Archive for February, 2012

Doodles #14

February 23, 2012

This next installment of my random-doodles-from-a-boring-training-class was based on a story about a gun fight between two groups of belligerents*.

From the little I was actually paying attention to the discussion, apparently the engagement involved use of hand held weapons alone.

When the speaker said the following words, this is what my mind pictured – –

a problem with definitions of 'arms'?

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*belligerents: n. people who hate someone else’s fucking guts and wants to cease their life with great prejudice.

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What she MEANT to say—

February 16, 2012

Got a twofer coupon offer in my e-mail box.

Horseback lessons.

Hmmm…

Ever since I was a kid and was thrown by a (seemingly at the time) huge horse my cousin owned, I’ve been waiting to accomplish the proverbial, “Get back on the horse.”

Also, since I have very few things I’m doing* and need yet another diversion activity, I wrangled Dear Friend into going with me.**

It.  Was.  Magic.

…and has become a pretty standard weekly activity for the two of us.***

Every lesson, I get to ride “My” horse—Izzy.    She has a mind of her own, so it’s always a battle of wills.****

One of my favorite things about Izzy is that she belches and farts at the same time.  Noisily.  Such a lady.  But, I often get blamed.

I’ve gone from being tentative (remembering that fall I took as a kid) to sort of competent in ‘driving’ my horse in a walk and trot.

It’s been great fun, though there was one moment of panic when a trot turned into an uncommanded canter (sort of like third gear for horses).  Izzy just got excited that other horses around her were cantering, so joined in.  I grabbed onto the saddle to keep from falling off and looked frantically to the instructor.  The instructor gave a little laugh and nonchalantly asked, “Going somewhere, GnuKid?”  Shit.  Guess I have to handle this myself.  Was able to get Izzy under control and release my severely clenched butt muscles from the saddle.*****

Not me (found here), but this is how it felt

It was only afterwards that I learned that, if you fall off a horse, you have to buy ice cream for anyone witnessing it (which, effectively, is the entire class).  I’m guessing the class was cheering for Izzy on that ride.

But I will continue to get back on that proverbial horse.  And learn to command that canter.  Oh, and I’ll be sure to wear a helmet…

A fun aside:  Recently, our instructor—a sweet, petite woman who has a pure heart and innocent spirit—informed us she and her family were going on vacation.  She was back yakking about the trip with Dear Friend and I was half listening while getting Izzy ready for the lesson when I heard:

“Yes, my husband is an anal packer.”

<blink…blink…blink…>

I was just about to open my mouth to comment when Dear Friend gave me ‘that look’, meaning, “If you say anything to embarrass this sweet lady, I will kill you.”

“Anal Packer” – – <silent chuckling>

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*well, other than scuba diving, skiing, motorcycle riding, flying, bicycling, drinking…

**’wrangling’ roughly equated to her running over me, climbing in the car, and hollering, “Let’s go!  We’re late!”

***…or even one of us, if the other is out and about doing someonething else.

****yes, I just admitted that a horse is giving me a run for my money, intellectually speaking.

*****I’m still picking bits of leather out of there.

Doodle #32

February 11, 2012

Once again a foray into my artistic side (said the guy who was lucky to get “C” grades in art).

A long while back, my company sent me off for some long term training to make me a better company man.  The course was all over the place — sometimes very challenging and sometimes too easy.  It was during these ‘easy’ lectures that I’d let my mind wander some.  So, occasionally, the lecturer would say something…a phrase or key word…that would just send my brain off to a strange place.  It was at these times that I felt I had to try and capture that strange place.

This is another one of those wander off pictures.  The lecturer was talking about the impact religion has on many of our customs and practices – – –

...and, yeah, i felt i had to tag my pictures so people would understand

Honestly, I do sort of wish I had a better flair with expressing what’s in my mind (it looks MUCH better there), but I get a kick out of this stuff nonetheless.

Drop Trou

February 2, 2012

It’s time once again for my annual prostate exam.

Being “mumblety-five”, I am required to submit myself (phrasing of that written on purpose) to check the tenderness and size of my prostate gland, which is up the butt a couple inches.  This exam is the first line of defense in checking for prostate cancer.

Besides being the big “C” word, which has potentially lethal results, this form of cancer can also cause sexual dysfunction.  Therefore, being in no hurry to (a) die, (b) stop having sex, (c) there is no ‘c’, and (d) all of the above, I gladly submit to this invasive and a tad humiliating examination*.

Unfortunately, I no longer have the petite and cute doc from the last exam I posted about.  Rather, this is a big, burly doc with calloused hands and dirt under his nails.  Even better?  He was being shadowed by a resident who was watching with great interest.  The doc asked routine questions about my health, focusing on key warning symptoms for prostate issues.

Then, with scientific detachment – – “Okay, drop your trousers and bend over the exam table.”

ramming speed!

Sheesh.

A preparatory shot of whisky?  A manly wink with a ‘three-pat’ on the shoulder?  Flowers?

Nope, none of that.  Just his “drop trou'” while the latex glove goes on with an ominous ~snap~.  And then the lube tube is (thank god, generously) accessed.  Finally, without a howdy do or a “deep breath and brace”, he dug right in.  Yes, with the resident still watching (hey, at least he didn’t ask for a turn).

Feeling around in my butt for all of 10 seconds (seeming to be 10 minutes), Doc finally said, “That feels fine.”

In a sudden OCD-like rush of concern for my health, I reiterated redundantly, “So it felt good?”

A wry look and a rebuke from the doc, “We never say ‘it feels good’ when doing a rectal exam.”

Point taken.

So, until next year.

…at which time I will bring my own whisky…

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*And, yes, a tip of the hat to my female readers who scoff, deservedly, at us guys waiting until our 40s to regularly have this exam whilst you have been having docs poke around your lady parts…sometimes with heavy machinery…since you hit puberty.  So, guys?  Shut up and take it like a man.  And annually at that!