We're almost done with the sperm donor qualification formalities (I start getting paid next week I think), but the two most recent steps were kind of interesting.
Yesterday I went in for a fasting blood draw, meaning I can't eat anything for 8 hours before they stick the needle in my arm. No biggie; I just had a bowl of cereal before I went to bed at 5am, then went in right when I got up at noon. What they failed to mention was that the girl drawing my blood would be totally cute. She struck up conversation to keep my mind off the needle, but it didn't much bother me, and I NEED to watch that stuff happen just because. Blood doesn't freak me out, and I'm no ninny about needles. Just deal with it, says me. BUT, even without the pleasant convo, I'd have been plenty happy and distracted just to stare at her. She had that nerdy kind of cute that just slays me. Most guys probably don't pay her any attention because she's not built like Barbie, but she was pretty adorable to me.
So, six vials of blood later, I realized a strange female hadn't struck up smalltalk with me AT ALL since.....shit I can't even remember when. For being the more verbal and communicative gender, women sure don't talk to me much in person.
Next up they wanted a urine sample. Pretty standard stuff there for anybody who's peed in a cup before. After that I spent about an hour touching up and finishing off my donor profile with a new coordinator they'd just flown in from L.A. She was cute too, in a teeny tiny southeast Asian-girl sort of way. We finally got that thing done (30+ pages!) and told me one of the genetic counselors from L.A. would be calling me soon to answer any questions they have about prominent diseases in my family, of which there are very few, so it should be an easy call.
From there, I went in and boned Miss May 2006 Alison Waite's Centerfold, left the cup with a lady who reminded me of my grandma (weird), and headed home.
TODAY was a little more strange. First off, driving anywhere in Massachushitts at any speed is like piloting a rocket through a city of stuntmen all performing at the same time on roads that were clearly designed (in width and logical arrangement) for horse-and-cart travel. Every street is one-way, and none of them make sense. Cambridge's streets are harrowingly narrow, and if you're not on your A-game as a driver, don't even bother. Shit and dirty looks and honking horns come from everywhere as any notion of Right-Of-Way flies right out the window.
I left myself 90 minutes to make a drive that should have taken less than an hour, and ended up getting there LATE on account of terrible drivers and even worse street layout and signage. I ended up stopping for directions at a Newbury Comics shop, wherein I happened to meet a lot of people like me in a short amount of time. Which is to say, nerds. And no one knew where Concord Ave. was. Finally an older customer guy helped us out. It was only about 100ft away. That's how bad the signage is up here. NOBODY knows where or what any road is.
When I finally got where I was going, I apologized for my tardiness to the doc performing my physical and he was understanding and even a little surprised at how long it took me to get there. Either way, it's all good. We begin.
He asks about any ongoing problems, symptoms, or regular medications I'm on (none). Do I use tobacco products, how often do I drink, when do I exercise, stuff like that (no, seldom, a few times a week, respectively). He checks my vision and everything goes as expected. He didn't do a blood draw because they just took a GALLON of it at the cryolab the day before. Checks respiration, blood pressure, pupil dilation, and reflexes, checks my general form and stature, it's all pretty typical. Then he sits down again and says that as part of the cryolab's requirements, he has to check me for hernias and examine my prostate. This should be fun, but not totally unexpected, all things considered.
I told him it was a new experience for me having anything in my butt, and he said that at his age (40s-50s?) he has it checked every year. It was a nice way of saying, "Trust me, I know what you're about to go through."
The hernia exam was pretty normal; I'd had that before. I drop trou and he puts his finger on one side of my junk, I cough, then the other side, cough again. Big whoop. Then, thank cripes he's a doctor, cuz any other guy standing there, me with my pants ankle-high, who said, "Now lean over that table and try to relax," would have gotten a weird look, and possibly a concussion.
Pause for a second. Everyone at some time or another has tried to stick their finger in their ass, either as part of childhood curiosity or wondering what women have to put up with from overly ambitious lovers. I don't remember the last time I did anything like that, but I DO explicitly recall that said finger DID NOT FIT, and I wasn't going to force the issue.
Doc throws on a glove, opens up the ketchup-packet-looking thing of lube, and all a sudden *ZOINKZ* *wiggle* *BLOOP* we're done. It was weird. That's the best way I can really describe it, though it did smart a little when he yanked his finger out. Maybe he shoulda done that a little slower so I didn't feel so pink-socked afterwards. Also, I experienced neither any major discomfort nor the euphoric sensation depicted by Seann William Scott in 'Road Trip' upon having his prostate "milked." It was what it was, probably a lot like fingering a vagina, only tighter and less willing.
We were done and I'm in tip-top shape, so from there I (trying not to get lost again) swung by the cryolab and dropped off a load for them to see how viable it is for me to donate two days in a row (they usually prefer 48-72 hours of abstinence prior to donating, but my sperm counts are ridiculously high...about 7 to 8 times higher than normal). We'll see how it went next week, I reckon.
I fought rush hour coming out of Boston on the way home, so it took longer to get here than usual. Got nearly killed many times by the phenomenally terrible Assachushitts drivers, had my fartbox fingered, saw several Harvard hotties in my travels thru Cambridge, then got paid to shake hands with the unemployed (wank). Now I'm beat, my bumhole hurts a little, and I just want to take a nap.
This concludes my broadcast day. :)