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Thursday, April 29, 2004 "Whew, that was fast," Pam said as I brought the little vial down to her. Well, what can I say? She stuck the vial in her skin-tight jeans (you have to keep it warm) and blasted off to the clinic to drop it off. You have to drop it off between precisely 10 & 10:15 because they come to pick it up and whisk it off to the lab at precisely 10:30. The doctor, the guy who performed the heinous, medieval operation on my nutsack, called me the next day. "I just want to discuss your results." I called him back. "Hey, you're a genius, by the way. Everything worked out great." "Oh, good, I'm glad. Well, I'm going to have to get you to give me another sample...in about a month...maybe early June..." "Why? What's the deal?" Three sperm. Three little guerilla warriors, who hung out for two months, hiding in some corner of the network of tubes and wiring, waiting for their chance, then blasting off-- into the cup. I respect these sperm. "The good news is," the doctor says, "that means it worked. If it hadn't worked, there'd be millions. But we're going to have to wait to make sure you're completely cleaned out." *sigh* never thought I would feel impatient to be sterile... Monday, April 26, 2004 day 4 of abstention from ejaculation. for some reason I have to abstain from ejaculation before filling the little cup-- well, perhaps not *filling* it-- to send it to the sperm-testing centre to confirm that I, David Eddie, am 100 percent sterile human being. and I can have sex with absolutely no fear of impregnating Pam. Because I can no longer impregnate women, being sterile... 4 days, phew... Me so horny... Pam in true suburban fashion bought skin-tight jeans yesterday. She looked very hot and teenagerish in them, and I was all over her like white on rice...or brown on brown rice...or black on Thai black sticky rice... Yeah, I was all over her like black on Thai black sticky rice... I am blessed, or perhaps cursed, to be married to a woman I find sexier all the time. Blessed, definitely. Pam reminds me that after the initial rush of mutual heavy-breathing interest, after we started living together, I went through a longish period of seeming not too interested. I remember that, too. I don't remember why...she was as beautiful, statuesque, and whatever as ever. Maybe it was me. I don't know what's going on, but those days-- of having some sort of tepid response to Pam-- seem gone forever. I don't know how usual it is. It doesn't...seem to be all that usual. Men obviously don't like to talk about it, but they do *hint* about it, and it seems that most marriages tend to settle into a spot where the man is more interested than the woman. Why? Because the woman is more tired, and almost always seems irritated, by her spouse. I've gotta keep Pam happy & well-rested. That is my mission, and now that I'm shooting blanks perhaps a new dawn will break, our sex life will rise like a Phoenix from Arizona, and this vasectomy will turn out to be the best thing I ever did. Wednesday, April 21, 2004 on the way back from dropping Nick off @ school, soccer Mom w/two kids in a wagon asks me: "Hey, are you busy May 1? You're going to The Event, right?" Me (stumped, staring blankly, eyes bloodshot): "Uh...what event?" Her (with surprised, tsk-tsking chuckle): "*The* event. The Pancake Breakfast and Silent Auction. We're hoping Pam can MC..." And she hands me a flyer... 9 a.m. - 1 p.m. Saturday. To benefit the school. I don't have the heart to tell her that I'm back in my 20s again, and that we twentysomethings usually spend our Saturday mornings in bed, moaning and groaning... Though according to Pam even saying I'm in my twenties would be pitching it a bit high, this morning... "You're like a teenager! It's like living with a teenager!" she said, with maximum exasperation... Why is she hurling these and numerous other insults at me? Because-- after very dutifully and responsibly taking out the garbage, and the recycling (both paper and cans and plastic) last night-- I went out to not one but two parties, and stayed out until 3 a.m. Stumbled home *hic* with pieces of chocolate and little airplane-bottles of booze in my pockets (the chocolate actually went a long way towards smoothing things over this a.m.), from the various gift-bags they were giving out... Like loot bags at kids' parties... "You're supposed to be writing your thing, it's way overdue!" True, true...but sometimes I wonder if the reason I am writing this thing so slowly is because I don't go out ENOUGH... I mean, I love my children, but they're not very inspiring dialogue-wise: "I want more chocolate milk!" etc it's not exactly Algonquin Round Table material... Out with...let's call her Edna St. Vincent Millay. Smart, funny, honest. A delight, as always. I can say honestly I would hang around with her if she were a fat, ugly, old dude... But does anyone buy that? *sigh* You understand, don't you, my faithful blog-readers? You know how pure of heart I am? How much I love Pam and consider her my goddess? I would never do...anything... This friendship, with Edna St. V-M, is important to me, but not for the reasons the mocking, smirking world assumes... Man, I thought she was going to make a convert last night, though, Robert "hairdresser to the stars" Gage, the gayest of gay men, was licking his chops like The Big Bad Wolf and saying to her: "Mmmm, I can't believe you're single, could it be no one is enjoying your tender parts," or something like that. I actually had to excuse myself at that point. My shrimp cocktail was starting to churn... Later Edna St. V-M pulled me into a conversation, then someone pulled HER out of it, and I stood talking to two women who must have thought I was an absolute moron, but I could not hear a word they said. God. I'm too tall. I just smiled down upon them, and nodded and laughed at place where it seemed appropriate, but I had nothing to say because I had NO IDEA what they were talking about. I could not make out a word. They kept deferring to me and waiting for me to drop in a comment but I just smiled and nodded, and looked from one face to another. It was torture... But no matter how excruciating, l can I tell right now, very simply and plainly, why I must continue to go out and mingle and see people and chat, why it is even more important now than ever, even at the risk of having "teenager" and other epithets hurled at me, by a woman I love but doesn't love me too much at that moment, glaring at me with blazing hazel eyes? Because I don't want to wind up referring to pancake breakfasts/silent auctions as The Event. Or I don't know...give up/grow up? Sunday, April 04, 2004 Great party. Patrolled by numerous semi-professional bores, though. People who corner you and launch into a schtick. Boring people don't listen. They're not fully there, they're not alive to the moment-- if your comments don't fall into their predictable, preplanned conversation-programs, they don't hear you, they only hear what they THINK you said. Sometimes I test them. This is a hypothetical, but I think it sums it up: PARTY BORE: Hey did you notice the ring Sharon was wearing? ME: Sometimes I don't even notice when someone's wearing crutches. PARTY BORE: Yeah, wow, her fiance must be loaded... Maybe it's because we're so barraged by the media. The way to grow old, I'm convinced, is to continue to listen, to listen even more attentively than ever. God preserve me from becoming an old fucking fart who launches into the well-worn grooves of numerous stock anecdotes. This is my prayer... Friday, April 02, 2004 Party last night. I'm still on the radar. Phew. Everyone read one book or other & liked them. Fuck it helps. If only they knew how much every little comment gives me, the scarred and punch-drunk author, courage to continue. Thursday, April 01, 2004 I'm back in my twenties. Maybe that's why I relate to people in their twenties so much, lately. I felt more grown-up, more successful, in my thirties. I'm a wannabe writer again-- I've regrown my literary virginity-- recently axed from his job, not really caring, just hoping to break into my profession sometime before, or around, the time I turn thirty. Eating breakfast in diners, hooking up with my friends... Thinking about dying my hair...doing radio spots, talking about books, hoping it'll raise my profile, publicity wise. Back in my twenties...I just hope I can handle it, the second time around...
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