Masturbatorium Madness

November 7, 2018

🚨 Second-🤚🏻 Post Alert (pun intended?)! 🚨

Don’t worry, Scott has signed off on this post. I was sorta trying to gently talk him into maybe writing a guest contributor post, but I don’t want to press my luck. So, this is Scott’s story as told to me but with my thoughts sprinkled into it.

This post may also be rated-R because a male private part is involved. I mean…not really, I just wanted to seem dangerous.

This is a tale of one man, one cup, and five possible accountants. But, before we get into all of that, I need to provide you with a quick update. My last post was a bit of a low point, but I’ve since received some good test result news.

I AM GENETICALLY SUPERIOR TO SCOTT!

We recently received the results of our (Warning: scientific baby making ahead) genetic testing and I tested negative for all scary genetic diseases and Scott didn’t! He may be good at math, but I am a specimen of genetic perfection. Yay! Are you wondering why I’m celebrating this?! I’ll explain! Both biological parents have to test positive for a genetic disease for it to become a concern. Since I tested negative across the board, whatever terrifying genes Scott has do not matter to our procreational path. Well, I guess if I die or we divorce and he wants to get some younger woman with sprightly ovaries pregnant then they better check her genes first. In summary, I may be sinking this reproductive ship in all other ways, but my genes aren’t one of them. (I’d also totally scooch over a bit to let Scott get up on the floating door with me after our ship sinks. No popsicle Scott over here!)

Below are the unpronounceable diseases my husband carries around genes for all willy-nilly while I’m genetically perfect in 283 ways.  That second one made me think of the Lysine Contingency from Jurassic Park (Google: uhh…it’s science-y and about altering fictional Dino DNA so just skip it and go with me on this one).

Ok, back to the matter at…hand. While I was off getting ultrasounds, bloodwork, and dyes shot up into me (that’s my next post), Scott had to provide a sperm sample to see if my Michael Phelps theory was correct. During one of the many calls I received letting me know I was definitely not a long lost member of the Duggar family (Google: Duggars. 19 Kids and Counting. But like, skip that part where the eldest Duggar son is a total perv and just read about the baby factories ALL the Duggar women seem to be!), I made Scott’s appointment to supply Dr. TT with his seed (although I can’t take credit for our shared calendar invite above…that’s on Scott). Turns out, the clinic only does sperm sample intake on Wednesday mornings, so I signed Scott up for that upcoming Wednesday, November 7th. I also asked the nurse what the set-up was for the dudes to supply said sample in the office. Was there a small room within the clinic where they go to enjoy some “me” time? How private is the room? Would “materials” be provided for him or would he need to bring his own? The nurse assured me (well, Scott…by way of me) the room was private and located on the 2nd floor away from the busy clinic (the clinic is on the 4th floor). The room was locked via key card and “materials” would be supplied PLUS there’s a comfy recliner!

Ok, I’m going to be a bit selfish for a second here. A comfy recliner. Those were the exact words of the nurse. Alright, so, liiiiike…guys get a “comfy recliner” while I’m being thrown up on cold slabs of metal in freezing exam rooms with an oversized, thin paper towel covering my lady bits and having things inserted into me. Plus, they get a pleasurable end result for this test! I have since experienced the most horrific end result of a medical examination in my life (at least, so far), but that’s for my next post. Where are the women’s comfy recliners in all of this?!  I want my friggin’ FULL, CLOTH HOSPITAL GOWN WITH LITTLE PINK ROSES ON IT BACK, DAMN IT!  Maybe I do have some deep-seated patriarchal stuff to get over…are there crystals for that?!

Since the topic of the sperm sample came up in our first Dr. TT appointment, Scott had nicknamed the room he would soon get solo intimate in as the “Masturbatorium.” We wondered if Kanye had used the Masturbatorium and then when you add the visual of Kanye in a comfy recliner with his MAGA hat on and the Masturbatorium “materials” all around…well, we got some laughs at least.  Also, since the clinic only does sperm sample intake on Wednesday mornings, then was Scott going to be met with a sea of other men (sea…men…sorry, I’m immature) waiting to head into the Masturbatorium assembly line-style?! Hmmm ok…nevermind. You couldn’t PAY ME to sit in that comfy recliner.

The fateful Wednesday arrives and Scott headed to Beverly Hills to leave a little piece of himself in a fancy neighborhood. He arrived to the office, signed in, and had a seat to wait for his turn in the Masturbatorium. I texted him from work to get a check on how many guys were just sitting there waiting to have their date with the plastic cup but, to my disappointment, there weren’t any single guys in there waiting to make a deposit, just couples. Again, I wondered, had we messed this up? Were there only couples there because their partners had joined the men for moral support? Did Scott need me there as a cheerleader? I mean…the answer is totally no to that one. Scott did not need this brain there with him conjuring up potential problems and unintentionally timing his experience in the Masturbatorium.

Scott’s name is called and he’s lead into the back of the clinic where he’s handed a key card and told to meet Cody downstairs on the 2nd floor. Ok, “Cody” wasn’t the guy’s name, but he was giving off Cody vibes so that’s what we are going with for this post. Scott heads down to the 2nd floor where he meets up with Cody…and five women in five cubicles that sit right outside the Masturbatorium.

The fertility clinic doesn’t seem to be in a medical office building but just a regular office building. There’s an autism clinic on the 4th floor along with the clinic, but there are a lot of non-medical offices listed on the directory too. There’s no humor for this one. The autism clinic is the very first thing you see when you get off the elevator and I think of it as a scary slap in the face every time I’m heading into the clinic. There’s already so much to worry about in this whole process and if you Google just a little bit then there are constant warnings of the increase of autism if you have a child later in life. I don’t think I’m alone here in this worry and, of course, we will love a child no matter what the future holds and do everything for our child to have the best life possible. However, it’s just no fun to have the autism reminder right there every time you get off the elevator. I think Dr. TT is very aware of this and walked us through the chances of conditions, like autism, during our first appointment. Turns out the odds don’t really go up all that much whether you have a baby at 18 or 40 according to Dr. TT. I like Dr. TT’s odds so I will no longer be Googling myself into anxiety attacks.

Anyway, back to Scott and the Masturbatorium! Scene: Scott, Cody, five ladies in five cubicles not-so-strategically placed about five feet from the door of the Masturbatorium, and the building houses other offices outside of the medical world.

Cody and Scott exchange niceties and Cody hands Scott a brown paper lunch bag containing THE CUP. I capitalized THE CUP but only to point out that it’s just a friggin’ plastic cup. I don’t know why it has to be in a brown lunch bag. Do dudes really need this much protection in this process? I’ve carried a urine-filled cup without a paper bag around medical offices for years and years now. Hell, they weigh women right there in the middle of the office WITH OUR SHOES AND CLOTHES ON for all to see! Again, we get a Dollar Tree white tablecloth to cover up our intimate bits with during appointments. (I love Dollar Tree. I will never buy cards or gift bags anywhere else ever again.) So anyway, THE CUP is in a brown paper bag of protection. OH, and Cody asked Scott if he needed any lubrication to aid in the process.  (Alright, I’m starting to feel for the guys now a little bit. I also feel for Cody. I know it’s all clinical and all that jazz, but it’s weird.) Did Kanye take the lubrication?!

Scott takes his lunch bag and key cards *BEEP* himself into the Masturbatorium. I had asked Scott to really take it all in so he could describe what a Masturbatorium looks like to me because I’ll more than likely never land in one. Perhaps, I shouldn’t have made this request but I didn’t know the situation! He took pics (wait…NOT THOSE KIND OF PICS!!!) of the recliner and the “materials” to text me. The “materials” mainly consisted of a big monitor with a website already pulled up on it and a mouse. I can’t show you the pic of the “materials” (XXX) but here’s the comfy recliner complete with what looks like the same potty pads we use for Stout! Did Kanye sit on a potty pad?!

As Scott is taking in his new digs, he can hear the five women who sit right outside the Masturbatorium door talking about work. We are going to go with these five ladies being accountants because they weren’t talking in medical terms and were using words like fiscal, fixed assets, liability, and cash flow. (Ok, I Googled accounting terms but the gist here is that they weren’t doctors, nurses or even medical professionals it seemed. These were just ladies doing their non-medical jobs right outside the Masturbatorium.) Scott quickly learned the Masturbatorium walls were very thin which then immediately makes me question the volume on the “materials” monitor AND HOW IN THE WORLD THESE LADIES DO THEIR JOB ON A DAILY BASIS KNOWING WHAT THAT ROOM IS USED FOR?!?! That brown paper bag isn’t hiding anything! But also, how do the dudes do their jobs in the Masturbatorium while overhearing five accountant ladies talking about where they want to go for lunch? Plus, Cody is also chilling in a cube right outside the door too. WWKD? (Translation: What Would Kanye Do?)

As Scott tries to drown out the sounds of the accountants accounting and Cody Codying to settle into his role there, he then hears a new noise.  (I’m now going to take over Scott’s brain to tell you his thoughts! Hey, it’s really nice in here. So calm, so stable, there are no screams of panic or constant to-do lists churning about…hmmm…I’ll just get comfy on this pile of red Starbursts. Ok, I’m Scott now…)

*BEEP*

Scott’s brain: Wait, is someone beeping into the door?! 

Scott scrambles out of the comfy recliner to stop anyone from entering the door to the Masturbatorium. (Me as Jessica now: I want to make a Game of Thrones reference here, but it’s a spoiler for those who haven’t seen it but want to watch the show and then I know others who wouldn’t get my reference because they refuse to watch GoT much like I did for years when it came to The Office because I knew some not-nice people who quoted The Office constantly so I figured it wasn’t the right show for me. I was wrong. The Office is hilarious and Game of Thrones is awesome.)

Scott’s brain: Ok, no one is trying to come in, maybe they accidentally swiped the wrong door.  I’ll also lock this doorknob lock too as a backup.  Well sh*t, this lock doesn’t work. Ok, I’m sure it’s all fine. Back to the comfy recliner! 

Back to the comfy recliner…

Scott’s brain: So, this is what Stout’s potty pads feel like…

*BEEP*

Scott’s brain: Mother F*cker! (Sorry, my mom and Scott’s mom!)

Jumps up to guard the door again. Nothing happens. Returns to comfy recliner and potty pad.

*BEEP*

Scott’s brain: WHAT THE FUUUCCCC…(Sorry moms).

And, rinse and repeat a few more times.

*BEEP**BEEP**BEEP**BEEP**BEEP**BEEP**BEEP**BEEP**BEEP**BEEP*

(Jumping out of Scott’s brain now.) Scott eventually decided there must be a similar door nearby malfunctioning because the *BEEP* kept happening every 30-seconds but he never heard a door open or close. So, he drowned out the accountants accounting, Cody Codying, and the *BEEP* beeping.

*This post has been modified from its original version. It has been formatted to fit this screen and edited for content.*

Scott leaves the Masturbatorium with HIS CUP safely resting in the paper lunch bag of protection and hands it over to Cody. He asks Cody if anyone else has ever commented on hearing everything going on in the office around you while you’re in the Masturbatorium and also asks about the beeping door.

Cody: Yea…some men do have problems with the atmosphere and aren’t able to provide a sample here in the office. 

Scott: What happens in those situations?

Cody: Oh, well…you can totally take it home, do it, then bring it back. 

280

(Scott would add a “bro” or “brah” to the end of Cody’s sentence because that was Cody’s vibe.)

We don’t understand why taking the cup home isn’t the first option presented for sperm samples, but we are 100% sure Kanye took THE CUP home safely in his paper bag of protection.

Fluorescent lighting is no one’s friend. Trying on clothes and, gods forbid, bathing suits with fluorescent lights shining down upon you is one of Dante’s circles of hell.  I get to experience Fluorescent Fallopian Tubes next with a heaping side of mortal embarrassment and a dash of rage.  See you next week!

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