Apparently a vasectomy is a rite of passage.  Every man over the age of 35 around here seems to already have gotten one and gave me one of those smirking nods when they found out I scheduled one after the birth of my third son, Dragon.  And they all said the same thing: it’s really not that bad.  They said it so much I fully expected to not feel any pain at all; maybe even go golfing straight from the doctor’s office.

“It’s not so bad, Hef.  You’ll walk with a limp for a few days and then it’s smooth sailing (winks) from here on out.”
“Every man does it, Hef.  You have to do it too or you invalidate my existence.”
“It’s nothing, Hef.  I had mine done and robbed a bank immediately afterward.  It was empowering.”
“You won’t feel a thing, Hef.  (stifling a laugh) I promise it’s the easiest procedure ever.”

So with that frame of mind I began my procedure.

2 Weeks Ago: My consultation with the Urologist goes smoothly and I’m immediately reassured when I find out his name is Bigelow because if  Hollywood has taught me anything it’s that men whose names rhyme with sexy professions are better equipped to gently care for the male anatomy.  At the end of the consultation he hands me a folded over piece of paper and tells me to read it a few days before the procedure.  Then he writes me a prescription for Valium which I’m supposed to take a half hour before the procedure.  I love doctor prescribed drugs.

A few days before the procedure: I open up the piece of paper and see a graphic picture of a dick with instructions on how and where to shave my groin.  I’m happy it was folded up when he handed it to me because it’s an embarrassing thing to carry around though I wish he had told me what it was because it was in my back pocket when I dropped my son off at school.  It’s the sort of thing you don’t want to accidentally fall on the ground when you’re meeting your son’s teacher for the first time.

“Hello, Mr. Hef, I’m HeJew’s teacher.  Oh my, it appears you dropped something.  Is that a dick?!?!?” Read the rest of this entry »

Hef and his gay magician friend.

This weekend I flew out to Boston for the Mets/Red Sox series at Fenway.  And while that alone may seem like a good enough reason to go out there, I did have an ulterior motive: I had to sneak my mother’s ashes in and spread them on the field.

My mother died shortly before the 2004 World Series and I was assigned the task of spreading a portion of her ashes at Fenway.  I’m not sure why I was given the responsibility; my brother is at least as big a Sox fan as I am and he was actually awake during the ‘86 World Series against the Mets.  Plus, at that point, I had just gotten married while still in Grad school, already had a 2 year old son and had no money to my name and we had just moved to Northwest Washington.  There’s a reason it took me this long to get out to Boston.  It’s hard to get away from your young family of four (soon to be five).

When I agreed, I did so with the belief that I would never do it.  At that point, the Red Sox hadn’t yet won either of their two World Series and I had just watched a guy on the news get arrested and beaten for doing the same thing at an Eagles game.  Plus I’m not that religious and I don’t feel like there’s any sort of spiritual connection between the remains of a person and their soul so it didn’t feel like I was putting my mother’s spirit to rest in her desired resting spot.  So when I said yes, it was mostly out of a sense of duty to both my mother and my family.  And the trip would give me the opportunity to learn more about where she grew up. Read the rest of this entry »