Patrick Says

Ok, here’s a weird thing. When my wife and I got cell phones, we had two numbers and she told me to pick the one I wanted. I looked them over and chose one because it was more manly. She thought I was crazy, but I’m telling you there are girly phone numbers and manly numbers.

I’m not giving you my cell numbers, but here’s five example bogus numbers and their gender.

555-1939 - That’s kind of a girly number.
555-2661 - Gender nuetral. Could go either way.
555-1113 - That number couldn’t be more feminine unless it was wearing pumps.
555-9116 - That number is all man.
555-4345 - A little dainty. Definitely leaning toward girly.

There you have it. Don’t ask me. It all makes sense in my head.

I’ve started inserting gibberish words in the middle of my sentences. I pretty sure people tune me out quickly. I can’t imagine why. I have a sparkling personality and really big cans.

Like a co-worker asked me where another co-worker was. I said “She’s working from home because her eye is bothering her…” and I noticed that at this point, the co-worker has tuned out, so “…because of the sauerkraut and corned beef.” Nothing? Nothing. Kept on walking.

Maybe I am a superhero. I have the ability to disappear.

Can I just take a moment here to tell you MySpace people how much I hate you and your ridiculous pages? Can I?

You people are morons. You wouldn’t know a good webpage if it kicked you in the head. Stop with the stupid 62 windows that ALL open simultaneously when you hit the page. Also, here’s a little tip, maybe your page SHOULDN’T BE SO FRIGGIN’ WIDE that it needs a bottom scrollbar!

And while we’re at it, you may think that band that never had a hit is SO great, but they suck. I wouldn’t let them play my bar mitzvah and I’M NOT JEWISH!

One last thing, that webpage your friend designed is so crappy, I can’t believe he wants to put an icon on it, but he could at least not cover other icons he placed with his own. That should be the first indicator that he’s a moron. And so are you for letting him create that monstrosity you call a webpage.

Okay…I got that off my chest. We may resume regular blogging.

Comments are tricky.

I like to post comments on other people’s blogs. Mostly because I know cool it is to get comments and of course, the cross-promotion never hurts. But mostly, it’s the joy of knowing people read your blog.

But I never know how to answer questions or comments in the comment. Do you email the person with your thoughts? Do you add a comment to your own blog entry? I rarely ever go back to a post after I’ve commented, so I rarely ever know if anything else was said. I know for my comments, I usually reply by email to the sender. I think it makes more personal that way.

But that’s just how I roll. Holla.

The day before the big vasectomy, they tell you to shave the boys for the procedure. I had lost the original sheet with the instructions, so I called the doctor’s office and they faxed it over again. I read the section about shaving the scrotum.

It was two lines long…

I think somewhere there should be a law that if something involves your balls and a sharp blade, it should be mandatory to be at least a good-sized paragraph. Not this time. Soap them up and shave with a safety razor. The end.

I didn’t want to go in and get chastised for not doing my part, so I gave it the old college try. Now I’m a large man. I’m pushing 235 lbs and well, fat. So it’s not exactly easy to get a good look in that area. So I had this genius idea to get a mirror and set it below to see the area better. This was bad for a couple reasons:

• I don’t know if any of you have looked at your nether regions, but when you put a mirror down there, you get the full show. And it’s not pretty. At first, I didn’t recognize anything. I thought maybe the mirror was a portal to some far away land. Then I made out a shape and I was jarred back to reality. And in this case, reality was a fat man standing over a mirror. And reality hurt.
• The other problem you run into is that everything in the mirror is reversed. But we’ll get to that shortly…

At this point, I thought the soaping method they mentioned would just make everything stick together, so I skipped that step and went right into shaving. Now, I’ve never had a reason to shave my testes until now, so there was ’some accumulation’ of hair. God, I would be really surprised if anyone at all is still reading this blog entry. If you’ve left, you’re really gonna miss the good parts.

I figure I’ll use my beard trimmer to trim the area before I take the razor to it. I make the first pass and everything is good. I make the second pass and because of the reversed image, I nick the leftie. Although I can’t prove it, my head hit the ceiling as I screamed out. After landing, I decide to be the big trooper and press on. I go to grab the boys for another pass and feel liquid. I bring my hand up and there’s red. Oh god. I’ve just cut my balls and I’m going to die now. They’re going to find me dead on my bathroom floor with my pants around my ankles and a mirror covered in hair. My wife won’t show up to the funeral from sheer embarrassment.

When I don’t pass out, I figure I’m not going to die. I check the mirror and survey the damage. Turns out it was just a small cut. But I’m not touching a damn thing down there with any sharp objects. The doctor will just have to do it himself. I put my pants on and went to bed…

(to be continued)