HEY !!! I did it! I finally filled up my car with gas the day BEFORE the MASSIVE price gouging occurred! WOO HOO! Prices went from a rock bottom $2.97/gal to not only surpass the $3.00 mark, but blew it out of the oil drum at an amazing $3.13 per gallon! Do the math on that. I'll wait.....OK - long enough. If you didn't get it figured out, that's $0.16 cent increase! SIXTEEN CENTS PER GALLON! I realize other places around the country are much higher than that right now, but I know you all feel my pain when the prices jump like this. Some may say, 'when you're paying 3 bucks a gallon, what's another 16 cents?' Well, on the other hand, I don't think anyone that pays for gasoline would say that at all. What was I thinking.
The thing that REALLY sucks about this, and I shouldn't complain to much because It was my decision, is I sold my little bet up old 4 banger car for an 8 cyl. 5.9 liter Durango! I went from spending $30 a week on gas, to over $130! That, my friends, is a killer for me. I need to sell this gas sucking machine as soon as possible!
Hope you all have a happy St. Patrick's Day!
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Friday, February 15, 2008
The day I nearly killed my neighbor...on purpose!
I was washing my motorcycle one Saturday afternoon when one of my neighbors comes over to bullshit with me.
‘What’s up my brother?” I asked.
He IS black and yes, I got his permission to call him that. J was in his mid 20’s, had 2 kids with his white girlfriend, S. She was also in her mid 20’s. She just had all her teeth pulled and I think was pregnant with their 3rd kid. Not sure so don’t quote me on that. It’s just that she always looked about 8 months pregnant. These people always walked around everywhere barefoot. J rarely wore anything but his shorts. He stands about 6ft. Big boned and probably tipping the scales at around 250. Not a slim guy, and he had a gut on him that made it so he couldn’t see how long his toenails had gotten. His back was covered with the remnants of an old war battle he was in (and lost) with his acne. Not a pretty site. He had a short afro that hadn’t seen a pick since 7th grade. (which was probably last year).
S was pushing 250 herself, but she was only about 5ft 4. Always in nothing but shorts and a t-shirt with the 2 yr old twins attached to each leg wearing only a diaper. Each diaper was carrying that child’s weight in urine and sagging to the ground like it just can’t hang on to the kids hips any longer. The boy was white as day and the girl was black as night, both with the African American afro just trying to get big. The last time either of the kids had a bath was just before the nurse handed the kids over the their mother for the last time at the hospital after they were born. (I don’t count the spray downs with the hose after the ramen noodle or mac & cheese fights).
‘Man, I’d like to get me a bike sometime. What kind of bike is that?’, J asked.
‘It’s an 1983 650CX Custom.’ I said. ‘You ever been on a bike?’ I asked
‘Oh hell ya! I use da ride on em all da time back in Texas! Hell, we’d ride all day long, ya, I been on a bike! When yer done washin yours, you ought da let me take er for a spin!’
‘I don’t think so.’ ‘Na, It’s all good man! I swear! I’m a good rider. C’mon! Been so long since I been on a bike. Just a little spin around da block. C’mon brother.’
This went on for about 20 mins. Him telling me he can ride and me declining with stuff like ‘A bikes like your woman. You don’t lend her out to anyone to ride.’ He’d respond with stuff like, ‘dude, you can take my woman on a cross country trip! Hell, I don’t care!’ ‘ya – I’m on it! – HA!’ I say. He laughs.
After another 20 mins. I’m finishing up with washing my bike. He’s begging me at this point. ‘I’m not gunna steal it man! C’mon, let me take it for a spin.’
‘Alright! Hell, just shut the hell up already! You sure you know how to ride?’
‘Nutin to it!’ he says.
I move my bike from my patio into the carport of the townhouse complex. Across the drive is another carport for the opposing townhouses. I have the bike ready for him to just pull out into the drive and said, ‘ok, you ready?’
‘Ya I’m ready!’ he says, and climbs on.
‘Dude, you should probably put some shoes on.’
‘Na, It’ll be ah-right!’ This should have been my first clue he had not actually ever drove a bike before.
‘Where’s the clutch, right here on the left handle?’
‘Ya – and the accelerator is on the right.’
‘The what?’ he says.
‘The accelerator…the GAS!’
‘Awe – ya, right, I know where that’s at, shiiit!’, he says, ‘And the shifting is done where, down here at my feet?’
At this point, I knew he was just giving me shit. He had spent the last 45 mins bragging about how good he was. Now, he’s finally got his chance to ride a bike and he don’t know where to shift at? I hoped he was just joking….
We started the bike up and he suddenly became a bit more nervous.
His girlfriend and the twins are now outside watching this and asking if I’m sure I want him to do that, and giving her comments about how incapable he is. Even as a human being. (some how, looking back, I believe every word now.)
He said, ‘now I just let the clutch out and give it a little gas, right?’
I laughed (still thinking he’s blowing smoke up my ass) and said, ‘ya – just let the clutch out and give a little gas.”
Now, this is where everything starts slowing down for me. The next 3-4 seconds of my life ends up feeling like 5 minutes or more and I am paralyzed and can’t move.
He starts off slowly. I’m imagining him pulling out into the drive between the carports and on his way. This does not happen. Instead, he pulls straight out and keeps going straight. He realizes he is not turning and panics and tries to stop, however, he don’t know where the brake is. So, to stop himself, he puts his feet down on the ground. His BARE FEET ON THE GROUND! Mind you, this bike is over 400 lbs, and is moving at this point about 10 mph, ALREADY! And he puts his bare feet on the ground to stop!
As his feet make contact with the asphalt, they immediately kick back and now the tops of his long toenails are scraping the asphalt and leaving a mark. He is now about halfway across the 30 ft wide driveway and the bike starts to wobble from his feet hitting the ground and he is starting to loose control. (like he ever had it in the first place.)
The bike has turned itself slightly, just enough to be making a b-line for the carport post on the other side. If he misses that, he has the wall of the neighbors’ patio to stop him before he runs into the cinderblock townhouse.
I see my life with my bike pass before my eyes. All the good times we had. The solitary ride up the canyons. The polar bear ride with 1,500 other riders. The Safety awareness ride with 100 other riders at the race track. The nice cool morning rides into work. Awe, the memories…
As me and his girlfriend stand side by side watching this with our jaws dropped open, he continues his ride across this driveway. The bike wobbling more now and the poles for the carport getting closer. J somehow manages to narrowly miss the first pole as he enters the carport. The second pole is dead on now. No way at his speed is he going to turn away and miss it. Even if he does, he’s hitting that wall. My bike is doomed. I’ve had my last ride on it and I didn’t even know it. It’s like eating a cookie and digging in the jar for one last cookie to savor and there’s nothing! Your taste buds explode for more and there is nothing you can do about it. I needed one last ride, and there was nothing I could do about it but sit back and watch my bike get destroyed.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, the brake lights came on and the back tire locked up! As the rear tire was leaving its mark on the asphalt, the front tire was approaching the pole, and fast. J managed to steer the wheel off to the right side of the pole missing it by an inch and the back tire stopped the bike just inches from the front turn signal hitting it.
He stopped! Somehow, he stopped! I could not believe my eyes. I looked over at S, and she looked at me like she was going to take him back in the house and beat the living shit out of him. I was probably giving her the same look. We both ran over to him and I shut the bike off. J was laughing and apologizing all at the same time. Admitting NOW that he had never actually drove a bike. He’d been on one once, but only as a passenger when he was about 8!
He climbed off the bike and I pulled it away from the pole. I told him he just about died, and not from nearly wrecking the bike. From me kicking his broke ass into the ground!
He apologized and I took my bike back across the drive and parked it. S and I then spent the next hour cursing him and checking out the skid mark on the ground from both the tire and his toenails. I wish I had a picture of it. His toenails actually left marks on the ground. Halfway across the drive and into the parking stalls. Not a mark on him though.
Needless to say, I never let him touch my bike again, nor did I believe ANYTHING he had to say to me. AND, I’d tell him too. Shortly after that, he left S and moved to Texas without telling anyone. Just one day, got in his car and left. 2 days later, he called S and told her he was in Texas and she can have the kids. She said, ‘Good!’ Life’s been good ever since! She says.
And I’d have to agree….
‘What’s up my brother?” I asked.
He IS black and yes, I got his permission to call him that. J was in his mid 20’s, had 2 kids with his white girlfriend, S. She was also in her mid 20’s. She just had all her teeth pulled and I think was pregnant with their 3rd kid. Not sure so don’t quote me on that. It’s just that she always looked about 8 months pregnant. These people always walked around everywhere barefoot. J rarely wore anything but his shorts. He stands about 6ft. Big boned and probably tipping the scales at around 250. Not a slim guy, and he had a gut on him that made it so he couldn’t see how long his toenails had gotten. His back was covered with the remnants of an old war battle he was in (and lost) with his acne. Not a pretty site. He had a short afro that hadn’t seen a pick since 7th grade. (which was probably last year).
S was pushing 250 herself, but she was only about 5ft 4. Always in nothing but shorts and a t-shirt with the 2 yr old twins attached to each leg wearing only a diaper. Each diaper was carrying that child’s weight in urine and sagging to the ground like it just can’t hang on to the kids hips any longer. The boy was white as day and the girl was black as night, both with the African American afro just trying to get big. The last time either of the kids had a bath was just before the nurse handed the kids over the their mother for the last time at the hospital after they were born. (I don’t count the spray downs with the hose after the ramen noodle or mac & cheese fights).
‘Man, I’d like to get me a bike sometime. What kind of bike is that?’, J asked.
‘It’s an 1983 650CX Custom.’ I said. ‘You ever been on a bike?’ I asked
‘Oh hell ya! I use da ride on em all da time back in Texas! Hell, we’d ride all day long, ya, I been on a bike! When yer done washin yours, you ought da let me take er for a spin!’
‘I don’t think so.’ ‘Na, It’s all good man! I swear! I’m a good rider. C’mon! Been so long since I been on a bike. Just a little spin around da block. C’mon brother.’
This went on for about 20 mins. Him telling me he can ride and me declining with stuff like ‘A bikes like your woman. You don’t lend her out to anyone to ride.’ He’d respond with stuff like, ‘dude, you can take my woman on a cross country trip! Hell, I don’t care!’ ‘ya – I’m on it! – HA!’ I say. He laughs.
After another 20 mins. I’m finishing up with washing my bike. He’s begging me at this point. ‘I’m not gunna steal it man! C’mon, let me take it for a spin.’
‘Alright! Hell, just shut the hell up already! You sure you know how to ride?’
‘Nutin to it!’ he says.
I move my bike from my patio into the carport of the townhouse complex. Across the drive is another carport for the opposing townhouses. I have the bike ready for him to just pull out into the drive and said, ‘ok, you ready?’
‘Ya I’m ready!’ he says, and climbs on.
‘Dude, you should probably put some shoes on.’
‘Na, It’ll be ah-right!’ This should have been my first clue he had not actually ever drove a bike before.
‘Where’s the clutch, right here on the left handle?’
‘Ya – and the accelerator is on the right.’
‘The what?’ he says.
‘The accelerator…the GAS!’
‘Awe – ya, right, I know where that’s at, shiiit!’, he says, ‘And the shifting is done where, down here at my feet?’
At this point, I knew he was just giving me shit. He had spent the last 45 mins bragging about how good he was. Now, he’s finally got his chance to ride a bike and he don’t know where to shift at? I hoped he was just joking….
We started the bike up and he suddenly became a bit more nervous.
His girlfriend and the twins are now outside watching this and asking if I’m sure I want him to do that, and giving her comments about how incapable he is. Even as a human being. (some how, looking back, I believe every word now.)
He said, ‘now I just let the clutch out and give it a little gas, right?’
I laughed (still thinking he’s blowing smoke up my ass) and said, ‘ya – just let the clutch out and give a little gas.”
Now, this is where everything starts slowing down for me. The next 3-4 seconds of my life ends up feeling like 5 minutes or more and I am paralyzed and can’t move.
He starts off slowly. I’m imagining him pulling out into the drive between the carports and on his way. This does not happen. Instead, he pulls straight out and keeps going straight. He realizes he is not turning and panics and tries to stop, however, he don’t know where the brake is. So, to stop himself, he puts his feet down on the ground. His BARE FEET ON THE GROUND! Mind you, this bike is over 400 lbs, and is moving at this point about 10 mph, ALREADY! And he puts his bare feet on the ground to stop!
As his feet make contact with the asphalt, they immediately kick back and now the tops of his long toenails are scraping the asphalt and leaving a mark. He is now about halfway across the 30 ft wide driveway and the bike starts to wobble from his feet hitting the ground and he is starting to loose control. (like he ever had it in the first place.)
The bike has turned itself slightly, just enough to be making a b-line for the carport post on the other side. If he misses that, he has the wall of the neighbors’ patio to stop him before he runs into the cinderblock townhouse.
I see my life with my bike pass before my eyes. All the good times we had. The solitary ride up the canyons. The polar bear ride with 1,500 other riders. The Safety awareness ride with 100 other riders at the race track. The nice cool morning rides into work. Awe, the memories…
As me and his girlfriend stand side by side watching this with our jaws dropped open, he continues his ride across this driveway. The bike wobbling more now and the poles for the carport getting closer. J somehow manages to narrowly miss the first pole as he enters the carport. The second pole is dead on now. No way at his speed is he going to turn away and miss it. Even if he does, he’s hitting that wall. My bike is doomed. I’ve had my last ride on it and I didn’t even know it. It’s like eating a cookie and digging in the jar for one last cookie to savor and there’s nothing! Your taste buds explode for more and there is nothing you can do about it. I needed one last ride, and there was nothing I could do about it but sit back and watch my bike get destroyed.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, the brake lights came on and the back tire locked up! As the rear tire was leaving its mark on the asphalt, the front tire was approaching the pole, and fast. J managed to steer the wheel off to the right side of the pole missing it by an inch and the back tire stopped the bike just inches from the front turn signal hitting it.
He stopped! Somehow, he stopped! I could not believe my eyes. I looked over at S, and she looked at me like she was going to take him back in the house and beat the living shit out of him. I was probably giving her the same look. We both ran over to him and I shut the bike off. J was laughing and apologizing all at the same time. Admitting NOW that he had never actually drove a bike. He’d been on one once, but only as a passenger when he was about 8!
He climbed off the bike and I pulled it away from the pole. I told him he just about died, and not from nearly wrecking the bike. From me kicking his broke ass into the ground!
He apologized and I took my bike back across the drive and parked it. S and I then spent the next hour cursing him and checking out the skid mark on the ground from both the tire and his toenails. I wish I had a picture of it. His toenails actually left marks on the ground. Halfway across the drive and into the parking stalls. Not a mark on him though.
Needless to say, I never let him touch my bike again, nor did I believe ANYTHING he had to say to me. AND, I’d tell him too. Shortly after that, he left S and moved to Texas without telling anyone. Just one day, got in his car and left. 2 days later, he called S and told her he was in Texas and she can have the kids. She said, ‘Good!’ Life’s been good ever since! She says.
And I’d have to agree….
Friday, February 1, 2008
“Dude…You’re just like me!”
Several years ago I used to live in a Townhouse complex and one of my neighbors was mostly deaf and partially blind and a little slow in the mental capacity. He was around 23 but acted like he was 13. We’ll call him Dulain. Dulain is a really nice guy. Do anything for ya. He lived across from me, so when he looked out his window, he could see me out in my patio. Whenever he saw me, he liked to come and over bull shit with me and see what I was doing. Whether I was fixing my motorcycle or fixing up the flower beds, he was there putting in his two cents worth because nearly everything I was doing, he had already done or knew how to do it because he had seen it on TV or saw somebody else do it. Just so happens, I was always doing it wrong.
One day, I was out painting my patio and Dulain walks over and starts in about how he needs to paint his patio. He sees that I have a 5 gal bucket of paint and a paint pan to dump it in and dip the roller in. He says, ‘Hey – you’re just like me!” I laughed said, “How so?” He says, “you dump your paint into a roller pan and paint that way instead of just dipping the roller in the bucket.” “No Dulain,” I say, “you’re just like the rest of the world. This is how you do it. I know there are people out there that just dip it in the bucket, but they sell these roller pans so you can roll the paint on the brush to get the paint on the roller evenly. That’s how it’s done. I’m NOT like you…at all.”
Another time I was out doing yard work and cleaning out my flower bed, moving rocks around…you know, typical summer Saturday morning stuff. Dulain wanders over and says, ‘Hey – You’re just like me!’ I laugh and say, ‘How’s that Dulain?’ he says, ‘doing yard work on Saturday mornings. I love to come out in the mornings on the weekend and get this stuff done. Especially on a great day like today. Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah…’ I say, ‘Dude – Unlike you….I work all week. Saturday’s and Sunday’s are the only days I have to do stuff around the house. So, I don’t really think I’m like you at all.”
Another one…I’m out barbequing burgers and hot dogs on the grill. Dulain, being the nosey neighbor he is, mosies his way over to my place and asks what I’m grillin. “Burgers and dogs” I say. “Dogs for the kids?” he asks. “Yep” I said. “Dude – you’re just like me. I cook up the good stuff for me and the wife, and the hot dogs for the kids. No since spending a bunch of money on food the kids won’t finish or even like.” “No dude, I’m not like you. My kids ASKED if they could have hot dogs in stead of burgers. Has nothing to do with money. I’m nothing like you.” He says, “Well, tomorrow night after I get my food stamp money, I’ll be cooking up some ribs for me and the wife and the kids can have whatever they want. Hot dogs, cereal, candy, hell, I don’t care. I’ll be fat and happy on my perfect ribs. Blah, blah, blah…blah blah, blah…”
“So, when you going to get a job Dulain?” “I applied at dominoes pizza to be a driver, but I need to get my license first.” The state took his license away when he got in an accident and the officer realized he was legally deaf and don’t have a hearing aid. “Dominoes has basically hired me, I just need to go get my license.” “When you going to do that?” I asked. “I’m just waiting for the state to send me some money to get a hearing aid. But I need to first go get tested and fitted for one. My sister just needs to get me down there to do it. You know her. Can’t depend on her for anything.” (that’s another story I’m not going to get into right now. God, what a train wreck.)
“So Dulain,” I ask, “Where’s your car?”
“No car.” He says, “It got totaled in the wreck.” “How you going to deliver pizzas if you don’t have a car?” “I got a buddy of mine that is going to sell me one of his cars for $200 as soon as I get my license.” He says. "You have $200 for a car?" I ask. "No, But after I get an attourney and sue the guy that hit me I should have it."
“So let me get this straight. You don’t have a job. You don’t have a car. You don't have money for a car. You don’t have a drivers license. You are deaf, and live with your mother-in-law and collect money from the state and your going to go by ribs with your food stamp money instead of food for your kids?” He kinda laughs and says “Ya - Oh, come check out my new barbequer I got from lowes on sale for $180!”
“Ya Dude,” I say “I’m NOTHING like you.”
One day, I was out painting my patio and Dulain walks over and starts in about how he needs to paint his patio. He sees that I have a 5 gal bucket of paint and a paint pan to dump it in and dip the roller in. He says, ‘Hey – you’re just like me!” I laughed said, “How so?” He says, “you dump your paint into a roller pan and paint that way instead of just dipping the roller in the bucket.” “No Dulain,” I say, “you’re just like the rest of the world. This is how you do it. I know there are people out there that just dip it in the bucket, but they sell these roller pans so you can roll the paint on the brush to get the paint on the roller evenly. That’s how it’s done. I’m NOT like you…at all.”
Another time I was out doing yard work and cleaning out my flower bed, moving rocks around…you know, typical summer Saturday morning stuff. Dulain wanders over and says, ‘Hey – You’re just like me!’ I laugh and say, ‘How’s that Dulain?’ he says, ‘doing yard work on Saturday mornings. I love to come out in the mornings on the weekend and get this stuff done. Especially on a great day like today. Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah…’ I say, ‘Dude – Unlike you….I work all week. Saturday’s and Sunday’s are the only days I have to do stuff around the house. So, I don’t really think I’m like you at all.”
Another one…I’m out barbequing burgers and hot dogs on the grill. Dulain, being the nosey neighbor he is, mosies his way over to my place and asks what I’m grillin. “Burgers and dogs” I say. “Dogs for the kids?” he asks. “Yep” I said. “Dude – you’re just like me. I cook up the good stuff for me and the wife, and the hot dogs for the kids. No since spending a bunch of money on food the kids won’t finish or even like.” “No dude, I’m not like you. My kids ASKED if they could have hot dogs in stead of burgers. Has nothing to do with money. I’m nothing like you.” He says, “Well, tomorrow night after I get my food stamp money, I’ll be cooking up some ribs for me and the wife and the kids can have whatever they want. Hot dogs, cereal, candy, hell, I don’t care. I’ll be fat and happy on my perfect ribs. Blah, blah, blah…blah blah, blah…”
“So, when you going to get a job Dulain?” “I applied at dominoes pizza to be a driver, but I need to get my license first.” The state took his license away when he got in an accident and the officer realized he was legally deaf and don’t have a hearing aid. “Dominoes has basically hired me, I just need to go get my license.” “When you going to do that?” I asked. “I’m just waiting for the state to send me some money to get a hearing aid. But I need to first go get tested and fitted for one. My sister just needs to get me down there to do it. You know her. Can’t depend on her for anything.” (that’s another story I’m not going to get into right now. God, what a train wreck.)
“So Dulain,” I ask, “Where’s your car?”
“No car.” He says, “It got totaled in the wreck.” “How you going to deliver pizzas if you don’t have a car?” “I got a buddy of mine that is going to sell me one of his cars for $200 as soon as I get my license.” He says. "You have $200 for a car?" I ask. "No, But after I get an attourney and sue the guy that hit me I should have it."
“So let me get this straight. You don’t have a job. You don’t have a car. You don't have money for a car. You don’t have a drivers license. You are deaf, and live with your mother-in-law and collect money from the state and your going to go by ribs with your food stamp money instead of food for your kids?” He kinda laughs and says “Ya - Oh, come check out my new barbequer I got from lowes on sale for $180!”
“Ya Dude,” I say “I’m NOTHING like you.”
Friday, January 11, 2008
If you want something done right, you've got to do it yourself. Or...if no one else is there to do it for you...
First of all, if you have not read the first part to this story, you really should do that before you get into this one.
With that said...onward and upward we go...
They said to come back in 8 weeks to leave a sample to have it tested. If any of my little friends are still loitering inside me, I’ll have to come back in another 4 weeks to leave a second sample to be tested. In the mean time, I’m supposed to have as much fun with myself as I possibly can (because I don’t have a spouse or girlfriend to help me out in this arena) to ‘clean the pipes’ out. (if ya knowhatimean – nudge nudge, wink wink.)
So the first weekend I lay around with a bag of frozen peas on me. No big deal. I could use the break. After the allotted time frame was up (2 weeks) I slowly get to work on my ‘self pipe cleaning’. I’m extremely nervous at what is going to happen. I don’t want to undo anything the doc had done and I’m concerned about the quantity (or lack there of) of fluid that is about to come out. I’m sailing uncharted waters here and my semen are looked up in the brink for the rest of their lives! I quickly learn that the ‘unknown’ is a real big turn off for me. I just can’t do it. I need to, I want to, just can’t.
After a few days of getting to know myself better, I decide it’s time to try again. I’m not the first one that has had this done, and others say there is no difference, so what the hell is my problem? I’ve just got to grab the bull by the horns and get the job done! So that’s what I did……and it was the longest 8 seconds of my life. In the end, victory was mine! I showed that bull who was boss and when we were done, he cowered and limped his way in front of me and I knew right then HE knew who was in control. We never had a fight again after that.
During my ‘cleaning’ tenure, I had asked friends of mine what the 8 week visit was going to bring. How ‘things’ where going to be taken care of. Where the deposit could be made. Options of anyone helping with the process. You know, things that everyone would want to know. I was told by one friend that his wife helped him at their house and he just took it in. Another told me he STILL had not gone in to get tested. (1 year later). Another told me he had to go in to the office and produce his junk there. I was not sure how this office handled it, so I called.
Here’s how the conversation went:
ME: Yes, I need to come in, in a few days, for my post-vas appointment test. My question is, do I have to actually come in to the office and produce it there, or can it be done in the comfort of my home.
NURSE: Unless you can have it here in 10 min, you’ll have to come in and produce it here. You don’t have to make an appointment either, you can just come in and we’ll put you in the room. You may want to call ahead of time to make sure the room is open though.
ME: ok…
NURSE: If you’d like, you can bring your spouse with you too.
ME: Great! Thanks for the info. (not that it’s any of her business, but I no longer have a spouse. I’m flying solo on this one.)
Now, to me, this implied that they have ‘a room’ just for this kind of thing. I’m imagining something like a dark room with dark walls, dim lights, TV with videos and magazines, plush carpet and a velvet couch/love seat and a locking door. Maybe I’m asking for too much? I can dream right? Hindsight I realize, a) I’m not in Beverly hills, and b) It cost me less than a grand for this surgery. What should I expect?
That Friday it was 8 weeks. I figure I’d cut out of work a little early and go make a deposit. On my way there, I call to see if ‘the room’ was open. They tell me it is and to come on in! I hang up and laugh at the pun.
I get there right at 4pm. It’s a Friday mind you, and the place is packed, AGAIN! Great. I wonder how many are there to do the same thing I am. I walk up to the check-in window to let them know what I am there for. Behind the window sits this really cute (mormon type cute) big breasted 17 yr old girl behind the desk. (looked like she was 17 anyway).
‘Hi. I had a vasectomy 8 weeks ago and I’m here to…a…well…a, leave a sample.’
‘Oh, ok…you have it with you?’
The correct answer to this would be yes, but it’s going to take a minute to give it to you! Lol
‘Um, no…a….’
‘well, you can take this cup with you and bring it back Monday if you want. Do you live within 10 minutes?’
‘Um, well, no…I’
‘Well, we are pretty busy, we don’t have any rooms open right now…you want to come back?’
I just called and the room was open. Now no rooms are available and the waiting room is packed? What the hell happened?
Look – I was there. I didn’t want to put this off any longer than I had too. I Needed to take care of it as soon as possible. The ‘job’ was killing me. I was prepared to wait for an hour, even though the nurse on the phone told me that Friday at 4pm may not be a good time because they are all wanting to get out of the office and start their weekend as soon as possible. And the longer they have patients in there, the longer they have to wait. I can respect that, so I was prepared to get in there and take care of business and get out. FAST! Well, little miss BBUMG (big breasted Utah mormon girl) had the whole office packed with people and no room at the inn! No one was happy there.
‘No – I don’t want to come back. I’ll wait.’
‘Ok’ she said.
So I had a seat and started looking at a motorcycle magazine, and low and behold, girls in bikinis posing next to bikes! Good stuff. Help me get BBUMG out of my head since I didn’t bring any material to assist with my job I was about to do. I assume they will have something in ‘the room’ that is designed for this kind of activity. After treating myself like an amusement park for the past 7 weeks, I needed something for the imagination.
5 minutes later she calls me back.
‘A room just opened up so you can come back now.’
‘ ‘A’ room huh?’ I ask jokingly as I leave the waiting room. She ignores me. It’s after 4 on a Friday and the waiting room is packed. No, she’s not in the mood for jokes.
She leads me thru the doorway into the hall and into the second room away from the waiting room. A typical exam room. Nothing special here. Just an exam table, a chair and a sink.
‘This one right here.’ As she is flipping up all the different colored flags on the wall next to the door to signal to the entire staff as to what is happening in the room.
‘Right here?’ I asked.
‘Yeah – here is your cup. Just bring it up to the desk in the waiting room when you are done.’
‘The front desk in the waiting room? With all the people in it?’
‘Yeah. Thanks.’ And she closes the door behind her.
All of a sudden, everything became very quite. Maybe because I was in shock over what is going on here. Tunnel vision was setting in. Every thing was getting foggy and I felt like I was moving slower. I look over at the exam table with the plastic paper on it, the empty chair next to it that seemed to have eyes and was staring at me…then over to the sink, and counter top. Then over to the ‘penis anatomy’ poster on the wall (ya – the one cut in half to see the insides!) and finally back to the door. I imagined several of the nurses on the other side crouched over with their ears pinned to the door snickering to each other. How old am I? I spotted the light switch next to the door and glanced up at the light. It was the brightest light I have ever seen. I considered turning it off, but never did. (hindsight, I really should have).
I walk over to the door to lock it. To my shock, the door does not lock. It’s a fake lock. The door does not lock. Let me say that again…THE DOOR DOES NOT LOCK! How am I supposed to do this. I feel like George Castanza! Is this really happening? Where are the cameras? This is insane! This room was not specifically designed for this kind of activity! This is nothing like what they had told me! I was dooped! I’m getting punked, I just know it! What am I going to do? How am I going to do this?
I pull my thoughts together and try to focus and rationalize. It’s a doctors office. This happens daily in there. I am not the first, nor will I be the last. The flags are up for a reason and everyone out there knows what the reason is. I am just another man doing what needs to be done.
As I continue to gather my senses, my sight starts to return and things are moving a little faster now. I start to hear people talking and walking past my door. I watch the door knob as they walk past and keep talking. Soon, I hear the receptionist up at the front desk in the waiting room speaking to another patient. Then a nurse walks past with another nurse. Both talking away. Then, I swear I heard a pin drop in the next office over! Everything now seemed to be magnified! I could hear things I thought I could never hear. It’s like I’m in the middle of the hallway, naked, with people walking around me while I am trying to do what used to be my own little private 8 second bull ride. It’s like the door is not even closed! I continue to keep my eyes on the door knob, and that don’t help the situation at all!
I look around for some visual assistance because I imagined a small collection of visual stimulants in ‘the room’. Nothing. The place was clean. No Glamore magazine or anything! All I have is the girl in the bikini next to the bike in the magazine that is now only in my head!
So with that, I thought to myself…Let the games begin!
35 minutes later (which I thought was not too bad considering the circumstances) I was walking up to the front desk dropping off my little deposit.
‘How soon before the results are back?’ I asked.
‘Should be quick.’ She said.
‘Quick? Like, can I wait here…quick?’
Laughing…she says, ’we should know in 2 or 3 days. We’ll call you with the results’
A week later, I call back because I hear nothing, hoping no news is good news.
‘Hi, I need to get the results from my post-vas appointment.’
‘Um – yeah…they found some sperm in your semen. It don’t mean the procedure did not work, it just means that some sperm in your vas deferens lines AFTER the surgical site have not come out yet. You need to have more ejaculations and come back again in another 4 weeks and give us another sample to test.’
Ya-right, come in and give another sample!? Are you kidding me!?.....
4 weeks of torturing myself go by and it seems like 8 (teen) more weeks. Doing it for fun is one thing, but when it’s a job and HAS to be done it kinda looses its appeal. I went through with it again, and the experience was just the same as it was the first time. Worst possible experience I have gone through. Test came back and all my buddies are out. Finally!
Now…on to find someone to test this out on…..
With that said...onward and upward we go...
They said to come back in 8 weeks to leave a sample to have it tested. If any of my little friends are still loitering inside me, I’ll have to come back in another 4 weeks to leave a second sample to be tested. In the mean time, I’m supposed to have as much fun with myself as I possibly can (because I don’t have a spouse or girlfriend to help me out in this arena) to ‘clean the pipes’ out. (if ya knowhatimean – nudge nudge, wink wink.)
So the first weekend I lay around with a bag of frozen peas on me. No big deal. I could use the break. After the allotted time frame was up (2 weeks) I slowly get to work on my ‘self pipe cleaning’. I’m extremely nervous at what is going to happen. I don’t want to undo anything the doc had done and I’m concerned about the quantity (or lack there of) of fluid that is about to come out. I’m sailing uncharted waters here and my semen are looked up in the brink for the rest of their lives! I quickly learn that the ‘unknown’ is a real big turn off for me. I just can’t do it. I need to, I want to, just can’t.
After a few days of getting to know myself better, I decide it’s time to try again. I’m not the first one that has had this done, and others say there is no difference, so what the hell is my problem? I’ve just got to grab the bull by the horns and get the job done! So that’s what I did……and it was the longest 8 seconds of my life. In the end, victory was mine! I showed that bull who was boss and when we were done, he cowered and limped his way in front of me and I knew right then HE knew who was in control. We never had a fight again after that.
During my ‘cleaning’ tenure, I had asked friends of mine what the 8 week visit was going to bring. How ‘things’ where going to be taken care of. Where the deposit could be made. Options of anyone helping with the process. You know, things that everyone would want to know. I was told by one friend that his wife helped him at their house and he just took it in. Another told me he STILL had not gone in to get tested. (1 year later). Another told me he had to go in to the office and produce his junk there. I was not sure how this office handled it, so I called.
Here’s how the conversation went:
ME: Yes, I need to come in, in a few days, for my post-vas appointment test. My question is, do I have to actually come in to the office and produce it there, or can it be done in the comfort of my home.
NURSE: Unless you can have it here in 10 min, you’ll have to come in and produce it here. You don’t have to make an appointment either, you can just come in and we’ll put you in the room. You may want to call ahead of time to make sure the room is open though.
ME: ok…
NURSE: If you’d like, you can bring your spouse with you too.
ME: Great! Thanks for the info. (not that it’s any of her business, but I no longer have a spouse. I’m flying solo on this one.)
Now, to me, this implied that they have ‘a room’ just for this kind of thing. I’m imagining something like a dark room with dark walls, dim lights, TV with videos and magazines, plush carpet and a velvet couch/love seat and a locking door. Maybe I’m asking for too much? I can dream right? Hindsight I realize, a) I’m not in Beverly hills, and b) It cost me less than a grand for this surgery. What should I expect?
That Friday it was 8 weeks. I figure I’d cut out of work a little early and go make a deposit. On my way there, I call to see if ‘the room’ was open. They tell me it is and to come on in! I hang up and laugh at the pun.
I get there right at 4pm. It’s a Friday mind you, and the place is packed, AGAIN! Great. I wonder how many are there to do the same thing I am. I walk up to the check-in window to let them know what I am there for. Behind the window sits this really cute (mormon type cute) big breasted 17 yr old girl behind the desk. (looked like she was 17 anyway).
‘Hi. I had a vasectomy 8 weeks ago and I’m here to…a…well…a, leave a sample.’
‘Oh, ok…you have it with you?’
The correct answer to this would be yes, but it’s going to take a minute to give it to you! Lol
‘Um, no…a….’
‘well, you can take this cup with you and bring it back Monday if you want. Do you live within 10 minutes?’
‘Um, well, no…I’
‘Well, we are pretty busy, we don’t have any rooms open right now…you want to come back?’
I just called and the room was open. Now no rooms are available and the waiting room is packed? What the hell happened?
Look – I was there. I didn’t want to put this off any longer than I had too. I Needed to take care of it as soon as possible. The ‘job’ was killing me. I was prepared to wait for an hour, even though the nurse on the phone told me that Friday at 4pm may not be a good time because they are all wanting to get out of the office and start their weekend as soon as possible. And the longer they have patients in there, the longer they have to wait. I can respect that, so I was prepared to get in there and take care of business and get out. FAST! Well, little miss BBUMG (big breasted Utah mormon girl) had the whole office packed with people and no room at the inn! No one was happy there.
‘No – I don’t want to come back. I’ll wait.’
‘Ok’ she said.
So I had a seat and started looking at a motorcycle magazine, and low and behold, girls in bikinis posing next to bikes! Good stuff. Help me get BBUMG out of my head since I didn’t bring any material to assist with my job I was about to do. I assume they will have something in ‘the room’ that is designed for this kind of activity. After treating myself like an amusement park for the past 7 weeks, I needed something for the imagination.
5 minutes later she calls me back.
‘A room just opened up so you can come back now.’
‘ ‘A’ room huh?’ I ask jokingly as I leave the waiting room. She ignores me. It’s after 4 on a Friday and the waiting room is packed. No, she’s not in the mood for jokes.
She leads me thru the doorway into the hall and into the second room away from the waiting room. A typical exam room. Nothing special here. Just an exam table, a chair and a sink.
‘This one right here.’ As she is flipping up all the different colored flags on the wall next to the door to signal to the entire staff as to what is happening in the room.
‘Right here?’ I asked.
‘Yeah – here is your cup. Just bring it up to the desk in the waiting room when you are done.’
‘The front desk in the waiting room? With all the people in it?’
‘Yeah. Thanks.’ And she closes the door behind her.
All of a sudden, everything became very quite. Maybe because I was in shock over what is going on here. Tunnel vision was setting in. Every thing was getting foggy and I felt like I was moving slower. I look over at the exam table with the plastic paper on it, the empty chair next to it that seemed to have eyes and was staring at me…then over to the sink, and counter top. Then over to the ‘penis anatomy’ poster on the wall (ya – the one cut in half to see the insides!) and finally back to the door. I imagined several of the nurses on the other side crouched over with their ears pinned to the door snickering to each other. How old am I? I spotted the light switch next to the door and glanced up at the light. It was the brightest light I have ever seen. I considered turning it off, but never did. (hindsight, I really should have).
I walk over to the door to lock it. To my shock, the door does not lock. It’s a fake lock. The door does not lock. Let me say that again…THE DOOR DOES NOT LOCK! How am I supposed to do this. I feel like George Castanza! Is this really happening? Where are the cameras? This is insane! This room was not specifically designed for this kind of activity! This is nothing like what they had told me! I was dooped! I’m getting punked, I just know it! What am I going to do? How am I going to do this?
I pull my thoughts together and try to focus and rationalize. It’s a doctors office. This happens daily in there. I am not the first, nor will I be the last. The flags are up for a reason and everyone out there knows what the reason is. I am just another man doing what needs to be done.
As I continue to gather my senses, my sight starts to return and things are moving a little faster now. I start to hear people talking and walking past my door. I watch the door knob as they walk past and keep talking. Soon, I hear the receptionist up at the front desk in the waiting room speaking to another patient. Then a nurse walks past with another nurse. Both talking away. Then, I swear I heard a pin drop in the next office over! Everything now seemed to be magnified! I could hear things I thought I could never hear. It’s like I’m in the middle of the hallway, naked, with people walking around me while I am trying to do what used to be my own little private 8 second bull ride. It’s like the door is not even closed! I continue to keep my eyes on the door knob, and that don’t help the situation at all!
I look around for some visual assistance because I imagined a small collection of visual stimulants in ‘the room’. Nothing. The place was clean. No Glamore magazine or anything! All I have is the girl in the bikini next to the bike in the magazine that is now only in my head!
So with that, I thought to myself…Let the games begin!
35 minutes later (which I thought was not too bad considering the circumstances) I was walking up to the front desk dropping off my little deposit.
‘How soon before the results are back?’ I asked.
‘Should be quick.’ She said.
‘Quick? Like, can I wait here…quick?’
Laughing…she says, ’we should know in 2 or 3 days. We’ll call you with the results’
A week later, I call back because I hear nothing, hoping no news is good news.
‘Hi, I need to get the results from my post-vas appointment.’
‘Um – yeah…they found some sperm in your semen. It don’t mean the procedure did not work, it just means that some sperm in your vas deferens lines AFTER the surgical site have not come out yet. You need to have more ejaculations and come back again in another 4 weeks and give us another sample to test.’
Ya-right, come in and give another sample!? Are you kidding me!?.....
4 weeks of torturing myself go by and it seems like 8 (teen) more weeks. Doing it for fun is one thing, but when it’s a job and HAS to be done it kinda looses its appeal. I went through with it again, and the experience was just the same as it was the first time. Worst possible experience I have gone through. Test came back and all my buddies are out. Finally!
Now…on to find someone to test this out on…..
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