The Almighty Snip

I trust no one.

What type of cold blooded heartless people would lie to me about something like this.

A feeling that I will experience and I will know without a doubt that they have lied. These trusted advisors use little misleading descriptions like, “uncomfortable” and “not too bad”. That is like describing someone experiencing the Stigmata as “eccentric” or “a little bleedy”. There is probably more detail to be conveyed.

I have tried to reconcile these lying liars but I don’t know if it is possible. Some betrayals are too great.

Although to be fair, once I became a parent, I would tell other monogamous couples that they should probably have kids because reproducing things that scream and poop up to their shoulder blades is next to Nirvana. Just like newly-weds toss symbols of marriage (garters and bouquets) to single people who jump and fight to be the next in line for a life-long commitment. We are biologically built to dupe others into the next stage of life. Misery loves company right?

Seriously, men think about this. Dating is alluring because of the thrill of the hunt, ask a girl out and get a phone number. Feel the rush! Date this girl and eventually you will define the boundaries or limits to her “liking” you. What could be next? See if she would marry you. Awesome! She said yes! Another feather in the cap but you realize that you are now married and your buddies are still living it up as bachelors. The only answer is to glorify marriage and get those bastards locked down so you can stop hearing about late nights that turn Legen… –Wait for it – dary!

Kids are the same cycle. Somewhere in the insomnia and sleep deprivation your brain gets starved for energy and eats the only thing it can find to stay alive; Your pride and ambitions. You don’t have a need to prove yourself through offspring because they have sprung. There is no physical “next step” in which to lure your friends. The only feasible goal is to prevent whatever sex drive you have from digging you deeper into the hole of life. (My personal shovel is reproduction and that son-of-a-bitch is a sharp shooter. It dug me right into four kids before I knew what was happening.)

People I am close with understood that I was ready to take some steps to stop having kids. Many had been through the sterilization point in their life and shared the experience with me. I didn’t know they were luring me towards a path they had taken using bold face unmitigated outright fucking lies.

Just to be clear. This is about a vasectomy. Permanent birth control via snipping some unmentionables in the old man sack. Feel free to stop here and call it good. Short summary => The procedure happened.

See. No surprises. You can leave if you want to.

For the people who like to watch a train wreck or may need one of these procedures one day….Let’s get going.

Here are the facts.

We reached a point in our family growth (4 constantly crying girls) where we felt that our home was complete (busting at the seams with only three bedrooms for six people) and we decided that more children were just not part of our plan. So family-doctor-mom sets up consult with a professional scrotal fondling doctor. We go to the consult and sign papers that we both are required by law to be present for and get the standard pamphlet. Fun pictures of dear old dad in mild discomfort on a recliner while Mary Tyler Moore brings him a plate of fresh apples. Big red swollen and painful apples.

The doctor wants to know if I have any questions. It is hard to think of intelligent questions for the man who was just holding your balls. I try not to focus on too much technical details and more along the lines of what will I feel and how can I keep from feeling any of that.

Dr: Do you have any questions?

Me: I am going to be numb right?

Dr: We will be using a localized agent that will allow us…

Me: N-u-m-b. No Feeely. This is a yes or no question.

Dr: … Yes you will be numb. There will be parts that are uncomfortable like when we cross from one cavity through the wall to the….

Me: BLAH BLAH BLAH *Fingers in my ears* BLAH BLAH

Dr: Are you done?

Me: Numb?

Dr: Yes. Numb.

Me: Okay. Perfect. See you in a week.

We get the instructions and shopping list. Tight pants. Jock Strap. I say we because this is a fun family experience.

I haven’t shopped for a jock strap in decades but the old questions come right back in. Which way does this thing go? Is this one big enough or too small? I’m totally confused by the end of the trip and I think I just bought some padding and stretchy boxer briefs at about a size too small. Step one complete-ish.

Surgery prep requires you shave your “area” to make things easier on the staff. Oh God. The staff. What staff will this be? Women nurses, men nurses, I don’t even want the doctor in there longer than he has to be. I hadn’t considered the show that I might become. This is rapidly getting worse. I shave everything off. All the nooks and crannies got the military buzz cut. Actually, one place kind of caught in the clipper teeth and I had two cuts very near the work area. Hope those aren’t a problem. (Note to men: Don’t paper-cut your sack. = Awful.)


We show up near the end of the day and it is a farewell from my loving family before my walk down the grey mile. I am the last patient of the day and they all know my name and procedure. They usher me into a room with a Male Assisting Nurse (M.A.N.) who gives me the low-down on what we will be doing here today. I have heard this speech several times but this time I listen to the speaker. He has an effeminate tone in his voice that suggests he doesn’t mind being a man and holding other men’s balls all day. And he likes to talk. I love to talk most of the time but today I am in more of a reflective/scared of scalpels mood. Just cradle me sensitive man, we will get through this.

I sit. The infamous stirrup chair. Ladies should have great pleasure knowing that one day your man will meet the stirrup chair. Enjoy this part.

I ask the M.A.N. if we are ready to begin and he says “Sure, just drop your pants and undies there and hop right up on this little table for me. We’ll get things ready for the doctor so it will go nice and fast.” I imagine a ninja running by with a katana.

I do as he asked because I don’t have much of a choice at this point. I climb up into the cold metal framework and slide my feet into stirrups. I sit in the chair with no pants. Like some weird biological radar tower. Center stage. My prison for the next 30-45 minutes. Looking around I notice that the window blinds on two sides of the room are wide open. I wave to the nice Hispanic gentleman mowing the lawn on a zero turn John Deere. Sweet mower and that wide brimmed hat is a good idea too. He smiles. I wave.

“Do they usually close the blinds?” I try to ask casually.

“Nah it is the third floor, nobody is looking up here.” Except lawn maintenance personnel apparently. Oh well.

“Okay” I feel I need to make another small suggestion, “Shouldn’t there be a curtain between here and the hallway or can we close the main door?”

I don’t want to scare innocent people in the hallway.

He giggles, “Sorry about that.” He closes a curtain in front of the door. “Silly me.”

Another male nurse M.A.N.2 pops into the room with a starter kit. M.A.N.1 starts to prep me for the procedure. He pulls out a bottle of iodide solution which, I remember from my childhood, stains your skin orange and really burns in small accidental cuts. Did I mention small accidental cuts somewhere else? Yeah, I remember those now. He gets a drippy swab of it ready and says, “It’s Oompa Loompa Time!”. He paints everything on my undercarriage Oompa Loompa orange. He enjoys it entirely too much. I feel like a living room wall getting repainted and he is the perfectionist who never thinks that the last coat is enough to get the job done.

Second part of prep is to secure anything that may get in the way of the procedure. I’m sure you can figure out what “anything” is and they secure “anything” by taping it to your leg.

Then you wait. With your penis taped to your leg and your undercarriage shaved bald and painted safety orange. I could double as a marker for an emergency exit.

The doctor gives you a good ten minutes to let all the shame and pride and whatever else has been hanging around fall to the floor with the used orange cottonballs. That is the longest I can remember having my naked ass hoisted to eye level, painted orange, taped into position, and then left to wait. Ever. If there was a shred of dignity left, it died that day.

The doctor enters with M.A.N.3 carrying instruments and M.A.N.2 with the needles and drugs. Oh God Bless M.A.N.2! Let’s get those drugs going. “Is there some sort of mind erasing hypnotic?” I wonder.

M.A.N.1 asks, “Would you like the mirror to see what’s going on?”

I stutter through a response, “What the f….Hell no. What kind of person wants to watch this?”

“Sometimes the wives like to watch.”

I bet they do. Sadists.

“No mirror. Just. No. Why would a sick.. Nevermind.”

Doctor starts laying out instruments like my kids arrange My Little Ponies. I’m thinking to myself, “Playtime Yay! You with the drugs, get to numbing something up.”

M.A.N.2 reads my mind and pulls out the syringe and sets it down. Dammit. I want to be totally out of service below the belt before he cuts but they seem to have different plans. The Doc and his three M.A.N.’s gather around me and once more go through the procedure. This borders on harassment or cruel and unusual punishment. Cutting, uncomfortable, more cutting, tugging, stitches. All done. Ready to roll. Got it.

Doc picks up the pain shot and injects it into the cutting area. He sets the syringe down and in the same motion picks up a scalpel and ninja swipes my man sack. SWEET JESUS DOC! Not even a count to five and let things get good and ready, just straight to work for this go-getter.

“Woah, felt that. Should I feel that?”

“Maybe a little more anesthesia?”

“Are you asking me? Because I’m going to say yes regardless. You are the professional here you keep me alive but take me to the edge.”

“Okay a little more then.”

This time I get a ten second window and it seems successful. A few seconds later as things get more involved I realize I am not totally numb.

I remember in third grade when I fell and straddled the balance beam. Exact same feeling. I am going to puke.

M.A.N.3 is dabbing my forehead with wet rags while the doctor is telling me things I don’t want to hear. “Hmmm, well I can’t give you more numbing medicine. You have had a lot already.” Or “That’s odd….” Or “Wow there is a lot of blood here.”

I need a seatbelt to keep me from falling into the floor. The doctor keeps cutting something and checking with me, “Can you feel that?”


“Can you feel this?”


“What about this?”

“Dammit are you the Verizon guy? I can HEAR YOU NOW! Just finish.”

“I’m going to have to just hurry and finish.”

“That would be great. Just clip it with some garden shears and shoot me in the head.”

Chatter box M.A.N.1 is trying to keep my mind elsewhere and asks me about my family. It makes me dislike them a little to think of them while I am being dissected.

The rest of the procedure is fuzzy for me. I remember being packed like a fragile Fed-Ex package. M.A.N.1 walks me out to the waiting area and talks with my wife and our youngest baby, Lady Bug. All I want to do is leave and never come back. He hands my wife a bag with two empty cups for follow-up specimens to make sure the procedure was effective. It felt effective.


For the uninformed, the follow-up procedure is a check of fertility. You bring in a sample in a cup and it has to still be warm. I live fifteen minutes away and put in five for parking so I wasn’t sure if twenty minutes still counted as fresh for “baby batter”. The only other option was the bathroom stall at the doctor’s office. I was in a hurry that day and opted for the office. I could face a stranger easier than my own kids who would no doubt be looking under the bathroom door wondering why I am standing up but not peeing. “Hurry up daddy I need more juice, change the channel, she hit meeee.” Yeah the doctor’s office would be a better environment.

Fast Forward.

I emerge from the restroom with my warm cup in-hand and stroll up to the front desk.

“Can I help you?”

I lean in a softly say, “I have a sample for doc, for my vasectomy”

She leans back in her chair and yells across the office, “KATHY! SEMEN CUP! She can help you at the next desk.”

A lady that I assume is Kathy comes out smiling and takes the sample from me. She is holding it like it is coffee or something while I had held it like nuclear waste. I wonder if she could tell if I was a home or office donor. Did it feel too warm? Her words were buzzing at me but my mind is finished for the day and I nod and leave.

The first sample came back negative for sperm and the second cup will never be used. I am willing to chance another kid. If I ever have to get something worked on down there again there will be a fully blown large gauge IV, breathing tube, and constant dripping drugs to knock me into Neverland.

To the unsuspecting husbands being directed into vasectomy by their wife, this post is for you. Whatever she tells you about the female forms of birth control. For the man, they cut your balls. You’re welcome.

-Underdaddy to the rescue.

Was my Black Friday Experience Influenced by Ferguson Controversy?

Are Ferguson and Black Friday Related?

You may be asking me, “How the hell can you go down a slippery slope of reasoning and tie these two things together? One is a volatile discussion of justice and lingering race issues while the other is a mega-shopping holiday where people trample each other for things that are almost on sale.” I know right? Lets read on and find out.

Maybe I will compare the rioting and irrationality of large crowds?

Perhaps media misrepresentation of what they (whoever they is) want you to believe and what reality is?

No, I don’t have time for that deep thinking philosophical stuff. I will just take a few moments out of your day and let you know some of my thoughts on the issues at hand. As mentioned in the title; Black Friday and Ferguson.

First is Black Friday. We all want to sit on the moral high horse by telling people to be mad at the retailers for not closing their doors and sending workers home to be with their family for the holidays. My goodness, what is this crazy world coming to? No respect for the families. Blah, bubbity blah.

Some simple logic here should clear things up.
1) Some people don’t want to be around family for longer than a brisk lunch. Uncle Ted and his godawful foot odor might be making everyone uncomfortable and work is the only valid excuse. Don’t ruin that excuse.
2) Some people want to work and get the holiday/overtime pay. During the actual holiday work should be easier with a higher holiday pay scale. While I understand that some people have a hard time changing jobs and need their jobs, there is always the option of leaving a job that demands too much. Plus I think the Department of Labor has some regulations to address how workers are treated.
3) If people would stay home and not shop, I guarantee retailers wouldn’t feel the need to be open or fully staffed. Judging by the parking lot of Wal-Mart, at 6:00pm on Thursday, there are thousands of people who are fully supportive of the whole Black Friday event.
4) If we all were really that concerned about being able to spend time with family and congregate then maybe we should look into finding more opportunity throughout the year. Counting on Thanksgiving to knock out the obligatory annual visit sounds like a crutch to me.

So Black Friday is a thing that is not going away unless we ignore it. Does everyone agree?

Of course not but lets move on to Ferguson.

Like everything ever, this has become a partisan political issue and the most convenient way to really get everyone tuned in is to make it about more than a result of poor decisions but to add in race and let the hate flow. As people we all need to remember one thing, the majority of all other people are caring, reasonable, and hopeful. Moderate people don’t speak out as often or as loud as the two ends of the spectrum.

The first end of the spectrum is that the riots in Ferguson are by a bunch of welfare recipients who just want to be violent and hate white people for no good reason. They believe the victims of police shootings are always monsters who asked for what they got. If they weren’t a bunch of Godless thugs out mugging old ladies in the Kroger parking lot then none of this would have happened. The general idea or tone can be seen here.

The opposite end of the opinion spectrum is the idea that some global conspiracy is in effect and that the only victims are minorities. Law enforcement is run by some secret white agenda and white authority figures sit in the bushes looking for innocent minorities to gun down in the street. This side would have you believe the world is still black and white with no in between. The general idea of tone can be seen here.

"African American" Friday Ad

“African American” Friday Ad

I did have a chance to read the transcript from the Grand Jury witnesses as well as the police officer involved. It sounds to me like there were a lot of questionable decisions on both sides. Neighborhood witness confirm the story of Michael Brown being confrontational and advancing on the police officer. However, the testimony from Darren Wilson makes me curious why he didn’t wait a few minutes. He states that he knew other officers were in the area and would respond after he radioed out to them (using a radio on the wrong channel). Maybe he did feel smaller and threatened by an aggressive and larger man. Maybe he had some small-man-syndrome and wanted to assert his authority. This wouldn’t be the first time that male ego has gotten people killed.

My takeaway here is two-fold; 1) Don’t attack an armed police officer and 2) If you are a police officer and you feel outmanned and help is nearby, ask for help before chasing an aggressive man that you have already shot at and who showed no regard for deadly force. He might not be in his right mind.
For the people who argue that there are hundreds of other cases deserving of outrage and rioting but are getting no media coverage… I agree one hundred percent! Go be outraged and riot! Right or wrong, the difference with Ferguson is that people are actually rioting and being outraged. Don’t scale your emotion based on who is paying attention, if you are mad then go be mad.

Maybe don’t burn down businesses in your own neighborhood though. If it were me I would probably riot near the people I was mad at and not in my own front yard.

Now see… I have gotten somewhat off track. This is all related to Black Friday too and a message of hope. I didn’t tell you that at first but following two subjects has taken some mental effort on your part so I wanted to reward you. There is light at the end of the tunnel.

Back to business. So Ferguson inevitably brings up some old dirty laundry around cases like Rodney King, the OJ Simpson Trial, and even the recent Trayvon Martin. The bitter race war of feelings and angst really get down to what hate is all about. If you look close enough there is a difference emerging.

I have noticed more people engaging each other on Facebook and social media. There are the normal hate filled troll comments from both ends but the good folks in the middle are being quicker to stand up and say this isn’t what I represent. There seems to be more understanding that discussion is different than argument. Maybe more people understand that disagreeing is not the same as disliking. Maybe the world is slightly more grey. We have made strides from our problems in the past and the setbacks from events like this will be less and less if we keep moving forward.

How does that relate to my Black Friday experience?

This year my wife and I had babysitters and some free time to join in the madness. We agreed beforehand that we had nowhere to be and no expectations. Just cruise around and grab deals as they come along. We had a good time and I think we found some good deals. We also tried to smile, be polite, and help people when we got the chance.

Everyone else seemed to be doing the same. Some people were stressed and mad for sure but the level of rude was down. I don’t have any answers but I think I have interesting questions.

Is it possible that a little controversy and discussion is helpful to remind us that the human race should be a team? Can accusations of racism make people more aware of how they interact with others? Can accusations of abuse of power make authority figures more cautious of how they interact with others? Is it the slightest bit possible that love as a response to hate can make hate self-destruct?

It feels good to think it might.

If world peace happened tomorrow we would still have common enemies of disease, hunger, and asteroids. I hope my girls can grow up in a world that puts more energy into important problems and stops looking to divide people into groups. We all have to read, think, and be open to discussions.
I’ll work on my end where I get the chance, if you need to work on yours then this article is for you. You’re welcome.

-Underdaddy to the rescue.

Author’s Note: Feel free to reblog or share if you think this view is right or wrong. I always want outside opinion. Please hold any hateful comments unless it is purely directed at me, I can take that just fine. Please reference this post for comments.

ABC World Champion

Modern society puts a lot of pressure on parents to fast-track their kids into growing up. Everyday tasks are only impressive if they are done at a young age so the vibe out there is sort of: “Everybody out there with young children better get going on teaching reading, potty training, vocabulary, sports, and ‘second place is the first loser’. Pick it up already! My God, if we don’t have all these kids ready to out-learn China in the next century we might be forced into slavery under the communist’s rule. Red Blooded Americans Unite! I’m telling you if we don’t get these ABC’s learned by two years old, the terrorists have won.”

This is how marketing companies make me feel. If I bought into the hype I would believe that any child who learns the ABC’s early enough will be automatically accepted to an Ivy League school. The same with counting in a foreign language. All my Spanish counting knowledge has helped me with is realizing when Cinco De Mayo should be celebrated. I hope there is a checkbox on the application to point out these landmark accomplishments.

Maybe I need some professional kid teaching help? Look at this packaging it says everything you need to know. Baby+Photoshop Hat = Awesome!

Lifetime Success Only $59.99

Lifetime Success Only $59.99

We started hammering the alphabet with child One, determined to do things right. That had to include “Your Baby Can Read” because everyone who is anyone has a baby who can read, right? I don’t know if you have experienced this DVD series but I think my children needed the remedial course, “Your Baby Can Concentrate” or “Ooooh Shiny Colors” because they watched about 45 seconds of the first video. They can watch mindless kid shows like Spongebob all day but one round of the video was plenty. Also, I don’t know who those poser-ass kids were in the commercial or how long it must have taken to get them to memorize the queue cards but they are lies. Don’t show me some cute girl in thick glasses reading ‘War and Peace’ and make me feel like my three year old should be doing our taxes. This program is akin to a diet plan fine print, “Results Not Typical”. The best part about the whole thing is that the PhD behind it, Titzer, had his own difficulties with the program.

Titzer is an awful last name. Could his mother not read?

Titzer is an awful last name. Could his mother not read?

That was a bust so what should we do now? Oh wait…. Look at this! A fun website called “ABC Mouse” and it has real teachers in the commercial. I’m sold. There is curriculum and incentive programs so it has a better chance of holding attention. ABC Mouse is moderately better than pretending to teaching toddlers to read. Of course, my kids discover the non-learning activities like re-arranging a virtual hamster cage and repeatedly trying to hack the parent password until the iPad freezes. ABC Mouse has a cool reading section where the words are highlighted as it reads them aloud. The kids paid attention to it for a full half story before they resumed tearing the Baby-Can-Read flash cards into confetti.

Let’s all tell the truth here. The world gets a little less exciting for the parents once the kids can read. Doesn’t it? This painful light bulb of truth clicked on one afternoon. My wife and I enjoy funny T-shirts because that is the only hobby we can afford. My eldest daughter walks into our room and stares at her mother’s shirt quizzically while she sounds out the words, “Taaat, Thhhaat…. That’s What She Said.” I glance over at my wife and try to choke down a smile. “Mommy why does your shirt say That’s What She Said?”. Mommy answers with some fumbled response about women always being right so men need to remember who said something… I didn’t really hear the rest because I was in the closet… changing my shirt.

I can live with PG T-shirts maybe that will be the only issue. Wrong. Another area where reading isn’t so handy is the Direct TV channel guide. Randomly scrolling through the page down button and suddenly there are fifty channels in a row with titles like “Lesbian Love Lust” and “Hard Cock Farms.” Try to explain that with a six year old reading along… “I think it is about chickens honey, really firm chickens. And farms. Hey! Who wants to watch Dora!”

Don’t believe me? Check out the awesome titles I captured at a creepy 10:30 am. This was not a search or special menu, this was me hitting the Page Down button repeatedly like a child.

Nice mid-morning programming.

Nice mid-morning programming.

This photo says a lot about humanity.

This photo says a lot about humanity.

Personally, I was worried that Dirty Rotten MILF Lovers #4 would saturate the market but the people wanted more. One show is more of a description and why are so many of them series? I’m spending too much time on this. So yeah, no scrolling through the guide until you are at least thirty years old. I hope there is a way to remove these channels from even showing up. Moving on.

With a reading six or seven year old even innocent places and normal activities become a problem. Grocery tabloids are just another layer in the onion that we call literacy. “Mommy, what is ‘gay’?” “Mommy, what is sexy?” “Mommy, why did aliens kidnap Betty White?”

I want my children to have a love for reading but I don’t want the responsibility of censoring myself or screwing them up if I don’t. I long for the days of making up my own words to Dr. Seuss stories and texting dirty messages to my wife. Sooooo….

If you are the parents of a child who achieved literacy at a young age, that was probably a good decision. Good work. If you threw in the towel like we did, this post is for you. You’re welcome.

Underdaddy to the rescue.