Having a male doctor is fine, except when you're having your annual physical. Of course this only crosses your mind when you're lying down, covered only in a hospital gown, while your balls are being gently squeezed like plums by another man checking for testicular cancer. A thin latex glove is all that separates you from the gay version of third base.
A coworker took this photo of me in my office afterward, looking violated and somewhat vulnerable...
First thing on my "To Do" list: Find female doctor. Maybe a hot one. But not so hot that I risk the embarrassment of becoming engorged during my next scheduled nut squeezing.
Got a feeling April’s going to be one of those months…
Wrote that about a month ago. Had no idea...
As for May, I have a feeling it's going to be a pretty busy month. Not really a premonition on my part: I just took a quick look at my planning calendar and it doesn't look pretty.
For instance, as I write this, I'm taking a small break from packing all my crap into medium-sized cardboard boxes. Moving tomorrow. While it's raining. Fuck. That's the downside of owning physical objects. Unless, of course, I owned a yurt. Then all I'd have to do is simply hitch that baby to some yaks and have them drag my felt-covered pad to the new address, without having to waste my Friday night on incessant packing. The free yak milk would just be icing on the cake.
Not too long after I finish moving, I'll be heading to the NYC for a couple of days, Wednesday + Thursday. Haven't been there since the week before 9/11. If anybody has any great suggestions on how to spend a Wednesday night in Madhattan after 10 pm that doesn't involve Spectravision, please let me know.
Alright. Back to packing. All you non-packing people better be having a good time, lucky bastards.
|comments: 15 comments or Leave a comment|