Obviously, I'm still pretty new to the upgraded writing gig, and I'm still learning how to write and edit in a world of completely unfamiliar lingo. However, I've had a few good laughs, at least to myself, while working my way through editing/writing assignments.
Yesterday, for example, I was working away when I encountered the following turn of phrase:
In perineal surgery, doctors make an incision between the anus and the scrotum. This approach is not as popular as the retropubic procedure.
Not as popular, eh? A good old scalpel to the taint just doesn't bring 'em through the doors like it used to. Why, I remember a time when a jabbed taint and a good strong cup of coffee was just what you needed to get your day started; called it a "Taint -n- Go," if I recall correctly.
That retropubic procedure just went and spoiled EVERYTHING.
As part of my new employment position, I'm expected to adhere to a "dress code." Now, I've been an extreme adversary to dress codes pretty much all my life. I've traditionally viewed dress codes as a controlling business model construct designed to ensure conformity and obeisance, which is a wordy way of saying I prefer jeans and tee-shirts.
But now I understand adhering to a dress code can mean more money, so I'm okay with it.
The thing is, my wardrobe, if it can be called that, has been particularly anemic when it comes to more formal attire; it's chock full of jeans, cargo pants and tee-shirts, but collared long sleeved shirts, dockers and ties typically inhabited only a small corner of my closet, worn infrequently during formal events.
So I've been experiencing a sort of metrosexual learning curve, so to speak, over the past couple of weeks. I've been purchasing dress shirts, and ties, and pants that have things called "pleats," which I can only assume are the leg equivalent of "gusset plates." In other words, I guess you could say I'm being forced, by salary dictate, to grow up.
One thing I've noticed about more formal dress clothes is they are chock full of completely unnecessary features. A couple pairs of my dress pants, for example, come equipped with TWO buttons, in addition to a zipper. Seriously, what possible purpose does the second button serve? I'm pretty sure the pants will remain at hip height if secured with only one button and a zipper. But, no, somehow, somewhere, a Prada-wearing devil decided two buttons should be the required norm, even though BOTH buttons will be obscured by a belt, which also isn't necessary, but has been deemed a required accessory by the fashionazis of the world.
I'd probably be okay with the two-button pants paradigm, but what I've discovered is, after laboring to secure both buttons following a good urination session, I tend to forget about the zipper. I've been programmed, thanks to many consecutive years of wearing jeans, to think "button, zipper, done." Now, of course, I have to think in terms of "button, button, zipper, done," which just doesn't compute quite yet, so I tend to favor a hybrid model of "button, button, done." Obviously, the hybrid model COMPLETELY disses the zipper, so I routinely find myself looking down at my pants at some point during the day and realizing "Oh, CRAP! MY ZIPPER'S DOWN! How long have I been walking around like this?"
It's at that point that I just kind of stand there and think about all the important people I've spoken with since my last pee, and waves of embarrassment wash over me like a hot bath, all of which would NEVER happen if I had simply been allowed to wear jeans and a tee shirt.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I think my zipper's down. . .
So I suppose I should too.
UPDATE: Of course Caroline and I had to weigh in on this important issue.
Ryan says: That is singularly disturbing.
Ryan says: Too bad his parents weren't named Wang or Dong.
Caroline says: X. Tra Wang
Ryan says: *snort*
Caroline says: I hope you really snorted.
Ryan says: Back Wang sounds like an electric guitar accessory.
Ryan says: I did. I stifled a snort.
Caroline says: Snort stiflin' bastard
Ryan says: "This Is Spinal Wang!"
Caroline says: Ooooh, I get it. It's funny because it's a wang on his spine!
Ryan says: Right! Right! You're following now!
Ryan says: "Welcome to Thoracic Pork!"
Caroline says: No fair using your newly acquired medical powers.
Ryan says: I bet his future "friends" will give him a good ribbing about this. . .
Caroline says: Not too good, I hope.
Caroline says: 'Cause ... awk-waaaaaard
Ryan says: Nah, I'll bet they'll have his back. . .
Ryan says: From a distance.
Ryan says: Of about six inches.
Caroline says: Hope they don't mind back woods.
Ryan says: Think he'll have a stiff back?
Ryan says: He'll be called up to work out a problem on the chalkboard, and he'll have to hold a book over his back!
Caroline says: Baby got (extra penis on) back!
Ryan says: How is extra babby penis formed?
Caroline says: Total back boner.
Ryan says: Imagine if doctors one day have to put a rod in his back to help his posture. "Make up your minds, guys! Sheesh!"
Caroline says: Penis back: bad for posture
Ryan says: "I want my penis back, penis back, penis back. . . I want my penis back, penis back, penis back."
Caroline says: I KNEW you were going there.
Ryan says: You're just "sore" because I "beat" you to it.
Caroline says: Wanger
Ryan says: "Wang's World"
Caroline says: You're the wang beneath my wings
Ryan says: Wing Wangs!
Caroline says: Buffalo Wing Wangs
Ryan says: Extra meaty.
Ryan says: Side benefit to working here: All the Hand Antiseptic/Moisturizer you could possibly ever use.
Ryan says: They keep it stocked in the supply closets.
Caroline says: Yes, you've mentioned this before. You must be uber excited about it.
Ryan says: HELLO! LOTION!
Ryan says: Can't believe you of all people would be dissing the lotion.
Caroline says: What happened to HELLO! KITTY!
Ryan says: Dissing the lotion would be a great euphemism for. . .
Caroline says: I"m not dissing lotion. I'm merely telling you that you told me about it last week. Hence, I suspect you are quite excited about the lotion.
Ryan says: Free badge retracting yo-yo thingees, too.
Caroline says: It's hard not to get excited about that, for sure.
Ryan says: Did I mention the name of one of my fellow orientation new hires who was at the same table?
Caroline says: I don't believe you did.
Ryan says: Dean Kong.
Caroline says: That. Is. Fab.
Ryan says: I almost lost my shit when I said it to myself, but transposed the D and K.
Caroline says: One is known to lose their shit because of Kean Dong.
Ryan says: One hopes not to lose their shit ON a kean dong.
Caroline says: Some people are into that
Ryan says: So I've heard.
I walked to a local Subway restaurant from my office this afternoon. On the way back, sandwich in hand, I encountered, crumpled in the dust on the side of the road, a pair of women's yellow thong underwear. A little further down the road, there was an empty miniature bottle of Listerine. Further still, a condom wrapper. And finally! A used condom.
I'm not saying all the items were somehow related, necessarily, but a man could come up with a fairly entertaining narrative to connect them all, if he were so inclined.
I'm so inclined. . .
