Thursday, February 13, 2014

Vasecto-You and Me

Well... my penis is no longer a baby making war machine. That’s right, I got a vasectomy. And not just a pretend one. A real one. And as a very few of our loyal readers will recall, one of our first posts was about Pat’s vasectomy, which can be found here and over here but not here.

In that post Pat was willing to answer all the questions I had about his procedure and how it went, so I figured I would return the favor by turning the tables on him by having the answerer become the answerer-ed.

I’m still taking Vicodin.

Ask away Pat.

Pat:  Never knew it, but it turns out that I’m uncomfortable with posts that start with the words, “Well... my penis…”. Who knew?

This is hard to admit, but I’m a little chagrined--no, hurt--by the fact that you didn’t feel it appropriate to tell me about your vasectomy in advance. I mean, I told you ALL about mine in retrospect. The least you could have done was tell me about yours in forspect. Or invited me to go with you. Or had me do the shaving. Whatever. I’m not hurt.



Christian: Sorry about that. It’s just that the place I reserved for the procedure was kind of small and didn’t have a lot of seating. And then combine that with needing to make sure the caterers had enough room I really had to shorten down the guest list. I had to make a lot of tough decisions since I couldn’t invite everyone I wanted to. Unfortunately you didn’t make the list. However I am still registered at several stores around town if you want to get me a vasectomy gift.

If it makes you feel any better I did reread the post we did about your vasectomy before mine and decided to take your advice about listening to podcasts during the procedure.

Pat:  Yeah? How’d that work for you? I hope you chose the right podcast. I meant to tell you to stay far away from any NPR related podcasts--those things tend to accentuate the tugging feeling. Not sure why.

Thanks for the explanation. It makes me feel a little better. Are there any leftovers from the catering?

Christian:  The only leftovers were the weiners. For some reason those weren’t very popular amongst the guests.

As for the podcasts I went with Stuff You Should Know. I found one on handwriting analysis and about an hour after I took my pre-procedure Diazepam I had convinced myself that I was going to quit my job and become a professional forger once the procedure was over.

But about a quarter way through my procedure, right at the point where the Stuff You Should Know guys were explaining the significance of a capital ‘A’ (which I don’t remember any of), things started to not go to plan. The plan being that I was to not feel any pain during any of this.

It was rather severe pain. It wasn’t continuous but definitely recurring. I could also tell that the doctor was having to put a lot of physical effort into what he was doing which didn’t make me feel any better about the situati....   

*passes out. comes to 30 seconds later*

Whoa. Sorry. It’s still hard for me to talk about it in detail so let’s just move on.

He gave me an additional round of local anesthesia and proceeded but it really didn’t help. Afterwards he apologized for the pain and said “Your tubes were really hard to get to.” I haven’t done the research but I’m assuming that “hard to get to tubes” is a sign of extreme masculinity dating back to the era of the Roman Gods.

Anyways, I feel like the whole procedure and recovery period was not at all what I was expecting. Beforehand I had talked to several people who had gone through it and they all reassured me it’s no big deal. I consider them all extreme liers now and I hate them all.

Pat: I think I’m gonna’ throw up. Sorry. The images. The horror….the horror!

Christian: I know. And not once during my pre-exam consultation did the doctor ever say anything about horror. He went into great detail about what exactly will be done to my special man-parts during the procedure - during which I just sang songs about watermelons and happy places to myself - but nothing about warning me of horror.

He did say that he had had a couple of patients whose wives got pregnant after the procedure. But he then told me, with a sly, knowingly look, that it turned out to be something else. Naturally I assumed this meant he wanted me to impregnate his wife before I had my procedure but I was like, “No way Jose”.

You know what else didn’t live up to expectations? The drugs. The Diazepam was supposed to relax me. I was hoping that maybe it might give me somewhat of a high. But no. I shouldn’t have been surprised though since shortly after taking the Diazepam a group of well adjusted canaries, who could bend time and space with their eyes, told me that the drug doesn’t always work on everyone. I just must have been one of the unlucky ones.

The only thing about the whole experience that I am happy with is that it is done. It still seems odd to have sex without a condom though. It’s like I’m committing a sin or something. I don’t think God never intended for us to have unprotected sex.

Thursday, February 6, 2014

My Poor, Poor, Well-Adjusted Kids

Now I’m not here to debate whether growing up as a child believing geese are the ultimate rulers of the sky and heavens is a good thing or not. Also that expired medication are little gifts given to us by these geese gods, that can be exchanged for knowledge and baked goods, that without, one would certainly live a life of shame and horror.

No, I’m here to talk about my kid’s upbringing, not mine. My concern is that my kids might be too well-adjusted. Don’t get me wrong, being well-adjusted is a good thing (I’m assuming) but all truly great artists seem to have had a troubling past and/or upbringing.

For example, Kurt Cobain had a troubled childhood that carried over into his career and he has now a legend. And then there was that ballet girl from the movie “The Swan” that was the lead ballet-er. She was raised by a crazy mom.

Those are really the only examples I have but I think that’s enough science to prove I’m right.

I feel like if my kids are too well-adjusted I’m pretty much throwing any chance they have at becoming great artists down the toilet.

On a scale of very concerned to severely concerned, how concerned should I be about this?

Pat:  Wait! I’m going to admit that my senses might be a little blurred, as I’m a coupla’ beers into the evening and I ate some leftover Quinoa of questionable age, but...I am REALLY struggling to understand your first paragraph. I’ve read it multiple time, backwards, forwards, upside-down and with my eyes closed, and it STILL isn’t sending a lot of sense my way. It makes me worry about you a little bit. Is everything okay?

Still...I think I get what you’re getting at. And, yeah, I worry a bit about my own kids’ respective adjustments. They’re just too damn balanced and stable. I’ve thought about driving them out to the woods, shoving them outta’ the car, and telling them to hoof it back home on their own. Struggle to survive. Face their demons. Builds character, y’know.

They might not appreciate it now, but they’ll thank me later. Right?

Christian: I don’t understand what you don’t understand about my first paragraph. Did you not spend part of your childhood believing that the world was run by magical geese that gave us expired medications that you could use to learn knowledge and then exchange for food?

They’re trying to figure whether or not they are looking into a mirror.
The red eyes means they’re magical.

Pat:  No. I didn’t.

And we don’t need to go into it here, but I really don’t care for geese.

How, exactly, do they relate to your kids and their respective levels of adjustment?

Christian: They don’t, which makes me wonder why you keep talking about them. Just forget about the expired medication toting magical geese Pat. Let them go.

Moving on.

So you’re suggesting abandoning my kids somewhere in the woods? Are you thinking some place like this:

Pat: That’s terrifying. For reasons we don’t need to go into right now. Don’t ever EVER take your kids to such a place.

Christian: What? Why? What’s wrong with it?

Pat:  The fertilizer, man! Don’t you know what it takes to keep a lawn green like that. Tons of chemicals, that’s what. Chemicals that will seep into the toddler flesh of your childrens’ unshod feet and into their bloodstream, poisoning them slowly and resulting in an inhumanely long and painful death.

Jesus, man...I just suggested you help them experience nature a little bit, not ABUSE them!  

Oh...I get it. It’s not the geese that terrify me. That’s what you were thinking, right?

Christian: So exposing them to chemically charged manure isn’t going to make them artistically gifted? This parenting thing is hard.

So abandoning them in the woods should do the trick? The woods seem so far away though. Can I just abandon them at a Carls Jr. instead?

Pat:  Maybe. Come to think of it, I think you’re right. You might end up with a result the OPPOSITE of what you were hoping for.

For example, I wanted my children to grow up with a love and appreciation of nature, so I would frequently bundle them up, load them into the car, and drive to a place where we could trod along a trail of some sort, usually two miles or so, and occasionally uphill.

Hiking is great, right? Builds character, right? Feeds the soul, right?

Well, it might, but my kids sure don’t think so. In fact, anytime they hear the words, “Hey kiddos, I have an idea…” come out of my mouth, they make up far-fetched excuses to suddenly do anything BUT hang out with me. In the woods. On a trail.

Carls Jr. might just do it!

Christian: OK good. Carls Jr. it is.

I just want to make sure my kids to grow up to be like Kurt Cobain. Minus the heroin addiction. And suicide. And most importantly, the marriage to Courtney Love.