A Surprisingly Sane Blog

Not mine.  I don’t have any, thank God.

I mean, how on earth do men stand having those things attached to their nether-regions, anyhow?  Don’t they get smacked back and forth between the thighs when their owner is strutting around proudly?  Then there’s that whole “blue balls” phenomenon (haven’t heard that one since those boring high school chemistry classes… but still, it apparently exists)… like dude, life hurts enough without those suckers adding extra pain to your day.

And I have to wonder… do they work like a leash of sorts?  Say their captain catches a glimpse of a *cough* person or object of their liking and feels a jolt or tug from their loins in response… do they sort of gravitate toward that attractive thing and yank their owners’ body in that general direction?  Is that what it means to be thinking with their second brain?  I mean, yeah, there’s the “little head” and all, but come on… we all know that it tucks away for safe keeping the majority of the time (well, once they’re not 18 anymore).  But, the Balls. The Balls are always in an alert state.  Ready for action, pulling up in quick response to flying objects, and ready to shoot their little soldiers off to battle whenever the opportunity arises.

Yes, they may make their owners proud and do their part in preserving the human race, but there is also the less-glamorous part of owning a set of balls.  From my perspective, anyway.

The itchy part. The hey, buddy, we’re hot and sweaty and developing some kind of yeast or other shit that’s making us itch… get us out of this sack, dammit!  We need air!  FRESH AIR! The sort of itch that makes their owner reach down and scratch them at any given moment, no matter how unattractive or obnoxious that moment may be.

You know, like when the batter steps up to the plate and does a quick ball grope before grasping the bat with both hands.  I mean, I doubt he’s checking to make sure his buddies are still attached.  For cryingoutloud, he’d sureashell notice if they were missing looooooong before he stepped up to home plate. It’s gotta be either an involuntary twitch, or a sudden andrenaline-induced itch.

Or, there are the times when the proud owner of a set of balls thinks no one notices as he picks at them from under the dinner table while politely engaged in a conversation with his unsuspecting dinner date.  Except, of course, some attention-deficit weirdo like me happens to catch a glimpse of this particular gesture from across the restaurant.  Caught you!

Then there is the middle of the night ball-scratching.  The kind a man does in his sleep.  Or the sort that he wakes up doing.  Like my husband does.

What must be going through his mind as he awakes from his slumber?  I can only imagine a computer geek’s dream.  Come on, guys, we’re going to have to solve this glitch in the code so we can save the universe… hey, wait a second.  Who unleashed that colony of fleas on my balls?  Not funny, guys, that itches.  Agh!  I can’t reach them to scratch!  Oh wait, wait, I think I got ‘em… score!  Oh, that feels good…

*WHACK!*

Snort-awake, “Ow, what?”.

“James, stop scratching your damn balls.  You woke me up.”

“Oh, sorry…”

…

Men. *sigh*

Can’t sleep with ‘em, can’t reproduce without ‘em.  Women, we are doomed to just put up with their itchy balls.

Let me know if you find a cure, okay?

Current Mood: Alarmed

“I had a shit accident in my pants”.

Yes, ladies and gents, this was an actual google search term from earlier today that popped up my site.  On the front page.  I am so proud.  *sniffle*

Along with the most recent runners up:

• “My shoes make farting sounds when I walk” (Sorry, they ate beans for dinner, buddy.)
  

• “Peed pants” (A penny to anyone who can figure out how that happened…)
  

• “Skanky swimsuits” (Because we all know I love to wear trashy swimwear.)
  

• “How to be fun when it’s boring” (Because apparently, I’m a load of fun.)
  

Ah, I love my stats page.  I get more amusement knowing how people find my site than I should.

Which reminds me: Whoever it is who keeps searching for my maiden name on a regular basis, quit being a stalking chicken and just fess up.  I know where you live.

Current Mood: Mischievous

Yesterday and today have been true tests of the power of Prozac.

Oh, and so was this weekend for reasons related to family issues.  Not my family.  The in-laws.  But that is just too long of a story to even get into.  They are simply not worth the stress they create or the energy it would take type out all the problems we have had with them.

Thank goodness for my new camera, which has kept me extremely busy over the last few days, or else I just may have gone off the deep end again.  And unfortunately, my therapist is out of town through the end of the month.

In other words:  The last few days have been absolute hell.

A fussy baby getting used to her helmet.  My internet connection fucking up in the middle of important things.  My computer crapping out (for real).  In-laws.  A stressed-out husband.  Insomnia.  The terrible 3-year-old stage.  My own family trying to plan a trip that works around everyone’s schedules.  Dreams that imply constant guilt over wanting what is best for myself.

All of it seems so trivial looking at it on the computer screen.  So why does it all feel like an avalanche?

Yesterday, I had one of those days that I just wanted to erase and start all over again.  I woke up early, took a shower, made myself some coffee, and settled down to start getting some work done before heading off to do the photo shoot that led to my bladder nearly rupturing all over the interior of my car.  I had made up my mind that I was not going to let the stressful weekend ruin my day.

It didn’t work.

Seconds after I poured my coffee, I realized with a panic that it was Tuesday instead of Monday, and April (who was peacefully down for her morning nap) had a doctor’s appointment for an ear infection follow-up in exactly 10 minutes.

Shit.

Down the cup of coffee.  Dump the rest of the pot in a travel mug.  Throw rudely awakened baby into carseat.  Get stuck in road block behind drivers who don’t know their anus from the steering wheel.  Show up late to appointment.  Zoom home.  Pick up camera.  Head off to photo shoot.

At least the photography part went well.  But then the bladder incident happened, I got home, and the rest of the day went something like the above scenario.  Different, but the same shit.  With a baby who refused to sleep the rest of the day, I might add.

And then this morning… oh this morning.  My internet connection crapped out, my computer tried to eat the disk I inserted, and now the damn thing is dying.  It’s on its last coughing breath, anyway, but I just really didn’t want to have to fork out the cash to buy a new one just yet.

Add all that to the fact that it’s miserably hot and sunny outside.  And the building thunderstorm just unfortunately collapsed into a burst of blue sky.  *sigh* I hate this place.

Does my job as a mom come with benefits?  Can I take a mental health day?

Current Mood: Alarmed

No, I’m not just a sick, warped fuck.  This is a true scenario that happened to me as I was driving home from doing a photo shoot for one of my websites this morning.

I should have thought twice before downing half a pot of coffee and trying to hold it until I made it home.  Bad choice.  Especially because I do still have some trouble with prolapse.

I want to know what you would have done in my situation.  As always, the results are anonymous… so you can be honest.

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And which one do you think I chose?

I’ll give you a hint… every single one of these options passed through my mind. It was a matter of choosing the lesser of all evils.

Current Mood: Alarmed

My apologies for neglecting the internet world this weekend.

I’ve been busy making love to my new camera.

And bringing the girls to the park.

And dealing with inlaws who are refusing to see us.

And teaching dance lessons.

And been trying to find the inspiration to finish a website design.

And planning a trip to Seattle.

But My God… do you see these magnificent photos my new husband takes?

Sorry, James, you’ve been replaced.  Although it’s not nearly as soft and warm and sexy as you are.

Current Mood: Happy