Dear right testicle,
Today is the one year anniversary since we said goodbye. I’ve thought about you often, and sometimes feel like you’re still here with me. It’s bittersweet to think of the time we had together. You looked so perky and perfect next to my left one. I really felt you two belonged together.
But now you’re gone, and sometimes when I search for you, I’m startled to find just a lone uniball in a sagging sack. There’s an empty space in me since you went away. Why, oh why, did you betray me? You grew that awful tumor, putting my whole body at risk, just because you felt the need to show off and grow twice your size to put your partner to shame.
Still, despite the ways you hurt me, I will remember you fondly and feel sad that you’re gone. I guess that’s how it is with love sometimes. And I did love you. I really did.
Now all I can do is hope that my left testicle treats me better than you have, and won’t betray me. For if he abandons me too, a part of me will never be able to stand tall again.
Rest in peace, you mean little bastard.
We recently went back to Nashville and were able to experience the city we once lived in after being away for over half a year.
The place is really booming. I often see articles that suggest Nashville is one of the top 10 “it” places to live, and it was easy to see why. There’s been so much growth and there’s so much to do at any given time.
The people were much friendlier than they are here in California. I miss that a lot. The food was delicious. We ate a lot of BBQ and drank a lot of Sweet Tea.
If you’re not from the South, Sweet Tea is not the same as regular tea with sugar in it. It’s made with a thick syrup that’s probably on par, if not worse, than regular soda as far as how unhealthy it is. But it tasted so good. The funny thing is that when we lived in Nashville, I rarely ever had BBQ or Sweet Tea, but something about being back in the city as a guest made me crave the local favorites.
Gay rugby teams from around the world were in Nashville for the Bingham Cup. When we went out to the bar with friends, the place was filled with tall, husky rugby players and I suddenly found myself feeling like an ant trying to navigate a place that used to be familiar territory. Admittedly, Daniel and I didn’t go out much after we were married, and even less after we became Dads. So it took awhile to adjust to the loud, crowded atmosphere, especially with the additional rugby teams taking over the place.
Funny story though: As we were sitting in a booth with our friends, we saw a guy standing at the bar just casually getting finger banged underneath his shorts like it was no big deal. The guy doing it was sipping a drink with one hand while he probed with the other. And then the recipient of the fingering (the fingeree?) reached over and started fingering another guy under his shorts.
Meanwhile, several feet away, two other rugby guys were standing at a table talking, and one had his hand down the other’s shorts, giving him an aggressive hand job. Their faces were all casual, just having a conversation. What could they possibly be discussing in the middle of a jack-off session—the stock market, politics, the season finale of Scandal?
In all the years we lived in Nashville, I can honestly say we never witnessed finger banging and hand jobs being casually and openly served in the gay bars. At least we witnessed something unusual to tell a story about.
We had a fun trip and it made me happy to see our family and friends. It was certainly a visit we won’t forget.
When Daniel posted this article on healthy snacking to my Facebook wall:
I responded appropriately:
Joking aside, I’m usually a healthy eater. But sometimes you just have to indulge in a candy bar or three.
Recently we were at a restaurant with friends, and we walked past a group of women by the entrance.
“Ew, did you smell that?” a friend of ours asked.
“No, what?” I responded.
“It smells like cherries with a little bit of fish,” he said.
I smelled the air and caught a whiff of something cherry-ish. Not exactly cherry, but I suppose that was a close enough description. I didn’t smell fish, but it was a restaurant, so I wouldn’t be surprised if I did smell it.
“That’s what vaginas smell like when women are on their period!” our friend said.
“You’re making that up. Why would a vagina smell like cherries and fish?” I said with skepticism.
Our friend is somewhat colorful at times, and I often think he makes up stories to get us laughing. But he insisted the smell was permeating from the group of women.
We ended up standing in that area for another 10 minutes while we waited. The whole time, I could smell cherry and wondered if I was basking in the scent of menstruating vaginas. It certainly made the evening interesting.
And I will never think of cherry the same way again. Thanks, friend.
Recently a friend was holding our baby and taking pictures. This was his response:
Yep, definitely our son.
How do you get rid of Brown Recluse spiders?
It’s easy: Just blow up your house, all your personal belongings and the entire land around it.
It was a dark and stormy night… And I was enjoying a nice summertime poop when suddenly a spider dashed across the bathroom floor.
(Spiders dash, right? It didn’t really jog or skip across the floor. I wouldn’t say it was running because it didn’t have arms flailing in the air like most runners do. Yes, I’d say it dashed.)
I’m usually not too bothered by spiders. I wouldn’t say I love them, but then again I can’t say I’ve ever known one. I guess I shouldn’t pre-judge them though. I just don’t think I’m into them, you know? They’re very leggy.
But this spider was big and looked like trouble, so I took a photo of him (of course) and then smashed him with a big fluffy handful of toilet paper. What a way to go.
Well it turns out this was a Brown Recluse spider, and little did I know this was just the beginning of a summer long nightmare.
According to exterminators, once you have Brown Recluse spiders, you never get rid of them. They’re like house guests that can’t take a hint.
We’ve sprayed—and sprayed—and fogged, and sealed cracks, and repaired base boards, and vacuumed, and de-cluttered, and sprinkled dried orange peels (which actually helped), and coated the floor with lemon cleaner (also helped).
The floors are covered in a fun house of glue traps, which frequently get stuck to the dog and cat. After 5 weeks, the best I can say is that we’ve drastically reduced them. We even found a few of their nests, which we promptly destroyed.
I’m beginning to fear that the saying is true: You can never truly get rid of Brown Recluse spiders.
I’ve told Daniel we’re going to have to sell the house and leave everything behind. How else can we be certain they won’t follow us to our new home?
If anyone has some amazing tips we haven’t tried, please enlighten me. At this point, no suggestion seems too extreme. Thank you.
Of all the hundreds of video parodies of the Miley Cyrus “Wrecking Ball” video, this is my favorite! See what happens when a man named Steve Kardynal surprises random people on Chatroulette.
Nathan: I think I’d like to work at a lube factory some day.
Daniel: Why would you want to work at a lube factory?
Nathan: Are you kidding me! Can you imagine the Slip ‘N Slide at the company picnics?
Daniel: And that’s going on Facebook.
It seems that every couple of years, I get a masochistic streak and decide to have another go at body wax.
Maybe it wasn’t as bad as I remember, I tell myself.
My last experiment was in 2011 when I had it out with a jar of white chocolate scented body wax from hell. At the time, I promised myself that I would never do it again.
Never, like ever, as Taylor Swift would say.
Now clearly 2013 isn’t the time to have a smooth body. Manscaping was all the rage a few years ago but the tides have turned. Now it’s all about the hair — thick, bearish, manly man hair. If you aren’t naturally hairy, you better cut up a wig and glue it to your body to fit in with the other manly men!
And growing long beards has become a sport. I think guys are using it now as a replacement for penis measurement. He who has the longest beard wins.
Well, hell. I’m not very hairy. I’m kinda proud of the hair I do have on my chest, and friends always seem genuinely surprised when they see it.
“Nathan, you have chest hair?” they say with eyes wide in astonishment.
“Yeah, boys, I do. Looks like I finally hit puberty.”
Ever since Daniel and I started doing P90X in January, the idea of shaving, or at least trimming my body hair has become appealing again. I understand why professional bodybuilders do it. A smooth body really does show off the curves of your muscles, and when you’re new to having muscles, it’s pretty exciting!
A few nights ago, I bought some Veet wax strips (thank you, Sarah!). I figured they wouldn’t be nearly as messy as the jar of wax and I was hoping they would be less painful. I decided to start with my armpits and have Daniel help this time.
The hair under your armpits grows in two different directions, which I’d never thought about but after I read about it in the instructions, I did realize it. So you’re supposed to use one strip for the bottom of the pit and one for the top.
Daniel put the first strip on my lower right armpit and rubbed it on to get it nice and tight against the hair. Just then, I freaked out and changed my mind.
“Wait, stop!” I said, coiling away in fear. “I don’t wanna do it. No, no. I don’t wanna. I’m just gonna leave it on.”
“But you can’t,” Daniel said. “We have to pull it off. Trust me, it will hurt worse if you wait.”
I shook my head. “Nope, it’s a part of me now. Maybe it will just kind of wear off and come off on its own.” I was rationalizing at this point.
“It doesn’t work like that,” Daniel said.
I finally worked up the nerve to let him pull it off… And FUCK it hurt! I yelled out and pushed him away.
“That was awful! AHHHH it burns soooo bad!”
It really did. My entire underarm was bright pink and drops of blood were oozing out of my armpit. We still had 3 more sections to go!
“No, that’s it,” I said. “We’re not doing the rest. I’m just going to walk around with a half waxed armpit. I don’t care. It’s too painful.”
If you haven’t caught on, I turn into a toddler when I’m upset. It’s not pretty.
Daniel convinced me the top half wouldn’t hurt as badly. It would be easier. He lied. The top half was even worse!
“That’s it! I’m just going to have one hairy armpit,” I said in protest.
But a new problem had come up. Since we split the strip into two sections of my armpit, there was a thin line of hair through the center where the wax strips overlapped. Now I had two cleanly waxed (albeit bloody) sections of my armpit and one hairy line through the center. Goddamnit.
I finally worked up the nerve to have him do both sections of the other armpit, but again, there was a line of hair through the center. It was red and sore for 2 days and I’m just now able to wear regular antiperspirant again. I don’t dare put on Certain Dri again until I’m fully healed, because that would really burn!
So that’s my story of another failed, yet hilarious and painful, experience with wax. I won’t be using those strips on my chest or anywhere else. In fact, I hope I’ve learned my lesson this time.
But hey, if history has taught us anything, I’ll try again in two years. 😉
This is an update to the post Swamp Pits.
Picture it. Friday night in the most hipstery part of Nashville. I’m talking to some friends in the corner of a humid, crowded, smoky outdoor bar.
It stinks, it’s been raining off and on, and I hate the smell of cigarettes. Who the fuck still smokes? It’s not the ’50s anymore people! But I digress.
What do you suppose we’re talking about? An intellectual analysis of the Benghazi hearing. A riveting debate on recent changes in climate and how it’s going to affect the future of our planet. New improvements in 3D printing technology and how it can become a problem for regulating firearms.
Of course not. We’re not talking about any of that.
We’re talking about my armpits and how I’ve gone 24 hours without a drop of sweat since I started wearing Certain Dri. We’re talking about how I’m nervously wearing one of my favorite blue shirts, which I haven’t worn in years because the fabric isn’t very breathable and it makes me sweat buckets. But on this night, I’m wearing it proudly and I can lift my arms without fear that there’s a giant circle of sweat trapped underneath.
It starts out as a whisper when I tell one friend about it. He has the same problem of sweating like a menopausal woman, so I know he’ll be interested. Then another friend perks up and joins the conversation.
“You have sweaty what?” he asks.
“Armpits,” I respond, “Now shhh, keep your voice down.”
“What are you guys talking about?” a drunken third friend asks as he carries over two beers, both of which are his.
“We’re talking about armpits,” the second friend says.
“Oh, armpits,” the drunk third friend says. “Hey, Nathan, isn’t that guy over the asshole you were talking about. Didn’t you say you hate him and he has an inflated ego?”
“Shut up,” I hiss. “Try to focus. We’re talking about my armpits here.”
“So does it really work?” the first friend asks, trying to get us back on topic.
“Yes, it’s amazing. You guys really have to try it.”
Just as the label claims, Certain Dri warded off sweat for a full 72 hours. In fact, it lasted 96 hours for me, but somewhere after the 72 hour mark I did detect just a tad bit of sweat when I was mowing the lawn. Nothing extreme.
I could be imagining it, but I did feel like I had a little bit more sweat on my back. Afterall the sweat has to come out somewhere. Still, it was manageable and I have to say Certain Dri really works. I recommend it to everyone.
Why isn’t this the standard? I don’t understand how there is a whole industry full of sub-par anti-perspirants when you could buy something that truly does its just for 3 full days?
Go for it! You’ll love it! And then let me know what you think in the comments.