NO BALLS, NO LYMPH NODES

Had our follow up appointment this morning with Doctor Alan Yamada - the man that stole my heart and my ball.

It's Halloween so everyone in the office was dressed like somebody else.

Dorothy answered the window - it's a sliding glass set-up. She pulled it open and I said, "I'm here to see the wizard."

Behind her was Pippi Longstocking (maybe), an Asian Little Bo Pepe and the oldest woman I've ever seen Halloweening as a receptionist at a urology clinic.

So they called us in and we sat in his office forever and listened to him talk to other patients through the walls because they're so thin. He asked one guy, "How's that tube we put in working out for you?

Things could be worse. I could have "a tube".

Yamada (my doctor) came in and told us some of my test results were bad. See, after they pulled out the nut to end all nuts, they chopped it up - I mean puree, baby. Blender time. Made a paste outta it and did some tests. Tests came back bad. Bad like we need to either give me some chemo or do some more surgery and rip out my lymph nodes - shake em around in front of the other organs, scare them into cooperating.

Either one of those would do, he says, OR you can just wait to see if you die. He doesn't say it like that but he says it.

REALLY?

Choices, choices, choices......

We don't have to decide today. So what do we do? I don't know. YOU TELL ME.


Got some weird testosterone supplements too. He said I could either take

a.) an intramuscular shot everyday for the rest of my life - like, in my bicep or

b.) rub some gel on my shoulders every day for the rest of my life.

REALLY?

choices, choices, choices.....


Took the gel. He warned my child bride and I - he said, "Okay, don't "make love" after he's put this on" and I'm thinking, "make love"? Is THAT what it's called when I hit her repeatedly with the back of my shoe, screaming at her to stop talking to her mother on the phone and just lie there and be still and silent?

She can't touch me for a bit because, you know, we don't want the female half growing a mustache - they tickle. Plus I don't want to feel like some gay sailor while I'm "making love".

I'M LIKE THE BOY IN THE FREAKING PLASTIC BUBBLE! MY WIFE CAN'T TOUCH ME WHILE I'M "ACTIVE ON THE GEL" - MORE F'ING SURGERY! ARE YOU JOKING!!!!???? CAN I HAVE A BREAK???? CAN WE GET A BREAK??!!! WHAT GIVES??? MOTHER...................mother nature....sometimes it's healthy to shout, you know. Even if it does amount to nothing more than sitting silently, alone, on your couch and typing in all CAPS.


Before we leave the offices of Dr. Alan Yamada - collector of testes and vaginal reconstructer extraordinaire - we have to set up another appointment.

Little Bo Pepe and Mother Time are trying to figure it out. I don't know. It seemed very shady. When I came around the corner Bo was picking her nose and I'm thinking.....what am I thinking? What do I say to that? I hope she's not eating out of the public peanut and candy corn dish I'm trying not to snack casually out of.

So Oldest Lady on Earth and Bo Pepe - they're trying to pencil us in, but they've got to write down some doctor code on this sheet for us to take to the place where I need to get my blood drawn and they've got to get the info from the sheet the doctor wrote on, but they can't read the doctor's handwriting so they're both staring at it going, "S......P.........M?" Really slowly spelling out the word, y'know?

So I go, "Can I get the origin of the word?" A little spelling bee humor.

Pepe eats another booger and scribbles something down then looks at us and goes, "Sorry, I don't know what I'm doing."

Really? I'd feel more comfortable if you just lied to me.

Afterward we went to the mall and did some therapy shopping. I bought two pairs of shoes, a hat, two scarves, a pair of earrings and a pretzel - OH MY GOSH, I'M GOING GAY!!!

NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

GO NUTS WITH NO NUTS!!!

Went in for surgery on Friday morning.

I have a fear of needles. It's overpowering....overwhelming....it's debilitating. I can't think. I start to twitch, sweat, breathe heavy. Just the thought of them - the sight of them - sends me into this bizarre panic. So, knowing that I was getting an IV before surgery wasn't exactly the cat's meow for me.

I requested that I have a preliminary shot that numbed the area on my arm before they gave me the big poke.

They said they could do that.


I asked if they could poke me with a slightly smaller needle BEFORE the numbing needle or give me a nice Kool-Aid juice drink that made me feel no pain instead of using the needle altogether - maybe we could just skip the needle...even if I had to drink a gallon of the Kool-Aid stuff, that would be alright with me.

I'd do it.

Apparently with today's technology the numbing juice drink is not yet a possibility.

Too bad.

They brought in a therapy dog for me to pet and three nurses to chat with me / distract me as though I were a six year old man-baby on the verge of a nervous breakdown while that heartless monster jabbed me with the mega-needle.

They got me all hooked up and, truth be told, it wasn't that bad - it never is. But the fear is still there. I don't know what it is.

A nurse came in a bit later and gave me, what she called, a "cocktail". She said it would take the edge off and make me a little sleepy.

She was right.

I took a nap.

When I woke up they asked me to pee into a jar while lying in my bed, which is disgusting. It's really difficult to force yourself to pee into one of those things. It's like when you're in the shower with your wife and you think it would be really funny to pee on her, but you know you only have a few seconds while her back is turned and so the pressure is on and you kind of lock up.

Anyway, it was sort of like that.

After the "bed wetting" incident (no actual bed wetting was involved) they took me away.

In the O.R. (that's operating room for those of you that are stupid) the anesthesiologist said she was going to inject me with some sauce. I said, "is this the stuff that puts me down?"

The surgical nurse said, "Yep".

There was an explosion in my chest - a taste explosion. It rose up into my mouth - copper. Gross.

I said, "See you on the other side"

And then I woke up in the recovery room.


Nauseous. Oxygen mask on my face. Sore. That sick copper taste still in my mouth. A nurse came over and asked how I felt. I told her it tasted like I was burping up pennies. She laughed and asked if she could touch my beard.

It's the least I could do after she had been so kind as to tear out my testicle for me.

She poked my beard and told me she thought I might be Amish. I said I wasn't.

i told her my throat was sore. She said it's because they stuck a tube down my gob. I asked her if they banged it down with a hammer. She didn't think so.

They took me downstairs and I chilled out in this reclining chair with wheels that I desired to take home. If it would have had a cup holder and a built in crapper worked into the seat, we would have been in business. I wouldn't have left until they told me where I could purchase one.

This new nurse, she gave me crackers and some apple juice to drink. I told her I felt sick. She brought me a kidney shaped bed pan. I found this strange.

I puked in it.

My wife came in and she brought me flowers....paper flowers and a cactus with some new Gameboy games for me.

At my heart I am a stupid little vomiting boy.

I stopped drinking the apple juice and started in on the water. I was going to be sick again.

I grabbed the gross bedpan, held it up under my chin and spit some weird salty cracker bile into it. The nurse and my wife were staring at me. The nurse behind the counter was staring at me. I asked them all why they were staring at me. They all turned away. It's really awkward to just start barfing into a cup with strangers staring at you, waiting, watching, anticipating the vomit.

You could sort of tell they were all really excited to see me erupt. You could read it in their eyes, "Oh yes, here he goes - his breathing is getting heavier - this is going to be amazing. I hope some of it gets stuck in his beard - pleasepleaseplease....."

I went into the bathroom and peed. The nurse said it might sting.

It didn't.

This, however, was the first time I realized I was wearing some kind of.......I don't really know what to call it - nutsack diaper.

See Exhibit A where I demonstrate the proper usage:

I hobbled out of the bathroom and asked the nurse if I got to take it home. She said that it was a scrotal support and that yes, I got to keep it.

I can't quite tell you how joyous this made me feel. I told her I was so happy. I'd been meaning to pick up a scrotal support for the last few months - had even been looking at a few different styles on the internet - just hadn't gotten around to it yet.

They pulled out my IV and sent me packing. That was it.


I know what you're thinking. I know the question that rests on your brains that you're afraid to ask. Maybe tonight you'll do a google image search to find your answer.

What.....does it......LOOK like?

I'm not gonna tell you. I do have a LITTLE class, y'know.

That said, I DO believe that a picture is worth a thousand words, so please view this image of a chewed up piece of bubble gum:

Oh wait......actually there was one more thing.

Before I went in for The Big Sleep we asked if we could get some photos of the troublemaker.

This little bastard had caused me some serious problems over the last month and I wanted to see it.

The nurses were kind enough to take photos for us and I've included them below. IF YOU HAVE NO DESIRE TO SEE THESE PHOTOS, SCROLL NO FURTHER!!! THEY ARE IN NO WAY X-RATED, BUT THERE IS A LITTLE BLOOD.

You have been warned. I will NOT be purchasing ANYBODY a brand new keyboard because you went ahead all willy-nilly and lost your lunch on those pearly whites.

Thanks to everyone for the thoughts, prayers and blood sacrifices you made on my behalf. I really believe they helped. I am normally a very nervous nelly when it comes to surgery but I managed to keep it together through and through. The IV situation was probably the worst, but even that I was anticipating being so much more horrendous.

SO THANKS EVERYONE!

Next week we have an appointment with our doctor (who I just found out does vaginal reconstruction, so I'm going to talk to him about that - I have about a million questions) and we'll be finding out if I'm going to need to do any rounds of chemo or radiation (please redirect all of your thoughts / prayers / animal sacrifices towards radiation / superpowers now).

The doctor ALSO let us know that the tumor had grown but had not SPREAD. So that's good.


That's my story.


Abe Lincoln out.

***DANNY DEVITO AND CHARLIE BROWN

FIRST!

The movie.

We held our October 18th audition for our Chelsea role and it was........alright. The people that showed up were all really good, but a few ended up canceling and a FEW were no shows and that's always disappointing.

Regardless, we caught some golden girls - not, like......golden oldies, but just ones that really nailed it, so it's (probably) all worth it.



I'm always shocked and amazed at the headshot culture. Headshots, APPARENTLY, really don't have to represent you at all. Sometimes they don't even have to BE you. In photoshop you can change your hair from gray to blond and remove wrinkles and erase that eye patch and place in a nice glassy peeper.

You can say you're 30 lbs lighter or six inches taller.

You could be expecting a 120 lb, 5'4 red head with shoulder length hair and end up getting Danny Devito hobbling through the door dressed in his Penguin gear with a clawed hand.




That's that.


In other news - surgery on Friday.

Had some pre-op blood work done this morning and was asked a bunch of questions by a man who looked and sounded like a grown-up Russian version of Charlie Brown.



Good grief.

Rx...xxx

Since we've found out that my man purse is about to be unzipped and all contents emptied out (ie, my one remaining testicle removed due to the unwanted cancerous growth dwelling on it like the weird blond german junkie that's been living on the couch in front of my neighbor's house for the last week) the missus and I have been working tirelessly on sperm freezing for the last few weeks. The only downside is that now I don't have any room for my ice trays or TV dinners and my refrigerator is sort of starting to smell funny.



INTERIOR - CRYO BANK - DAY

We show up to the cryo-bank to make a "deposit" and we're (I'm) so hoping to see THIS:



or THIS:




INSTEAD, what we get......is THIS:




and THIS:



They ask us some questions, get the initial paperwork done. Bill Cosby says, "Is the address on your license your CURRENT address?"

And I say, "No - I didn't drive THAT far!"

She looks at me sideways and i say, "...........It's a South Dakota license."

She looks back at it and laughs WAY HARDER than is deemed even remotely necessary. She then repeats her folly to her coworker in a fit of giggles.

I know I described the person as "Bill Cosby" and then as "she" - but trust me when I say both descriptors are correct.

Bill opens the door and brings us to "The Back". She hands me a small cup - sort of the ATM deposit envelope, if you will - and then says, "Choose any door on your right". They all look the same except for room four. Room four has wallpaper......and printed on the wallpaper is naked women and close up shots of butts and boobs.

I choose the room I'm standing in front of.

Bill Cosby hands me a disc. I look at it - an adult DVD called "Bangin' at the Cabo Cabana". I say "thank you". I pause for effect. I say, "This should be romantic".

She doesn't laugh.



How do you picture these rooms where you excavate for "the good stuff". Mood lighting? Dark walls?......maybe a hue reminiscent of maroon? Candles - black AND white? Votives? Incense?

Maybe........a recliner? Would you sit on the recliner if there was one there?

Did you picture this?






How about a light dimmer, at the very least? I get "Bangin' at the Cabo Cabana" and a stack of porno - seen above in Exhibit "Thumbs Up". I mean, it's SOMETHING, but a little ambiance goes a long way.

We pop in "Bangin" - more to just check out as a novelty with no real plans of watching it (PLEASE DON'T THINK WE'RE PERVERTS!!!!!)

The DVD starts on the little flat screen television. There are headphones but I just turn the volume down....to zero. I don't like being confined by a cable and I don't want Cosby walkin' by thinking I'm a pervert.

ON THE SCREEN:

Baby blocks DROP from the sky and twist around until the words "BABY DOLL PICTURES" is spelled out in front of us. No joke.



Weird.

From the baby-like logo it pretty much wastes no time getting down to biznus. "Bangin' at the Cabo Cabana" has CERTAINLY earned it's title from frame 1.

We kill the movie because it's sort of breaking the "mood" - the mood that is like being locked in the closet of a dentist's office without pants on. PLUS, I'm really concerned that if we watch it all the way to the end, the guy, rather than choosing to go with the "traditional" adult ending, will just decide to neatly collect his "product" in a little plastic vial and then set it on a nearby counter and I think if i actually witnessed that, it would be game over for me.





The place is small enough that you can hear Bill Cosby and Mimi from The Drew Carey Show talking down the hallway. Mimi has a bad cough, full of phlegm. Bill Cosby does most of the talking and laughing. People walk by our door with heavy, echoey footsteps. For a moment two people actually stop to chat about plans after work outside my door.....my room. I feel really out of place, a little awkward, afraid to be caught, even though I'M paying THEM to be HERE doing THIS.

It's a strange paradigm.

I'm not really going to get into the logistics of the deposit itself for obvious reasons, but I will say this.......the "deposit envelope"........the little jar.......after four visits I'm STILL not sure of the best way to get the "money" from my "wallet" into the "envelope".



Once you're.......done........you have to walk through this place, carrying your "envelope" with you, proclaiming to anyone that sees you, "How are you? Why yes, I AM carrying around a jar of SPERM - FRESH FROM THE TUBE! I'd love to stay and chat but I really must be getting off to work."

You drop the goods off behind some sliding glass and ring a bell. DING - EVERYONE THIS YOUNG MAN HAS COMPLETED HIS JACK OFF! CONGRATULATIONS, SIR!

I turn to leave and ALMOST make it back to the exit when a small Asian woman in a radioactive suit pops her head out from the sliding glass door and says in a Darth Vadery voice, "Excuse me.....sir......(all these dots are where Darth is doing his heavy breathing).....i need to ask you........a few questions......"

I come back over to Darth Quan and, with my canned specimen resting next to her writing hand, she says, "How long......have you been.......absent.....?"

Certainly she MUST mean 'abSTInent'? CERTAINLY the LAB TECH JEDI at the CRYO-BANK knows the difference.

She says, "Did you get it all..........in the cup.........?


I want to tell her that most of it went on the floor because of their stupid little cup technology (even though it didn't). I want to tell her it's on the TV and all over the magazines and on the headphones. I feel like I should say SOMETHING, but nothing comes to me.

I nod and say, "yes, ma'am. It was a clean escape."


At the front desk they charge me a hundred bucks, which I don't really understand since mostly I did all the work. The lady hands me the credit card paper and a pen and says she needs my signature.

I say, "Ah yes, the ol' John HandCOCK, huh?"

Bill Cosby certainly thought THAT one was funny - and I don't blame him / her.

***LA AUDITIONS FOR CHELSEA MERRICK - OCTOBER 18

WE'RE HAVING AN LA AUDITION FOR CHELSEA MERRICK ON OCTOBER 18.

IF YOU WANNA SHOW UP, SEND US OVER A HEADSHOT AND RESUME. IF WE LIKE YOUR FACE, YOUR FACE, YOUR BEAUTIFUL FACE, WE'LL EMAIL YOU BACK TO SCHEDULE AN AUDITION.

Send your info to john@jordansroomproductions.com

If you've got a demo reel, send us on over a link. If not, no problem!


Here's her character breakdown:


CHELSEA MERRICK

Chelsea is a lead role. She spans one long decade – she starts at 18 and ends up at roughly thirty so I THINK the best thing is going to be a mid-20's character that can bend a little both ways.

BOMB THREAT, TAKE 4

Another bomb threat today at MGMhd - fourth one.



I ALSO found out there was a killer bee scare before the anthrax threat.

The third floor was the only one to evacuate (my floor).

We went and sat at a picnic table for an hour, waiting for the cops to clear out.....again.

Everyone else just sat inside and waited to be blown up.



I said my job at MGM was definitely NOT worth my life....not losing it, not even MAYBE losing it. Everyone said, "It's just another false alarm".

Whatever you say, boss. I'm going to go stand across the street where I won't be blown away in the initial blast nor crushed and stabbed by falling debris and shattered glass along with the rest of them hanging outside of the front doors.

I'd be across the street, in the shade, sipping on an icy cold bottle of gas station purchased apple juice - the kind that's shaped like a giant apple. I would be safe. I would NOT be thirsty. AND I would NOT be DEAD.



We came in and they told us they'd found the culprit.

I guess they decided to just *69 the phone and then look up the number or something.

I'm mostly surprised that it took the LA police FOUR BOMB THREATS to come to that way through.

It was an old senile woman.

An old senile woman at a nursing home.



Turns out they all really WERE safe.


I asked, just to be sure, that they were POSITIVE she wasn't just saying something about Bon-Bons.


Tomorrow is friday.

Casual shirt Friday.

Bomb Free Friday.

BOMB THREAT

Started cutting over at MGMhd.

Since I've been there they've had two bomb threats.

We have to evacuate the premises.

Before I started they had a THIRD bomb threat and an antrax threat.


Today the bossman told me I'd be in a lot of trouble if he found out it was me.

I asked him if I'd lose my job.

My coworker wondered aloud if bomb threats were against MGM company policy.


One hour of work and I'M BACK AT HOME WITH A FULL DAY'S PAY AND NOT BLOWN TO BITS!!!

See? There's even a positive side to possible oblivion.