Sucker For Punishment

Now, I don't usually do any 'what I did today' posts, well, except for yesterday, and the day before.
Oh shut up, you know what I mean....

But, because I am an unadulterated muppet-man-fool type person, I decided I couldn't allow a day go by without prostrating myself at the mercy of some aspect the Dutch health care system, and that coupled with self deprecation is always good therapy.

Having lived through yesterday's ordeal, I awoke this morning to (re-)discover a long standing appointment with someone whom I had been warned NEVER to visit in this country.

In short, today, I visited the 'Mond Hygienist' - the 'Oral Hygienist' to you and me.

I actually can't recall the details of the visit because I'm pretty sure I blacked out for about twenty minutes of it, as Hitler's secret granddaughter dragged me around her office by my gums via a state-of-the-art 2008 model fishhook.

She scraped, she tore, she drilled, she chisilled, and I think for a finish she swapped my upper and lower gums kind of like how you rotate the types on a mazda.

She demonstrated to me(on me) how beneficial(agonising) it is to use(ram) toothpicks the size of fence posts between my teeth until there emerges a gap(where none previously existed) so big, I can now stack magazines between them.

7 hours on, and the taste of blood is starting to make me feel light headed, I may very well pass away during the night as a result of poisoning from the swallowing of, or drowning in, my own blood.

If I do, cut my grass for me?

The Sperm Runner

Alarm rings as normal...
Stumble blurry eyed to the bathroom as normal...
Open up the cabinet, & fumble around for toothpaste as normal...

Grab a semen sample pot instead. Now, I'm no genius, so I can't be 100% certain, but I think...I THINK this was the point where today stopped being normal.

Now, I'm not perverted (well, not much), so I'll spare you the gory details.
The container got 'filled', with a socially acceptable ratio of ease and difficulty.
It didn't take so long as to cause mental scarring and anxiety, and it wasn't too fast to add a possible plastic pot fetish to my burden for the day.
(BTW Pet, knocking on the door to announce you were leaving for work didn't help much)

Not a drop misplaced, just as well considering the volume was questionable. (By that I mean the volume of the sample, I wasn’t screaming, out loud at least.)

Having already made surely everything else was ready I made a quick getaway, my precious cargo in my inside pocket.
(For those who've read 'inconceivable' by Ben Elton you'll recall that the character carried his sample down his trousers, to replicate the appropriate temperature, I decided against this, as I haven't quite yet reached the point of no return as regards insanity. Anyway the thought of having to fish it out at it’s destination was too much to bear.)

The lab is part of a nearby hospital, which was surrounded by road works and signs for ‘no parking’ while they were in progress.
My blood chilled at the thought of having to park half a mile away and walk the rest of the way clutching a pot of my own semen, visions of being mugged and having to explain what was taken to the Dutch ‘Politie’ exploded into my head.
Thankfully, the Gods of mortal shame were on my side and I was able to park right in the hospital grounds, and at that unearthly hour of the morning, the only onlookers were the dozens of chickens (don't ask, I don't know why) roaming the hospital surrounds.
(There is a chicken and egg joke in there somewhere, but I'm far too conflustered to work it out)

Onwards I go, plenty of potential death traps behind me, performance, aim, and parking as I march through the main entrance.
With chest out, and chin up, I strolled confidently as if I owned the place, James Bond-like to the reception desk.

I'd peaked too soon...

"I have an 8am appointment with microbiology" I half whispered, half choked at the professionally disinterested 8 foot tall woman behind the desk.
"Follow route 70" she sneered, while looking me up and down.
The game was up, she knew why I was there, I started to panic, she knew what I had in my pocket and I certainly wasn't happy to see her. I turned and walked as fast as my butty little legs could manage without breaking into a jog. As I turned the corridor I'm almost sure I heard her snort and laugh.

After a Left, right, 2 floors up, 3 floors down, a few more lefts, and a handful more rights I ended up outside the door of route 70 - 'Medische Microbiologie'.
I peered through the glass of the door at the back of what I can only describe as the receptionist's bigger, uglier, older brother in a dress and questionably applied make-up.
I knocked. At least I thought I did. No reaction. I knocked again, harder. The beast-head turned around and glared at me, glared towards a sign on the door, then back at me.
Being super quick on the uptake I decided to quickly READ the sign on the door which said 'Patients - don't knock, come in'
Mumbling my apologies I stepped in, mimed that I had an 8am appointment, and proceeded to cower in front of Ms Grizzly Adams.

GA - Have you your laboratory form?
ME - Yes (fumbling in inner pockets), Here.
GA - (Scowling at the one single box ticked on the form) Semen Analysis?
ME - (Whispering) Yes.
GA - Have you your 'Material'?
ME - Yes (now sweaty hands fumbling again in inner pockets), Here.
GA - (Holding the pot between finger and thumb, obviously not impressed with coming into contact at what I KNEW was sweat but she was unsure of) OK. I have a couple of questions.
ME - (To Self) Shit. Here goes.
GA - Have you had a cold in the last week.
ME - No. (To self) That was easy!
GA - Taking any medication?
ME - (Very proud that I had for once written the proper names down) Hydrochlorotheozamowhatsitiozide
GA - (Sighing) Give me the piece of paper. (To self, probably) Idiot.
GA - When did you produce the 'Material'?
ME - (I was torn between desperately wanting to say it wasn't mine at all & running off and asking her when was the last time she performed a sex act on herself, just to even things up.) Less than half an hour ago.
GA - How long did you abstain?
ME - (Hoping that I had understood her correctly and was actually answering the right question) [Insert answer here] (Some things you lot just don't need to know).
GA - I see. Your results will be known by your doctor in 1 to 10 days.
ME - Ok. (While actually meaning) What in the name of Jehova do you mean 1 TO 10 days you hideous creature, what use is that for a timscale, you might as well say 'sometime before Christmas' - Maybe.
GA - Goodbye. (while actually meaning to add) you filthy little man, get out of my sight.
ME - Goodbye. (while actually meaning to add) please take care of my little pot, Frodo had it easy with that ring of his compared to my journey here, and I don't want to have to go through this again.

With that, I turned and ran.

Of course, true to form, it was out the wrong exit.
Turning the key in the ignition, the clock flashed up the time. 8:03am.

Happy Birthday & praying for an alien abduction

Firstly, Happy Birthday you daft old bint!
(She's just turned the big Three Ooooooh has my demented other half)

I can't write much as I can't sit or think straight. My head is off the charts, my BP is spinning (or something like that anyway) and I've not been very far away from throwing up at any point over the last 5 or 6 hours.

And 'why so' you all cry in unison?
-Tomorrow I do the 'handover'....

For those not in 'the know', or who have memory loss of any varying length, or just developmental problems, I can't actually say the words for you. This is because that little cannonball of vomit will explode from me and will need cleaning up and I have enough impending bodily emission issues at the moment as is.

So make do with some picture association if you feel the need.PLUS

PLUS

EQUALS

Gut turning mortification.

Bad Pile Up

Dutch Style....

I'm an excellent daily dose, apparently!

I've joined the ranks of all the greats, the contraceptive pill, the extended session in the bathroom with the sports section, the moan at the husband for not doing anything right ever, and all the rest. I've become a 'daily dose'.

Thanks to Tiff and her 23 children at ThreeRingCircus for taking the time.

Not only that, but I'm ALSO "excellent", apparently!


This according to Lance, who happens to be a Dad 2 Twins. Half German ones no less! I don't mean one of the twins are German (although now that I think about it, I'm not sure), obviously, they both are, half.

See, giving me stuff is good. No, in fact, giving me stuff is great, unless it's a like a slap, or a belt of a garden rake into the ribs or genital herpes or stuff like that. Try it, it will make you feel like you've just had a bowl of frosties.

Thanks guys, too kind, as always.

Tit-less Monday

While it is a shame that it's not Tuesday, (the title would have sounded so much better, but I'm no dramatic media whore headline queen person, so it stays as is) I just wanted to inform you that today has passed off (well, technically 23 hours and 5 minutes or so of it anyway) without me making a prick of myself in any way, shape, or form.

No colour blind dressing up for appointments to make me look like a royal tit, no poorly applied makeup incidents at work to single me out as the office gimp, and generally nothing to identify me as the major wally that seems to be the norm of late.

However, just in case the Gods of war and wobbly bits thought I was getting too cocky, they decided
to deliver another hammer blow to my battered gonads by making this month another washout.

That's now 674* months in a row where my little bastard spermy buddies have failed to find a suitable home for themselves and settle down. Maybe my boys have gypsy blood.

Needless to say, we are both a wee bit miffed** at this turn of events.

So, while you consider that gross understatement, bear this in mind, to add embarrassment to insult, to injury, to making a twat of myself, I now actually have to go through with the semen analysis test, instead of just joking about it.

Life just doesn't get any f*&%$#@ better than this...

Notes: * - Ten, ** - Beyond consoling

The Part-Time Transvestite

I went to work today looking like a part time transvestite who hadn't quite managed to make the transformation back to day time state.

Totally oblivious to this fact, I did wonder what the sniggering and whispering was for as I walked away from the coffee machine.

A moment in front of the bathroom mirror told me all I needed to know.

So, toothpaste manufacturers, if you MUST make your toothpaste tubes all glittery and shiney, please try to ensure that it doesn't flake off and transfer itself to sleepy morning hands, that eventually rub sleepy morning eyes, and go to work looking like a tranny with a hangover, eh?

Thank you.

The Container Dilema

Right, call me obsessive, but this is starting to freak me out...

You've seen the size of the container, and it's NOT good.

How do I actually go about filling this bloody thing, or more to the point, getting anything actually 'into' it.
As most women can testify (pun intended), the need to grab the nearest tissue, or towel, or curtain, or family pet, to clean up these messes is enough to prove that directing this stuff is not an exact science.
Trying to hit a target no bigger than a 50 euro cent coin is going to be a challenge, to say the very bloody least.

Someone mentioned a funnel - OK, I could live with that, but then you've got the issue of contamination.
The last thing I want to have to do is put the results into an online 'Dutch to English' translator only to discover that the lab thinks I'm loaded with fatal amounts of motor oil or some such.
Before I know it, I'd be spreadeagled on some laboratory table being poked and prodded for tests and hailed as a walking talking tin-man.

It's been suggested to boil the funnel before hand.
That's a non-starter, I'm not putting any of my bits near any object that's been recently boiled. That's a guaranteed Mr Floppy moment.

I was thinking myself more along the lines of duct-tape, but the possibilties for disaster, along with physical and mental life long scarring to occur are far too great.

Then there's the issue of, how should I put this, 'performance'.
Let's not kid ourselves, these things rule themselves, the 'appendage' is the James Dean of the human male anatomy.
It does what it feels like, when it feels like it, where it feels like it.

This is usually not an issue as it usually does, indeed, feel like it.
It does NOT have an appointment book, and certainly doesn't appreciate deadlines.
Which is more than ironic, seeing as it can usually guarantee a speedy delivery better than UPS.

Even if it did, mine certainly does not take kindly to an 8am, Febuary 27th deadline.

To make matters worse, ET has taken to displaying the lab form and container in a glass cabinet in our living room, like some kind of heirloom, or speech & drama prize you win when you're 11.

I wonder how quick will she remove it when someone comes to visit....

Odd Shoes

Hey Ho !

As you've all undoubtedly not noticed whatsoever, I've not written anything in a while.
The reasons for which are four-fold, as follows:
1) I could not be bothered, repeating the same old moany drivel over and over is bad for the soul.
2) Nothing to report, when I get to stage where I write about what I've eaten for dinner, you have permission to beat me to death with an old radiator or some such item.
3) We've been away, a nice long weekend in London in fact.
4) I've been waiting for a special reader to catch up on all the posts.

And now in reverse detail... I'd like you all to give a big Jerry Springer welcome to a new reader, a very special one too, my nearest and dearest, albeit somewhat demented, wife, ET.
I finally grew a pair and pointed her in this direction, she hasn't as of yet smothered me in my sleep or (intentionally) poisoned my food, so I'm thinking she's ok with it.

Hi Petal !

We headed off last weekend to London, just to relax, have a change of scenery etc and we took in a show. Not I'm not a 'musical theatre' kind of guy, but we went to see Wicked, and it was fantastic. If you are ever in town, go see it, trust me.

Anyway, onto the juicy stuff (I just KNOW I'm going to regret using that term later).
Last Thursday I had an appointment with my GP to discuss giving a 'sample'. I wasn't quite sure what would happen on the day and despite thinking that I was perfectly cool with it, I was a bit more nervous than I realised.
So much so, that I did something that I will never figure out until the day I die. I went to the doctors office wearing these...


I just know that the doctor was thinking that it was no surprise that I hadn't managed to impregnate anyone if this was the sort of coordination I have.

To make a long story short, in true Dutch style, I was there just to make an appointment to make an appointment to make an appointment, and the 'sample' will be handed over on February 27th. (8am for those who want to put it in their diary)

Now for the killer, while I was there, the GP handed me a lab form to take with me, and a 'container' in which to bring the 'sample'. Now, I'm no expert in these matters, and I'm certainly no porn star, but I have to say that as soon as I clapped eyes on this 'container' my heart sank, most likely along with my sperm count. Take a look at it and tell me what is not quite right...


Am I the only one who thinks that it's a bit... er... small?

Well at least I've two and a half weeks to work on my aim.