Family Doctor

So for the first time since childhood, I have a family doctor.  My wife has been going to her for a few years and I had never met her. 

The doctor, I mean.  Im quite familiar with my wife.

Anyway, a while back I was entrusted with the responsibility of bringing my daughter to an appointment.  Okay whatever.

So Im sitting in the examination room when in walks my daughters doctor.

 

A little bit of background first.

Besides having a weird nun fetish,  I am especially partial to women of middle eastern descent.

Something about the long dark hair, mysterious dark eyes- I dont know.  Has NOTHING to do with subservience. I swear.

So in walks Dr Feelgood. (Name changed to protect my ass).

Long dark hair tied in in a professional style, large deep brown almost-black eyes, and this sweet deceptively youthful looking face in a perpetual smile.

She was also wearing a comfortable loose top which I can only assume was an attempt to hide a genetic condition of hers.  I believe the proper medical term is 'Ginormous Rack'.  I'll be getting back to this.  It has some bearing on my story.

 

So at that point I realized instantly I would try to book a new patient exam.

Now, another thing about myself, unlike most people born with the standard angel/devil conscience format, I have a neurological condition where instead of the angel on one shoulder and the devil on the other, arguing for my soul is a logical miniature Leonard Nemoy versus a diabolical 7 foot tall William Shatner holding a phase cannon.

Wild Bill was screaming; "THINK...OF...THE...TESTICLE...EXAMS!!"

Leonard was pretty much drowned out by Captain Libido.

So yesterday Im sitting in the exam room, in she walks, the vision she was before and her face lights up; "Oh I remember you!  Youre Paiges daddy! Im so glad you decided to see me!"

 

Gulp.   7 foot Shatner is dancing the Watusi right now.  Pictures of weekly scrotal exams flash through my brain.

"What can I do for you?"

Leonard; "Don't mention testicles.  You'll seem too needy"

I tell her that I needed some meds to treat my migraines and asked her if there was anything that would curb my frequent desire to punch stupid people in the groin.

She flashes the smile and says 'certainly' but she should start by asking a few routine questions first.  This is where her genetic condition comes into play.

She apparently is trying to consciously maintain proper seated posture.  She will catch herself starting to slouch, then suddenly sit up straight, shoulders back, chest thrust out.

This I found incredibly distracting.  Seriously.  You have no idea.

I used every bit of self discipline to keep my eyes at eye level.

Shatner is yelling "SHES LOOKING AT THE PAPER! SNEAK A PEEK MAN!  YOU.. JUST.. GOT.. TO,.. MISTER!"

But I stood firm.

Well, I was sitting.  Which was good.  She couldnt tell how firm I was standing. 

Which, after the rescent vasectomy, was starting to get uncomfortable.

Wild Bill; "YEAH! PLAY THE VASECTOMY CARD!  GET HER TO CHECK THE STITCHES!!"

Me; "Yeah right!  How would I explain Mr Happy poking her in the eye?  Shut the fuck up!!"

So the rest of the questioning went on when Leonard decides to bring up a good point of the disadvantages of a hot doctor.

"Have you thought about possible future conditions? Things like embarrasing rashes?"

Good point.

"Boils in the crack of your ass?"

Oh, right.

"Inevitable prostate exams?"

Spocks right.  Am I going to feel comfortable having a beautiful woman stick her finger in my ass?

I mean, without a few drinks and maybe dinner and a movie?  I never thought of this.  Would I really feel more comfortable with some old male doctor busting my rectal cherry? Where the hell was Nimoy when I was booking the appointment?

Thinking more about it, there are definite advantages to the hot woman doctor which outweigh the disadvantages.

-More likely to go for regular checkups.

-Any problems with testicles will probably be quickly recognized and addressed from frequent examinations.

-Smaller fingers mean more comfortable prostate checks.

-Ginormous rack.

 

Im thinking Im gonna take my chances with Dr Feelgood. ( I think she Libyan or something.)

Besides the possible embarrassing appointments, and Im sure my blood pressure and pulse readings will be consistently too high (my resting heart rate is typically mid to high 50s, when she took my pulse it was 95.  I told her I ran to make my appointment).

So I have to book a follow up visit in 3-6 weeks.  See if the anti-groin punching medication is working.

Also Im a little concerned.  One nut is hanging a little lower than the other.  I should have it checked out- just to be on the safe side.

 

Anyway.  Portrait of a dog.  First one.  People happy.  Gave me money.  Me happy.

 

 

Posted by Twisted @ 11:25 am EDT | Permalink | 6 Comments

Perils of the Small Town Tattooist

So Ive shared this with a select few, but I feel compelled to warn people who are thinking of delving into the world of tattoos.

If you are married, it is a dangerous field to be in.  A small percentage of women clients feel the need to tip the artist 'non-monetarily'.

Some become very insistent.  Sometimes they have a kind of inarguable logic that is hard to deny.

This can be an issue when youre trying your best to be a good husband.

Im seriously thinking of looking into SaltPeter or chemical castration. 

If my wife reads this, she will be looking into mechanical castration.

 

I just dont get it.  I just spent an hour or two sticking needles in your ass.  I'd think you'd want to punch me in the face.  I'd actually prefer it to a proposition.  It hurts less.

The extra peril is when youre in a small town.

 

They know where to find you.

They know where you live.

They know when you are bad or good.

 

Its like crossing Santa Claus with Amy Fisher.

 

Ive thought of having Tshirts made saying witticisms like 'SYPHILLUS' or 'GHONORREANS NEED LOVE TOO'.  But it may be bad for business.

So for the ladies out there who feel the need to thank your tattooist, please, just slip him a twenty.  Or punch him in the face.

He'll appreciate it.

 

Anyway, sketch of the day.  Portrait of a kid from a photo taken at a hockey game.

As long as the detail in the photo is sharp, and theres good shadows you can usually squeeze a good portrait out of it.

 

For those getting bored of me posting people portraits, I have a few animal portraits I'll post soon.  I just have to download em from my crappy little digicam.

Posted by Twisted @ 11:08 am EDT | Permalink | 6 Comments

Less Painful Entry

-and I dont mean better lubricated.

For the record, its been a couple of days since the 'Procedure' and things are doing much, much better.

Now for a desperately needed change of subject.

A friend and colleague (known across the world as GIJoeBob), introduced me to a grooming tool for the follically challenged called Headblade.

I have to admit, his enthusiasm made me suspect he was on their payroll.  How could you re-engineer the classic razor? 

I thought it was a novelty gimmick.  It looked like the bastard child of a saftey razor and a Hot Wheels car.

Since it required ordering one, I never bothered.  Stuck with the same good old reliable head scraping disposable Xtreme.

While at a local pharmacy picking up painkillers (see previous entry for details), I saw that they were now selling the Headblade off the shelves.

Even though Ive tried every fricking razor known to man and thought the Shick Xtreme with the flex head was the cats ass, I thought I'd take JoeBobs advice and give it a try.

Hell, the damn things got wheels. How cool is that?

After a few seconds to acquaint myself, I was in chromedome heaven.

Its like kittens licking my scalp. Even the TwistedMrs felt the difference.

If I had fully functioning 'equipment' at the time(see previous entry), she probably wouldve jumped me.

I'll never use another razor on my noggin ever again.

Hell, did I mention its got wheels?  I spend the entire time shaving in the shower going "VRROOOOOMVROOOMM!RRRRRRRRRAARRRRRSCREEEECHH!!!"

I think thats why theyre threatening to pull my gym membership.

 

That and the 'PropellerMan' demonstration I did in the womens changeroom.  Apparently thats among 'discouraged' activities.

Anyway, todays feature;

Posted by Twisted @ 1:03 pm EDT | Permalink | 2 Comments

Ow.

So for those of you who follow my blog regularly (yes, I mean you two, right there), you may have noticed a few days of inactivity on my part.

I believe I have a reasonable excuse.  Two words that should never be placed together.

Scrotal.

 

Surgery.

 

Hear that?  Thats the sound of hundreds of sympathetic male thighs slapping together.

Yes, I went and got fixed. The big 'V'.  Shootin' blanks. 

For those unexperienced in this, the procedure wasnt that bad, aside from three hours of the indignity in a paper gown and booties (men should never wear booties. Its so emasculating I felt I no longer required the procedure) I also had to wear a hair net even though Ive been shaving my head for 7 years.

I think its because they believe if they have to wear stupid little hats in the O.R., everybody does.

 

So I walk in to the O.R. and they strap me down on the crucifix....I mean table.  Arms straight out.  One arm goes the pressure cuff, the other the IV.

One nurse asks if I would like something to relax.  "Since youre taking orders, I'll take a double rye and coke".

No dice.  But she does say she has something else I may like and sticks it in the drip.

Meanwhile, another cute little nurse informs me she will be prepping me, which involves washing my balls.

 

I'm all for this part.  Unfortunately the cocktail the first nurse gives me takes affect and the next thing I know Im in a different room.

WTF? Where am I?  What happened? Wheres my hand job?

I ask if this is the recovery room and I am told yes.  I can only assume theyre done.

I hazard a peek at my junk, and yep, still stained from whatever the little sweetie mustve rubbed on me is my poor abused nutsack, now sporting a fashionable cloth bandage.  Which I immediately worry about the removal.

You know how they say the best way is with 'one quick jerk'?

 

Not a fucking chance in this case.  If you excuse my french.

 

Mental picture of me chasing my detached testicles flashes through my mind.

I'll try to remove it after a gentle soaking in warm water thank-you-very-much.

Actually, after all was said and done, I felt great.

No pain.  Ready to take on the world.  Go for a jog. Chase nurses.  Hell, I'll just go right back to work.  Dont know what the big deal is about.

Nurse asks me how Im feeling.  I, relieved its all over, cheerfully reply; "Great!  Same time next week?"  Im released, grab some Quiznos and head home.

 

Then the freezing wears off.

 

I used to kickbox for several years and teach self defense.  I know what being kicked really hard in the balls feels like.

Much like I feel right now.  Popping Tylenol 3s (with codeine!) like M&Ms with a bag of frozen Lima beans on my crotch (Ive never enjoyed Lima Beans as much as I do right now, BTW) I try to get comfortable and dodge my two kids, with their horrible grasping hands and terrifying flailing feet and knees.

After 24 hours I have my first shower and manage to remove the bandage with surprisingly little effort. THANK. GOD.

I cant express the dread I felt prior.

 

Whats gonna be under there?  Am I gonna puke?  Pass out?  Sob like a beaten 9 year old?

I held it together.

But my healthy intact previously puncture-free ballsack was replaced by a bloated purple coin purse.

The tiny incision looked to me big enough I could smuggle heroin across the border in it.

 

I soon opted to forgo the Tylenol 3s (with codeine!) for TWO double scotches.  Within 3 minutes of each other.

 

So now, much of the pain has passed.  Still very tender.  Still uncomfortable.  Still feel cheated out of a professional nurse rubdown.

I wonder things like; Are they still anchored the same?  They look like theyre hanging lower.  Are they?  Am I going to have reduced function?  Am I going to start to want to knit doilies and watch 'Coronation Street'?

 

Im not afraid of the rumours of decreased sexual drive.  I actually could use that. 

 

Anyway.  Its also why I missed clan night.

I also have to find another place to rest my controller.

 

The Rumble Feedback isnt as fun as I remember.

 

Anyway, one of my commissioned portraits;

Posted by Twisted @ 11:30 am EDT | Permalink | 22 Comments

Ambigrams

So I did a tattoo for the hospital chaplain and in the course of him showing it off I got a slew of new work in the form of paramedics. I got three clients in a row who were ambulance attendants from the same hospital.

This puts more pressure on me because if I screw up their ink, I better hope I dont get in an accident.

Fortunately theyve been happy with the work so far.

I actually get a lot of clients in some form of healthcare. Just a few weeks ago I had what I call officially, My Hottest Client Ever.

Shes a massage therapist who came in to get a faded butterfly tattoo recolored. It was an intricate piece and I of course wanted to do a good job.

So being the dirty old man that I am, I looked forward to her appointment.

She shows up in tight yoga pants and a little tank top. After I finish setting up she peels off the tank top.

 

When I came to, she was on the table waiting patiently. So I get to work.

Which, for those of you unfamiliar, involves prepping the area with surgical soap and rubbing with Vaseline.

All the while Im evaluating the tattoo, mentally matching the colors and deciding what needlegroups to use.

I get into professional mode, concentrating on not screwing up the intricate linework and keeping the colors pure.

About an hour later I was finished, she was happy and I realized a sad truth.

In all the effort I put into doing a good job, I completely forgot to enjoy myself.

 

Here I have this sweet little hottie, skin like lightly freckled marble, figure like she stepped out of a comic book, and I spent the hour treating her like a inanimate canvas.

 

WTF?! Did I go and turn gay or something?! Did I go and get old?

Here I am rubbing Vaseline on sugarcheeks here thinking "Hmmm, I should use a three round to keep the corners sharp".

GAAAAA! I like to think Im just so used to the process I just went into 'professional mode'.

 

Anyway. I stopped by her office awhile later to see how she was healing up and she was so happy she took me into her office and yanked off her shirt to show me.

 

 

When I came to, I realized I wasnt gay, just professionally focused.

 

I'd post a pic, but its a little blurry. Im gonna try to get her in for a reshoot.

So heres one of the ambulance attendants sporting an ambigram I designed and installed for him.

Its the names of his two boys, Alex and Noah.

Ive done a lot of these lately. A lot of people with two kids who only want one original tattoo. I find ambigrams, although a lot of work designwise, fit the requirements quite well.

I try to design them so they look at first glance to be abstract, but are legible when you know what youre looking at.

Posted by Twisted @ 10:29 am EDT | Permalink | 6 Comments