Mind Your Own God Damn Business

Hey.

I missed everybody.

I’ve been informed, several times, that I need to quit fucking around and update my blog.

I can explain, baby.

This is what John "Hannibal" Smith would refer to as "A Plan Coming Together". It's what I call "The reason I will never wear sweatpants to school".

First of all, not that it’s any of your fucking business, but I’m back in school. It’s fun. I don’t have to wear a tie, and when someone takes out a cellphone and starts texting, I don’t have to slap it out of their hand. It’s officially way more relaxing to be sitting in a desk and taking notes than it is to be standing up at the front and teaching. The only weird thing about it is that everyone is 21 years old, relegating me to the role of “creepy older guy in the back with a visible erection”.

Deal with it, college girls. It’s just the way it is. If you have a problem with it, stop being so hot.

Don’t worry, college boys. There’s plenty of creepy to go around.

Anyway, I’m trying something new in school and doing my work instead of blowing it off and looking at Internet porn, except when I’m looking for pictures for my blog posts, and it’s really cutting into my blogging time. Also, I’m sorry that I told you that it wasn’t any of your fucking business. It’s just that I think it’s really funny to say that.

Second of all, I have a problem. When I write in my blog and people don’t view it or post comments, I get nervous and worry that I’m putting uninteresting material up online and everyone is rolling their eyes because I’m a hack.

On the other hand, when people do view it and give me lots of positive feedback, I freeze up. I’m unable to tap out a paragraph without worrying that it’s not funny or interesting enough, and then frantically deleting it to avoid the shame of a sub-par blog post, because, you know, blogging is a medium well known for it’s consistent high quality.

I know that I can’t have it both ways and have people ignore my blog or tell me that I need to keep writing in it. I’m just trying to explain to you what locks me up sometimes.

Not that it’s any of your fucking business.

Lastly, as you know, I wrote my post about Dating on craigslist where I put a fake ad. Here’s the problem: Not that it’s any of your fucking business, but some people responded to it. A few of them even appeared to know that I was being facetious, and I have no idea where to go from there. I’m not really sure I want to contact with them, so I don’t know how to respond to them, or to reply at all, or what to think of the whole thing. I’m also not sure what I want to write about it.

I’ll figure something out.

I guess it doesn’t matter. I have more important things to worry about.

As anyone who knows me knows, I have a child-like fixation on my junk.

A picture of some balls. They're made out of brass. Get it? They're bra...oh, you get it. Okay.

Anyone who knows me is also aware of the fact that I feel compelled to post as much information about it as I can on the Internet. If there’s one thing that I’ve learned over the past few years, it’s this: You can never have too much awkward, uncomfortable personal information that you wouldn’t want everybody to know about you available somewhere where everybody can see it.

Combine the two things, and the results vary. Sometimes I feel obligated to share how my scrotum is starting to show it’s age and react to gravity the same way that taffy reacts to the sun, and that I need to consider some reconstructive surgery. Sometimes it’s about the strange things I yell while I’m wailing on it. I remember an older post (back from the days when I used my real name as my blog name) where I detailed the way that a hole in one pair of my boxer shorts was working as a trap door that my balls were frequently falling through.

It’s only appropriate, then, that I tell you a moving story of my most recent adventures with my precious little sack of jewels.

It all began about two months ago: Terrible, terrible itching, in the area that I would describe as my “jock”. It wasn’t constant, but when it was bothering me, it was extremely uncomfortable.

My good friend google and I did some research, and it turns out that the itching sensation I was experiencing around my jock was something commonly known as “jock itch”. It’s apparently brought on by excessive sweating that allows fungus that’s normally all over your skin to grow at a higher concentration in these dark, sweaty areas.

You know why I put this image in here? Because of all the images that come up when you google "jock itch", this is the most hilarious by far.

This is problematic for me. During the morning and evening, it’s just a nuisance, but I work with children for a living. Children who are focusing their attention on me for long periods of time because I’m standing at the front of the classroom and talking to them. Needless to say, it makes my day a lot more challenging when I’m trying to get a room of sixth graders to shut the fuck up so I can teach them how to multiply fractions and all I can think about is how badly I want to just go hog wild on my balls. There’s no discrete way to do it.

I spent a few days puzzling over my problem. My first idea was that I should figure out a way to control the sweating. There seemed to be very little that I could do to keep that part of my body from getting really sweaty. Sweating is something that I take incredibly seriously, and with the summer approaching, I’m at the mercy of the elements. I decided that the ideal situation would involve some sort of harness that kept my balls as far up as possible combined with some really well-ventilated pants.

Unfortunately, the fact remained that I work with children for a living, and although the dress code is fairly casual, mesh hot pants with a harness for my balls would probably cross the “conversation with the principal” line, hurdle the “lose my job” line, and then go crashing over the “mandatory jail time” line.

If only there was some sort of substance that was designed to prevent areas that tend to sweat a lot from sweating as much.

Then, it hit me while I was using deodorant: I should use some deodorant.

I spent some time worrying about it, though.

My first concern: Would it even work, or would it just injure me? I have stupid plans like this all of the time, and usually, instead of fixing the problem, they make it much worse. Sure, the chances that I’d be taking a 2AM trip to the E.R. with deoderant-inflicted third degree burns all over my genitals seemed slim, but was that really a conversation that I wanted to have with a nurse?

My second concern: Cross contamination. I’m kind of lost in space a lot of the time, and it would be just like me to use my special junk deodorant in my armpits. How uncomfortable would I be with the prospect of rubbing something on my balls AND in my armpits?

"Hey Kids! Use me to fight plaque AND uncomfortable itching 'down there'! What could possibly go wrong?!"

Not very, apparently, because then I just said “Fuck it” and did it. If my armpits don’t have an allergic reaction to deodorant, why should my balls? And cross contamination isn’t really that much of a problem when it’s between your armpits and your crotch. Both areas are filthy, sweaty parts of the body. If I were considering using a toothbrush that I might accidentally forget about and put in my mouth or rubbing my contacts on my neither regions, it would probably be a different story, but that wasn’t the plan. Besides, in all my years, I have not once found myself thinking “Good lord, my balls are far too dry and good smelling! It’s like a sport-talc scented desert down there! This won’t do at all!” A little deodorant might do them some good.

And, strangely enough, it did. It fixed the problem in less than 24 hours. No trips to the hospital or unpleasant tasting toothbrushes in my mouth. Good stuff.

Anyway, now that I’ve made my triumphant return to blogging with a post about why I haven’t been blogging and how I cured a bad case of jock itch, I think it’s time for a little breather. I’ll make an honest effort for Monday/Wednesday/Friday posts, because I think I might be JUST not lazy enough to pull it off.

Take Care.