In Which a Published Author Embarrasses Himself . . .

. . . for your amusement.

Being a writer, some scene setting first: I live on the third and fourth floor of a building in downtown Binghamton. This building is old, so the floors are made of hardwood with many cracks between the boards. Over the years, many things have fallen between the cracks. I've done numerous vacuuming, some on my hands and knees, trying to get some of the stuff out, but at some point you just give up.

Anyway, in my attempt to accomplish some of my goals for the weekend (which for the most part failed miserably, see my previous post with the strike-outs), I decided I'd tackle wrapping up some of the presents that I need to mail and/or give out this coming week. I spent far, far too long writing up one of the final exams and my head hurt and I felt tired and irritated, and so wrapping seemed like a reasonable way to unwind from the tension of writing the exam. (Contrary to popular belief, writing an exam is not easy. There's much thought and concentration that goes into it. You want to ask important questions, but you have to do it in such a way that topics don't get repeated and you aren't testing the same things over and over. It's . . . stressful. Then you have to take the exam to see if the students can do it in the given amount of time. I estimate I spent over 5 hours designing this one final. But I'm digressing. Back to the main topic.)

I needed to relax. So I gathered up everything I'd need for the wrapping and headed upstairs. I spread it all out on the floor, sat down, and began wrapping.

Before I'd even finished the first package, I suddenly realized something was wrong. Something was horribly wrong.

My ass hurt.

What the . . . ?!?!?

I stood up, reached back . . . and discovered a pin in my ass.

Yes, you heard me. I had a pin in my ass. (There are a slew of inappropriate gay jokes that could be thrown in here, but due to the sensibilities of my readers I will refrain from referencing any of them and I sincerely hope that none of my readers are even THINKING of any of those jokes at the moment, let alone contemplating putting them in the comments. pbray.)

So what, you say. A pin is nothing. Just pull it out.

I tried. It wouldn't come out. And I didn't want to just yank it out. That might, you know, HURT.

So there I am, stumbling around on the 4th floor, hand on my ass, trying to get the pin out without experiencing pain and I could not for the life of me figure out how it was stuck in there. And it wouldn't come out! I couldn't see it of course (no matter what you've heard about how flexible gay men are), and moving it around wasn't helping. And the pajama bottoms I was wearing weren't helping either. In my attempt to figure out how it was stuck in there I somehow wiggled it through the pajama bottoms, but didn't realize it and thought it had finally come out, but I couldn't find it. Even when I took my pajama bottoms off. And then I discovered that it was still stuck in my ass. And remember I was already tired and irritated and now angry and so I finally gave up and stormed downstairs and said to my partner, "Don't laugh but I appear to have a f**king pin stuck in my ass and I can't figure out how to get it out!"

He laughed, of course, and within a second removed it without any pain. We bactined it (or whatever that stuff is), so I hope I don't end up with lockjaw. That would be just plain humiliating, getting lockjaw from a pin stuck in my ass. And then I returned to the 4th floor and finished wrapping up the gifts.

So, that's checked off my goal list. Everything's ready to mail tomorrow as well, so that goal will be easy to finish tomorrow. The last final I need to write will have to wait until Tuesday night I guess. Along with the Christmas cards.

But I hope that my extreme stress and discomfort have provided you with some mild amusement. I'll keep you updated on the lockjaw.