Oh you're gonna love this one...

Yeah, so the committee to domesticate the wild Gordo has just received new evidence I am slowly turning out docile and somewhat stagnant...so for the past week I've had this darndest itch and rash in my armpit. Can't really explain it. Just kinda raw. So finally I decided to show the wife, because, after running a daycare for seven years and raising two of her own, she diagnosed it as a yeast infection. Not sure if it really is a yeast infection, or just her maniacal way of getting back at me for pregnancy and childbirth, but unless I want to go to the doctor tomorrow to get it checked out, I'm stuck with two options - 1. Wait it out (it's getting quite sore) or 2. Purchase some Masingal...Yup, you guessed it. Gonna have to get some Vagisil for the pits.

Now if Carrie really loved me, she would have grabbed some for me. But no, she decided to make me walk the plank. That's right, I had to go to the store and get it for my self...

Now I could have just gone to Pick n Save which is five minutes away. But there's a problem. At some point I would have to walk up to a checkout and pay for it in front of two people (and my luck it would be someone I know, or a hot chick who would laugh and tell the rest of the staff so they could all laugh at me everytime I walk in.) So, no...I decided to drive 20 minutes out of my way to the local WalMart. Why? Self-checkout. Those damned things that never work and are so annoying, but they're my only salvation.

So I decided to go in the evening to lessen the chance of there being a lot of people there. Apparently WalMart is pretty busy at 8pm on a Sunday night. WTF?

I made my way to the pharmacy isles...it's not in the first isle I look in...nor the second...nope, it's five isles down, in the feminine product isles. Right above the douche and next to the pads. I can feel every last drop of testosterone leave my body and trickle down my leg into a puddle and there's a huge yellow streak down my back passing over the tail between my legs and pointing to said puddle.

Worse...there's like a bunch of options. I had to look at the packages to figure out which one didn't need to be inserted like a suppository. Total failure.

Finally I made it out of the land of the vag with the goods. Went with the WalMart store brand to save some face (not paying $8 when the same stuff in the plain box is $4...I didn't think I needed a comfort applicator.)

So I make a beeline to the checkout. Isn't it convenient the WalMart only has the self-checkouts on one side of the store, and they happen to be on the opposite side from the pharmacy. I wait while three old people stare at the amazing lasers which adorn the scanners (probably burning their retinas in the process) before it's my turn. Finally, after an excruciating wait, I walk up to the station. I grabbed a Diet Pepsi to try to calm my nerves.

I scanned the cream...aaaaannnnnnnnnttttttttt!!!!! the damned checkout buzzes this noise which could only mean, "Warning, Man purchasing Yeast Infection Cream...please pull out your phone cameras for the next viral video..." What is this? I am moments from absconding from the scene when this damned thing doesn't scan...I'm half expecting the woman who is stationed in that little booth and watches the checkouts to walk up to her microphone and announce to the whole damned Super Effin WalMart, "Price check for yeast infection cream...for a man."

This is crunch time...ten seconds left in the 4th for the Superbowl, bottom of the ninth in the World Series...I go to scan the box again......SUCCESS! And to top it off, I think it was on sale! I throw it in the bag (for my own protection) and pay as fast as I can. I dart past the old codger manning the carts and pray the theft detection buzzer doesn't go off in a false alarm and make it to my car. I have survived Dr. Mengele. Completed Hercules' tasks! Climbed Mt. Everest without a sherpa. I am alive and still have both testicles.

Yup, so I'm home now. Hopefully this damned cream works. Otherwise I know for a fact my wife will be laughing hysterically.

Peace,

ESD

Saturday morningeh.....

Eh is right...it's 6 effin 32 in the morning on Saturday. During some momentary lapse of reasoning this week at work (between training new agents and trying to wade through some CF of an evacuation) I gleefully volunteered for overtime. Not that I don't need the money, but in order to get the beaucoup dollars, one must give up some sort of sanctity or a limb...seeing all four of my extremities are still attached to my body, I will assume the sanctity of sleeping in was lost like a sacrificial lamb.

I have no intentions of even trying to down a bowl of cereal before departing. It's going to be whatever looks semi-edible when I stop at the gas station. Might even splurge and go to the McD's for a couple biscuits. Yeah...that's always good. Definitely not going to be good on the waist and certainly gonna slow down my metabolism with all that delightful grease, but man, that sounds good...maybe I'll get a medium diet coke...or even a large. That would be a splurge.

Yesterday at this same time, I was getting ready to go do the same thing (work, not McDonalds) and I felt like Noah...not that kid on Disney, but the biblical bastard who was apparently good at making things. We had four inches of rain in approximately 3 hours yesterday morning. My yard was a swamp. Fortunately the lil'Olds trudged through the standing water like a champ (probably something I shouldn't have done after putting $1000 into it in the past few weeks)...

Alright, I am off to cubicle land....which is funny because tomorrow I will got to work, too! Not on the clock, of course, it's our grand opening/open house/summer picnic thingy...people get to tour our shiny new $17 mil building and revel in all that is Green Certified (like the toilets that you pull the handle up for #1 and down for #2...complicated...they had to send out an email to the whole company on that!) My only reprieve is that there will be beer there...

Peace,

ESD.