Mission Impossible…and other movie mayhem

Hi kids.

It’s been a very strange few days really…you know that saying “stop the world, I want to get off”…well its been a bit like that really. Its been like a really bad cheap movie trailer…cue dude with deep gravelly voice and American accent…”From the man who brought you ‘I’ve got sod all to do’ and the sequel ‘Jeez how’m I supposed to cram that all in to the next week’ comes ‘Rollercoasters have nothing on this ride’. Like the Phoenix from the Ashes, like the Raising of the Titanic, from the Depths of Despair, Hope raised them up…”

Hmmm…okay, sorry about that, feeling in a very strange mood tonight…developing a tri-polar personality – what’s ‘tri-polar’?…well I’m glad you asked…its a lot more complicated than bi-polar…its like I’m actually feeling happy and positive, but sarcky and dramatic, or feeling so down and depressed all I can do is laugh at myself…it’s a pukka clinical term, honest…it is….really….oh all right…it’s nonsense…I just made it up!! But I am in a drama queen kind of mood (like I was on Tuesday morning, but I’m getting ahead of myself).

Your mom’s out for book club this evening – crickey it seems to come around quickly. So, I spend all day at home alone, then she’s out all evening, and she was out all evening last night with the work Christmas function. To be honest, she did come home at a reasonable hour this afternoon and spent some time with me and gave me a jab before she rushed of to drink and laugh and chat with her new friends…so here I sit…you two, me and the computer I use to talk to you…

It’s been a busy few days of work, work which I hate with a passion, work I can only drive myself to complete at the 11th and a half hour…if it wasn’t for the deadlines I’d never get this kind of work done. So that has been distracting me a bit…I get that Sunday night feeling every single night from the time this kind of work comes in, but that still doesn’t mean I knuckle down and get it done asap…nope, not your dad…no, I let it fester, like a big suppurating boil on your back, just out of reach, but always in the way, never letting you get comfortable. I delay and delay, doing any other conceivable (and some not so conceivable) chores…anything not to have to do THAT work. Then the deadline approaches and then its’ all ‘Oh shit, I’m running out of time, how the hell did that happen’…and then I’ve gotta work all day and all night for 48 hours to get it done before the deadline….will I never learn?? No. Not really. I work best under pressure (that’s why your mom takes the top during sex….only joking).

When last I spoke to you two, I was about to head off to our first appointment with the new FS. But before I tell you about that whole saga, let’s go back a few days earlier…like they do in the movies….this’ll be like a little 2 part miniseries…”This week on XXX“… cue subtitle…”Four days earlier…

It’s Friday, your mom hops out of bed at the ridiculous hour she does every morning so that she can beat the manic traffic into town. I rouse slowly, knowing exactly what she’s doing, where she is in her morning routine, based on the distinctive clatter or bang she’s making at the time.  I watch her blow-dry her hair in the bay window (I roll over every morning to make sure I can have my pervy eyeful of her before she gets dressed). Before I know it, she’s kissing me good-bye and I’m rolling over and going back to sleep. Then I jerk awake realising I never got a few photos of her this morning to aid me with my SA like I cleverly did last time…damn. Oh well….roll over and go back to sleep.

Alarm goes off just over an hour later and I do my usual morning thing…I slowly surface, the natter of the radio slowly penetrating the dull fog…until it’s Whackhead Simpson time…that gets me hopping out of bed like a paranoid frog on a hot coal…gotta turn the radio off before I hear that supremely irritating twit’s nasal voice – the unfunniest guy ever to make a living supposedly out of comedy. Right, I’m up, its into the shower, no time to waste – got a busy action-packed morning ahead of me. I’m shortly reversing out the garage, heading off to the local Medi-Clinic – it’s blood test day.

The nurse at the pathology lab is super…she’s so chatty and upbeat. She always asks how things are going. I tell her this is the big one…she better be sucking up great big bags full of testosterone with a bit of blood thrown in..we need this result to show an overwhelming increase in my T levels. I tell her she should go into the oil business – my veins are like the tokolshe – people are convinced they’re there somewhere, but no-ones ever seen them. I’ve had nurses run out of those little balls of cotton wool from trying to cover the 94 holes they’ve just poked in me hunting for those elusive veins…but not this nurse…first time every time…and it’s always a gusher…she needs split second timing to make sure I don’t blast the bottom of the vial off it fills up so quickly…she’s missed her calling (although I’m thankful she’s wound up where she is).

Then it’s back down to the car, music on, driver and passenger windows down (no aircon in my little run-around and its a gorgeous day in Cape Town) and it’s off down Durban Road heading towards the N1, heading south of the boerewors curtain. It’s off to the clinic for another SA.

As I’m coming down Durban road, I remember my failure to get an ‘inspirational’ photo or two this morning…although it occurs to me that I recently replaced my cellphone with the bottom of the range cheapest one I could find, a cellphone that doesn’t even have proper ring tones – every time it rings its like I been transported back to the early 90’s. (Actually, the reason I have this cheap crappy phone is that your mom trashed her phone and being the kind-hearted generous soul that I am, I gave her my decent phone and got the cheapie replacement – who said chivalry’s dead?). My phone doesn’t have a camera (shock horror I know), and probably couldn’t view a photo if it tried…so that’s a non starter really.

As I’m approaching the junction with the N1, I remember a conversation I had with your mom after the last SA…said I was gonna pop in to Adult World and get a real porn magazine and leave it in the Andrology Room of the clinic when I was done…then place bets on whether it was still there the next time I went. Or contrive a place to hide it in there and a way if letting other users know about its secret location…

So, on the spur of the moment, I thought…F*ck it…live a little…I’m gonna go there and buy something.

They’re a funny place really. On a fairly busy street, great big neon signs proclaiming what they are…this feeling that you should be wearing a trench coat, hat and dark glasses to be seen walking in there…and then these really ordinary helpful people behind the counter… if I was them , I would be looking at everyone walking in there thinking ‘Bloody Perv’ or ‘Saddo’ or, looking at some of the things for sale, ‘Sicko’ or whatever else seemed appropriate. So I had a super quick wonder round…why do I feel embarrassed when I’m looking around and suddenly find myself in the gay section…I don’t know…but I’m suddenly checking to see if anyone noticed I’d inadvertently crossed into there – I hightail it over to the heterosexual section quick quick…shew nobody noticed…they don’t think I’m gay… hang on…why do I care what they think…what happened to this new thick-skinned me…I have no problem with guys doing that sort of thing…whatever floats your boat…it’s your body, your life…whatever makes you happy…it’s just not my cuppa tea that’s all…

Unfortunately, all the mags are plastic wrapped…makes choosing your first over the counter porn magazine purchase a lot more difficult!! Still, I pick one and after paying (and having it wrapped in the obligatory brown paper bag) I make a point of walking down the gay aisle on my way out – eyes front so that they still don’t think that’s my thing…but I’ve made my point dammit!

Back in the car, onto the motorway and down to the clinic. Find some parking. Deep breathes. Remember, nothing to be embarrassed about. No thick jersey on this time – remember the problem with the heating last time…nice and cool, t-shirt and tracksuit bottoms…cool as a cucumber. Jokingly told your mom booking this SA was just a ploy to get to see Miss Gorgeous Lab Technician again…not going to be red in the face when I see her this time!!

Waltz up the stairs, head to the counter. There’s a guy standing at the counter with no wife/girlfriend/significant other next to him or in the waiting room…HA.. I know what you’re going to be doing/have very recently done…you dirty pervert!! No, only joking. Stand patiently waiting for him to finish filling in his paperwork…He looks up at the receptionist and says…’Is being married a disease?’ I chuckle appreciatively…I asked the same question on our first visit…can’t remember the exact wording, but “Married Y/N” is under the “Diseases/Ailments” heading. The receptionist looks at the two of us as if we’ve just crawled out from under a rock…oh well. She pointedly picks up the phone and says something to the person on the other end about a ‘Test 1’…jeez wonder what that is? Guy lab technician sticks his head round the door and takes Mr Comedian through with him and I notice the brown paper bag he’s trying to carry as if it’s not really there…hmm, he’s come prepared…not going to be visiting the Andrology room before me then. Now he’s gone, the receptionist arches her eyebrows my way…and I think to myself…bugger it, I’ll show you…so I say in a loud firm voice…”I’m Mr X, I’m here for a semen analysis”…how brave and bold I am (but between you and me, there was no-one else in the waiting room and the other receptionist wasn’t there either – so there was just the two of us, but still, it felt like a minor victory).

So I sit down and wait…wondering when Miss Gorgeous Lab Technician is going to poke her cure little face round the door and call my name..

Unfortunately, it appears it’s not her shift. Guy Lab Technician comes to get me. Takes me through to the lab and seems a little surprised I haven’t come with my sample pre-packaged – seems I’m the exception not the rule. So he gives me my instructions, the sterile container and a pencil for completing my details on the side of the container…and off I trundle. He reminds me of the dude from CSI Las Vegas…what’s his name…oh yeh, he reminds me of  Hodges…lab tech, soft spoken, seems sweet…maybe I should have picked him up something while I was in ‘that’ aisle in Adult World…jeez, why do I always jump to conclusions when a guy is neat, tidy, presentable and soft-spoken…I can’t answer that one, but experience tells me I’m not often wrong…

I lock myself in to the Andrology Room, have a quick look at the ‘inspirational materials’ they’ve provided before I bother to dig in my backpack for my own magazine. Hmm, seems the FHM swimsuit edition they had last time has gone…someone from a museum has probably removed it for carbon-dating…they’re probably analysing the molecular structure of the papyrus used in its manufacture as we speak. There’s a new FHM…this one’s nowhere near as old as the last one…this one only dates back to the Victorian era…the swimsuits are head to toe stripy things with little bathing caps…not going to be much use!! So I get out my brand new vacuum-packed hot-off-the-press too-hot-to-handle magazine – that’ll do the trick…

It’s then that a few things dawn on me:

Firstly, I should have checked the date on the magazine before I bought it…1980’s pornstar mustache’s are not a turn on – specially when it’s the women who’ve got them!!

Secondly, I only have two hands…one for the sterile container and one for…well…you know what. How the bloody hell am I supposed to flip through the magazine??? And as for those fold out bits…they’re a nightmare to navigate when you have both hands for the job…this poxy magazine is more of a nuisance and distraction than a help!

Thirdly, no matter the inspirational material at hand, listening to the lady cleaning the teacups and saucers in the sink just 23 cm’s behind my head  is not conducive to an erotic atmosphere…

In the end, it was the ‘lay back and think of England approach’…just try and shut out everything about where I am and why I’m here…sort of masturbatory meditation.

I now realise why they insist on a minimum of two days abstinence before an SA…its got absolutely nothing to do with sperm quality and quantity…it’s because if they didn’t, under these sorts of conditions, we would all be Tom Cruise undertaking a mission impossible!!

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~ by HopelesslyTTC on 03/12/2009.

3 Responses to “Mission Impossible…and other movie mayhem”

  1. You are so funny – I love how you just made 2 very embarrassing situations so damned funny.. Oh, and good on you for announcing out loud that you were there for an SA! I see so many men come in there all the time and sort of mutter under their breaths… And my DH is no exception – except that he’s not as brave as you are – he does his little deed at home and rushes to the clinic! Ag shame… So did you leave the mag there??????????

  2. Ahh now, that would be telling…tell your hubby to have a search round in there next time…lol

  3. *chuckle* – I think I’ll do just that!!!

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