The Vasectomy Monologues: Part 1

I took the day off of work to go in for a vasectomy yesterday. They asked that I shave myself. Down there. I thought at first they should have a nurse do that, but I guess they don't want the liability of the possibility of a little knick with a razor and the patient to bleeding to death from their tescticles. That's no way to go. So I got that done in the morning and headed in for my 1PM appointment. When my time came up they called me into a room and asked me to strip from the waist down and lie on the table with one of those paper sheets over my business.

The first thing the doctor said when he walked in was, "Where's you phone?"

I let him know that it was still in my jeans which were slung over a chair and he says, "Oh, you're going to want to go get that before we get started. You'll want a distraction from what I'm doing to you down here."

I trusted his judgment. He's done a lot more of these than me. Now I'm lying on the operating table with my phone in my hand sending texts to my wife as a doctor and a nurse are prepping the twins for surgery. Then it occurred to me that with access to a phone I could do live Tweets of the experience. That would be really funny if I used Twitter, which I don't. What I do have is blogger, so I give you Part 1 of The Vasectomy Monologs.

1:20PM - I'm glad they have this curtain down on my waist so that I can't see what they're doing. I don't want to have any idea what they're doing. My father-in-law said that he looked down during his and saw smoke rising from his nuts. Smoke?! Do they burn the ball tubes off? No. I don't want to know. Don't look down. Don't. Look. Down.

1:22PM - Might be funny to send a picture the the wife.

Medical professionals shouldn't drink Diet Coke.

1:23PM - I had no idea my phone would make that picture noise when I snapped that. Hope they don't take it away from me because this is too much fun.

1:24PM - I hear the doctor say "The machine isn't heating up the way it is supposed to, so I didn't want to take a chance." 

What? Why isn't the ball machine working? What are you doing instead? I don't want the Plan B version of this whole thing.

1:26PM - I have to admit that when I was all alone before the doctors came in I was smacked with sudden blast of sadness and regret. I know all the practical reasons not to have another kid, and they all make sense. We don't have the money, we don't have the space, and consequently we don't have the money for more space. We are getting a little bit older, and Mrs. Noisewater's last pregnancy was really hard. Desi Noisewater, our 4-month-old, was born with a missing kidney. Did we get off easy here? What might the next one have wrong? Plus these kids are a ton of work, we hardly sleep, we both work full time, and there is just no way in hell we could start over with another baby again.

These are all reasons that make perfect sense, and I know I'm doing what is best for my family right here. But we can't help what we feel in the moment, and those feelings were the following 2:

 1. "But I want a little girl!" My sister had 3 boys, most of my close friends only have boys. There's something about that relationship between a dad and his daughter that I guess I'll just never know, like in all of the weddings I have been to (including my own) where a father walks his daughter down the aisle. Well, there is no turning back now. They say this procedure is reversible, but there is no way I'm doing this again. This is it. But it's sad and just feels kind of wrong to me. I can't imagine what a woman having an abortion must feel like because I'm mourning what could have maybe been, and they're mourning what actually would be if they just left the clinic and didn't go through with it. That has to be tough.

2. "Would if the zombie and/or Terminator apocalypse comes and I need to repopulate the earth?"

Both 1 and 2 are important to consider.

TO BE CONTINUED . . . Stay tuned for the next installment, my Seven Readers.

Too Much Butt Cream Is Better Than None At All

Tomorrow Mrs. Noisewater needs the car, so immediately after work I have to take Erik Noisewater in an Uber to make it on time for his gymnastics class. To do this legally I could lug a heavy and awkward travel car seat or I could buy a booster seat since the young man is now over 40 pounds. I found a good and cheap booster at Target, which was open until 10pm, so after getting the kids to bed, I ducked out to pick it up. JESUS THIS STORY SOUNDS BORING, but just stay with me here. So while I'm there I had to pick up eggs, orange juice, and diaper rash cream. The cream looked to be buy one get one free, but when I got to the register she informed me that it was buy THREE get one free. I tried to explain to her that no one needs to walk out of Target with FOUR tubes of butt cream. I said, "Do you know how small a baby's butt crack is? It's like this (and used my fingers to show an inch long butt crack). By the time I'm anywhere near finished four tubes of this stuff, the kid won't be in diapers anymore." She asked if I just wanted the one, and I said yes, now thinking that maybe my baby booty crack lecture was perhaps a bit much.

When I came home Mrs. Noisewater was on the couch feeding our second born who had already woken up, and the first born pooped his pants so she had to deal with that too. Neither one of us was having too awesome of a night as it turns out. When I put the eggs and orange juice into the fridge I noticed there were ZERO tubes of butt cream in the bag. Are you kidding me? Then Mrs. Noisewater pointed out that I had picked out a booster seat with pink trim, and it was a little obnoxious. I would have noticed an entirely pink one, but since I was a little bit tired tonight and always a little bit color blind every night, the trim went unnoticed. Don't get me wrong, we don't assign gender colors or toys or anything else to our kids. As a matter of fact, Erik Noisewater has a pink unicorn back pack, and he rocks that fucker every day like a God damned champion. This booster seat was just tacky as all get out, so it had to go back. Plus I needed to go back for the chap-ass ointment that they had forgotten anyway.  

I got back to the store to see the two tubes of Desitin sitting on the counter, which vindicated me because a little part of me wondered if maybe I had dropped it somehow. They got me a very bland but not gaudy gray car seat instead, which was fine, until I got it home and noticed that it had a stain. I'm not going back. To hell with it. It will get more stains. 

So those are the kinds of stories I'll be telling from now on if anyone is still around. Sorry, no more drunk tales full of crazy nights and loose women. Nope. Angry dad with two Target trips on a school night - that sort of thing. Also, I should have a vasectomy coming up later this month for more dad blog fodder. Stay tuned. 

Crustacean Castration

Actually, more of a vasectomy. Here is an interesting story along with some theories I personally have about lobster penis punishment.

Castrated by Lobsters

This idiot not being able to have kids is good for mankind. Would if we dropped a few live lobsters down the pants of anyone who steals anything. When you're caught, you get tied up for 2 minutes, and we let the lobsters decide your fate. If there is no damage to your genitals, you get off easy with the jail time. If there is significant damage to your junk, you go free, maybe walk a little funny, but no making any baby thieves for you.

I think this is not a bad idea. Actually, how about each offense you have on your record is another lobster down there, thus upping the chances that repeat offending criminals don't procreate! This is the sort of plan that will seem a little strange at first, but you'll thank Dr. Ken generations letter when the lobsters have gradually reduced theft. Also, we should probably mark down the prices of lobsters that have been down all the sweaty thief pants . . .

The Mystery Shot

I brought you, my seven readers, into the office with me for a blow-by-blow account of my vasectomy a while back, and did you know that you have to go back in to test out if it worked? COVID-19 hit so I never went in to have the test; just assumed it all went to plan. 

Then I started hearing from friends where people they have known have had something-or-another grow back or fuse back together, or whatever the heck happens, and they ended up with one kid too many. I don't want to sound insensitive to anyone who is trying to have a kid and cannot, but the idea of being responsible for a third child right now sounds like an absolute nightmare, so I made a point to finally book my test to see if there were any baby-makers in my baby batter.

It turns out Mrs. Noisewater needed to go to the same hospital for something around the same time, so we rode our bikes there together. That morning some guy in Chicago tried to evade an arrest at a police station and shot three police officers, one of which was taken to the hospital we were going to, so every intersection within a square mile was swarmed with cops, probably amounting to fifty cops in all - not exaggerating. So it was tough to find a route in, but I was not going to let a tragedy stand in the way of my nut inspection. No way.

The nurse took down my information, handed me a cup, and said that I could go to the bathroom back down on the first floor. In all the movies they provide you with a nice room that is just for wanking, but that just is not the reality anymore. Maybe they just figure that if people got all that information on their phones, then why provide archaic DVD's, VHS's, and sticky magazines? I get that part, but why make me use a bathroom that everyone else needs to do their #1 and #2? Because while I'm in there doing a #3 all that knocking on the door is going to throw off my concentration. I had to rule out anything with sound because how do I look a someone in the eye who needs the bathroom for an emergency when I'm making them wait because in there pleasuring myself standing over the fold-out baby changing station? Don't judge me about the baby changing station. It's where they sent me and that was the best flat surface available to set down my phone and the vial. 

Nothing like this was afforded to me.

I won't go into too much detail (Yes, I will), but when I was eventually able to finish, I don't want to brag, but because of the recommended three days of abstinence, I powered off a blast Peter North would have tipped his hat to. The initial shot missed the cup, but thankfully I was able to dribble the majority of it into the test tube. When I was cleaning up I felt like Ben Stiller in Something About Mary because that first fleet out was nowhere to be found. That's when the knocking started at the door, but I really did want to get everything tidied up good so that some poor baby's head didn't lie his little head of hair directly into my joy juice. I had a backpack with baby wipes on me knowing I would need to do some clean up, but what good was that when I couldn't find some of it? 

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I guess where that sucker landed will just have to be one of those mysteries for the ages. Hey, the fact that an old man like me can still have a Bermuda Triangle sneaky turbo jettison like that is something to hang my hat on. Or something hanging off someone's hat? 

How you doing out there readers? Sorry for the delay in posts, but I'm going to try to make sure I get around 10 posts per month, even if I'm off to a rough start. Been to any doctors lately? Any good indicators that you're not quite as old as you thought you were? Anything else at all you want to share - doesn't have to be gross like what I have told you?