I was in Salvador, in Brazil, and I needed to get to an island. I distrusted the potability of the water so I’d been dehydrated for days, and the night before I’d tried to fist fight a hotel manager for demanding my passport. This was my first real travel experience and I was coping badly. Sally assured me things would be better on the Island, a brisk two hours jaunt on a high speed catamaran. She was concerned about my motion sickness, which presented itself in all other forms of travel. I told her that I’d be fine because this was a boat, and I’d never been sick on boat…as the sea was my friend. Continue reading →

I have become middle aged. This rocket launched by puberty has reached the weightless apex of its climb, turned balletically, and is now plummeting to earth. I still have time, but there is a clear change in direction and momentum. The panic is arbitrary. I am a day older than yesterday and yesterday was fine. Today is something else. Continue reading →

The morning of I ate a hearty breakfast and 10mg of Clonazapam. I expected a dreamlike opium haze, instead I was fairly mellow with a two beer buzz. The common high and shared trauma made for a social waiting room. Everyone had ginger ales and patient wives, except one man who was alone and close to passing out. They made him lay down before he left, and I wondered if he was getting the vasectomy on spec, and hoping to use it as a selling point for future partners. Continue reading →

“You can’t have anymore wine until you shave your junk. And make sure you use the dry shave razor they gave you.”.

The wine in question was about half a bottle, enough to calm the heart but not unsteady the hand. The razor was a blue disposable number that was intended to be used dry, but not engineered in any way to make that feasible. I tried a practice swipe near my hip bone and it removed a patch of skin, while somehow leaving the hair in place.

“Fuck this, I’m getting wet and using a five blade razor that has earned my trust”

Continue reading →

I didn’t mean to antagonize my vasectomy nurse. The phone rang, I said “Hello” and the voice on the other side asked “Is that Allan?” Puzzling. Is what Allan? I assumed she was referring to me but the odd open had me thinking telemarketer. “Pardon me?” I said. “Is that Allan” she asked again, sounding annoyed but providing no additional information.

“I am Allan, to whom am I speaking”.

I will admit this came out a little snarky.

“This is Contentious Pam from the dick doctor (1), why didn’t you pickup your kit?”.

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Continued from Part 1: Soulmates and Self Help

Who should I date?

 

This question is fair but useless. You should date someone compatible, but that is a slippy metric that changes over time. Imagine a restaurant where they will craft your ideal sandwich, but you have to specify the ingredients and preparation. You might stutter out a workable combination, but you would be filled with doubt, and the dread of missed opportunity would haunt your meal. But if the waiter asked if he should spit in your water, or fart in your dates face, your answer would be immediate and authoritative. We understand the generalities of the things that we like, and the specifics of the things that we do not. People are more complicated than sandwiches, so it helps to lay out a few disqualifying factors to weed the undateables out of the field early.

Do they need a job? What level of hygiene is acceptable? Will they correct peoples grammar at parties? Do they have ferrets? The specifics of the undateables are going to vary from person to person, but there are some red flags you should at least consider.

Are they bartenders, actors, or lead guitarists/singers in a band?

Do they Roll their eyes and sigh when they disagree with people?

Have they recently exited a serious relationship?

Are they are currently in a serious relationship?

Are they indecisive, yet consistently critical of other peoples decisions?

Do they only have friends of the opposite gender?

Do they only have friends of the same gender?

Do they have friends?

Do they frequently complain of “Drama” that they cannot escape, yet have no culpability in creating?

When they are upset does it become everyone else’s problem?

Continue reading →