Lucky or Unlucky?

I remember my first physical when I went to scout camp at age 13 or so. I was pretty nervous. My older brother Ryan had tried to prepare me for the "turn and cough" portion of the exam. His words of comfort included a description of the hernia testing process. He claimed that it included jumper cables and a car battery. I was old enough and familiar enough with Ryan's so-called "words of wisdom", that I knew he was lying. At least I really really hoped he was.

When our troop got to the Dr.'s office, I remember being escorted back to an exam room by an older, unattractive female nurse or assistant or whatever. I noticed a hotter nurse that was busy doing something else and I wasn't sure if it was good or bad that I got the ugly one. Either way, MY nurse led me into the room, asked me a few questions and then, as she was leaving, she instructed me to undress but to "leave your underwear on". I instantly felt gratitude that I got the ugly one. For some reason I felt the idea of an attractive nurse telling me to undress to be extremely embarrassing. She closed the door and I proceeded to strip. After I did as I was instructed, I found myself standing in the middle of the freezing cold exam room unsure of what to do next. I felt extremely vulnerable with my tighty whitey's wrapped not so tighty around my exposed 90 lb frame. I felt another wave of gratitude that IF a nurse were to accompany the doctor for the actual exam... at least it would be the ugly one.

Just then I heard the door handle start to jiggle. I looked down at my pasty skin and felt myself start to blush a little bit. Then the door opened and the hot nurse stuck her head into my exam room. "I'm just checking to make sure you... Ok... great. Looks like you're ready to go." Then the door closed. All of a sudden, the air in the room didn't seem quite as cold. In fact, I was pretty hot... standing there practically naked and bright red from the neck up.

Fast forward 10 years. I was told I needed a physical before starting my job working with Layton Police Department. I arrived at the Work Med and I was feeling pretty confident in my health and wellness. I had pretty much forgotten my mid-pubescent experience ten years earlier.

I was escorted back to my exam room and, again, told to strip down to my underwear... only this time I was provided with an open-back gown to hide the majority of my lack of muscle tone. As I was waiting for the doctor to come in, I noticed a sign on the wall. It said "If you feel uncomfortable and would like another member of staff present for your examination, one will be provided".

I thought to myself, "What kind of female wussies feel uncomfortable with their man doctor? Aren't they used to male doctors checking out all of their private parts by now? Geez."

Just then the door opened and a female assistant carrying a clipboard came into the room. She sat down across from me and asked me a series of questions from the paperwork she had clipped to her board. I answered them all honestly and politely while silently wondering who my doctor was seeing and what was taking him so long.

Then the assistant asked if I was familiar with testicular self examinations. I told her that I was pretty sure how to do them and what I was supposed to feel for during the self exam. She started to explain in glorious detail how the exam was supposed to be conducted, what was considered normal with testicles and what sort of lumps, protrusions, and sensitivity was considered abnormal.

I started to get a little uncomfortable. I mean, I'm cool with talking about my balls in almost any situation, but this doctor was significantly older than me... like, about my moms age. She was kinda cute for a 50 year old, but I really just wanted to have the conversation with the doctor.

Then the assistant pulled out a stethoscope and listened to my breathing through my back. She had me sit on the edge of the exam table and tested my reflexes. Then she had me lay back as she applied pressure to different parts of my abdomen. I thought to myself, "This is a very thorough pre-examination. I guess this assistant is only going to be leaving the turn-and-cough part for the actual doctor."

Then she told me to stand up and she rolled backwards in her little rolling chair until she was on the other side of the room. Then she said something I wasn't expecting... "Ok, Cameron. Walk over and stand right here (pointing to the ground in front of her) and pull your underwear down for me."

Uhhhhh. Apparently she'd decided not to leave anything for the doctor. Then I remembered the sign. I'm not exaggerating here. It took me all the way to this point to realize that she WAS the doctor.

I'm glad I couldn't see the look on my face as I did what I was told to do. I'm sure she could tell how uncomfortable I was. What baffled me the most is how long she seemed to drag out this part of the examination. I mean, I don't think I was molested or anything, but she went through a step by step tutorial on how to conduct a self-examination. I've blocked most of it out, but I remember hearing her say "THIS is how you do the self exam. You need to roll-" That's where my memory stops.

To be honest, I have no desire in recovering the memories that seem to have disappeared.

The Ultimate Ninja's: First Blood Part 2

Here is the much anticipated continuation of the infamous ninja chronicles titled The Ultimate Ninja's. I'm sorry, but I'm not sure if anyone (including myself) can ever outdo Part 1. It was pretty sweet.

I need to set the record straight regarding the villains. I don't remember why I chose Dom and Curtis as my nemesiseses. I don't think I ever had a conversation with either of them all through Junior High. I might have overheard them swearing or something in the hallway and decided they must be "bad guys". This might explain why one of them actually swears at me in part one (which I edited out). Who knows?

You might also have some questions when you get to the really cool part about how we can breath under the water. You might wonder when The Abyss was in theatre's since that's a cool trick they use in that movie. I just realized that The Abyss was released in theatres in 1989... when I was 12 years old. So someone must have read The Ultimate Ninja's and stolen the idea for the movie. The only other option (and this isn't very likely) is that I saw the Abyss a few months before writing this sweet story.

Yeah right. Like I'd steal a cool idea like that.

One last thing. On page 12 I decide to switch to cursive for some reason. I have no idea why since my cursive in near illegible. I'll apologize more profusely when I post Part 3 since most of the last third of The Ultimate Ninja's in written in cursive.

Without any further ado, here are pages 7 through 13:

The Ultimate Ninjas

It wasn't until college that someone told me I wrote well. It was my English 1010 teacher. She read a couple of my assignments to the class because she thought they were so good. It was shocking to me. She even told me after class one time that she thought I should write for The Signpost, Weber States Student Newspaper. I was flattered, but I never pursued it.

It was always my older brother, Ryan, who was the writer in my family. He wrote short stories all the time and I always thought they were so awesome.

I would have been held back in several grades in Elementary School if it wasn't for the Junior Authors Fair. Most of my teachers offered extra credit to any student who submitted something to the Fair so I always did... just to ensure I could progress to the next grade.

I wrote several of these books when I was growing up. I wrote a book called Friday the 13th about my best friend, JB, and how we'd explore haunted houses during sleepovers. I wrote a sequel, conveniently titled Friday the 20th. I even wrote a Friday the 27th. I stopped there, though, cause I could never figure out what the title of the next book should be. It would depend on what month Friday the 27th fell in and it really wouldn't make very much sense... and I'd probably have to explain it to people so I just didn't bother. Instead, I abandoned the "Friday" series and moved on to The Ultimate Ninjas.

I remember when I turned this book in to the Jr Authors Fair I was excited that someone besides by best friend would be reading my book. When I got my book back and it had the gold, embossed sticker on the cover, I thought, "Awesome! A judge read my book and liked it enough to give me an award."

When I found this book in the garage the other day, I was still excited about that stupid gold sticker. I decided to read the book and try to take an impartial, neutral stance... much like the judge who read the book and gave me the golden award on the front cover.

As I started reading it, I started to blush a little bit. My story was grotesque. My friend, JB, and I were slaughtering our peers with our sweet ninja skills and blowing up schools and ripping our teachers to pieces. But that's not what made me sick to my stomach. It was the realization that the judge never read my story. There's absolutely no way any judge could have read my story and not expelled me from school.

Looking back, I wish the judge would have actually read my story... even if it ended up resulting in my expulsion. After all, this is a sweet tale of adventure, deception, and the ninjatastic relationship between two friends... written by a 12-year-old using an old school mixture of black pen, blue pen, and pencil as well as a creative blend of print and cursive... sometimes varying within the same word. All of this literary genius has been bound in an upscale brown folder provided by my dad, Brandt Daley. How could any judge not be completely enthralled before even opening the folder/book?

Whether you spell it "Ninja" or "Ninga" didn't matter to me then and it doesn't matter to me now. Here are the first six pages of The Ultimate Ninjas.

Throat Chunks

Tyton suffered through Round 2 of this crappin' Tonsillitis. He had a pretty severe case about 2 months ago and it kicked his butt, as well as our own. On Christmas Eve he got it again. We thought it was odd that he'd get it twice so close together so we took him back into the specialist.

The doctor said that he wouldn't suggest getting his tonsils out as long as we could keep his fever under control. I told him that we couldn't ever get it under 102 with medication. The doctor decided that was a good enough reason to have them removed.

So on the 7th of January, Ty went in and had his tonsils out. He was a pretty tough kid. I'll admit, though, that I had a hard time concentrating on anything while I was at work on the day he had them removed.
I wish I could have been up there, but it was impossible on that particular day. Anyone who knows me should know that my work ethic is about ZERO. I can always excuse my laziness... in fact, I've gotten pretty good at it over the last 10 years. However, I just happened to have scheduled over 30 appointments a month earlier on the exact day Ty was scheduled for his tonsillectomy. So I was at work all day.

I was pretty stoked, though, cause I was telling Tyton about how he could take his tonsils in for show-and-tell when he goes back to school. He was pretty excited for that, as well.

I guess things have changed since I was growing up, though, cause they don't let you take your tonsils home anymore. I'm not sure why. Maybe because they're choking hazards or something. Some white trash kid in West Valley who decided to eat his brothers tonsils ruined it for the rest of us.

Looking back, though, I think it's good that he didn't get to bring them home. I still remember the one kid in elementary who brought his tonsils for show-and-tell. They were soaking in some greenish-yellow juice in a mason jar. I remember being extremely grossed out by them. So much so that I decided I never wanted to talk to that kid again. And I don't think I ever did.

Luckily they let us take a few sweet photos of his tonsils... complete with clinging chunks of throat flesh and blood splatters.

Judging by the sheer mass of the gooshy throat matter, I'd say Tyton is about 5 pounds lighter than when he went to the doctor.

Cosmectomy

My wife doesn't care for me as a bald man anymore. I was bald when we started dating and when we got married, but when my hair grew back in and she realized it wasn't falling out or thinning, she was pleasantly surprised. She has since told me she prefers it longer and has continually instructed me to grow it out.

As if my wife wasn't cool enough, on my birthday last year she bought me a gift certificate for a haircut at Bikini Cuts as a reward for growing my hair out as she'd requested. In case you didn't know, Bikini Cuts is the establishment that requires their all-female staff to be dressed in a bikini while cutting your hair. Awesome! Even though I can't help but wonder how the girls can handle being itchy all day long in places where customer hair shouldn't normally end up.

I'm sure there are plenty of people who would never think to patronize a business such as this, but at the same time can't help being curious about what actually goes on during these so-called "haircuts". Well, that's why I'm here. To tell you about my experience so you don't have to experience it yourself... unless you want to.

First of all, the place wasn't busy at all. That was a good thing. The last thing I wanted to do is run into someone I know at a place like that. Also... the girls weren't very cute. When I was on my mission in England, I used to LOVE getting my haircut. It was the one time that I could have a cute girl run her fingers through my hair and not be breaking any mission rules. But the girls at Bikini Cuts weren't attractive. I wouldn't go so far as to call them RMC's or anything, but they were pretty far from hot.

I've never cared much for the forced small talk that happens during haircuts. I just want to sit there quietly and get serviced (no pun intended). I don't want to answer questions about what I do for a living or what I did over the weekend. It was worse at Bikini Cuts. It's like they assumed I wanted them to flirt with me. I mean... why else would I be paying extra to have a half naked girl cut my hair, right? So I did my best to be nice and flirt a little with the uglies while they pampered me.

"Pampered?" you might be asking. Well... kinda. The cuter of the two (who also happened to be the one who looked a little more "used" if you know what I mean) gave me a hand massage. Yup. A hand massage. I wasn't expecting it, either, which made it a little extra awkward.

The uglier one was shampooing my hair before the cut (by the way... I wish they saved the wash for AFTER the cut. I can't stand having hair all over me) and the other one was just hovering around my torso like a hardened, tattooed, bumble bee. She told me to close my eyes and relax which I was trying to do already. Then I felt something warm and wet fully engulf my left hand. I pulled away instinctively cause I'm married, you know. Then they started laughing as she yanked my hand back and re-wrapped it in the hot towel.

After I realized what she was doing I was able to relax a little more and the hand massage actually felt pretty good. By the time she got to my right hand, though, she was telling her uglier co-worker (who was washing my hair) about how she was still hung over from the night before. I started getting a little grossed out as I wondered if she'd washed her hands since her playful romp with several guys the night before. The hand massage became a lot less enjoyable.

The haircut itself was mediocre at best. I'd much rather have my wife cut my hair while wearing a bikini. At least then we could both rinse the hair off our bodies together... and I wouldn't have to worry about where her hands had been.

Oh man...

That Hobbes character is hilarious. I'd love to hang out with him sometime...

Merry Christmas

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