sterile. Now, for all you non-medical types, let me line it out for ya. They give you a cup with a threaded top and tell you that the sample needs to be provided in a timely manner (that means within 15 mins). Big problem….I live 45 mins away. So, either I get down to business in the car (hopefully with Cissy driving. I mean, I'm a multi-tasker, but….) or I get to get auto-amorous in the clinic bathroom (which is no big deal, except for the wonderful aroma, the potential of getting caught, and the incredibly limited space).

In the end, I was able to use my local community hospital for the test, which meant I could "go to town" in the privacy of my own house, watching my collection of Golden Girls DVDs……Cissy refused to "help out". Thanks for the support, Ciss…...