It's Either TMI or Listen to Me Bitch About My Job

More proof that biology hates me and that I lose more and more sense of shame as I get older.

Regarding the latter, I fully expect to wake up on the weekends sometime in the future and, noticing that it's a nice day outside, just walk outside in my underwear and socks, Hostess Cup Cake in one hand, beer in the other, all the while leisurely patroling my lawn for day-ruining communists and waving at horrified passers-by. Oh, and when I'm down to just the beer, I'll scratch at my crotch, occaisionally excavating my belly button for lost treasure.

So, to carry us back to the present, my balls ache. Not my testicles, you damn prudes: My Balls. The reason they ache is because yesterday I ordered a pizza with pepperoni and jalepenos on it, and such is the nature of my decrepit and broken-down (and, yes, horribly abused) body that I now know with 95% certainty that when I eat spicey food there will be a reckoning. In my balls. Sure, my balls' cranky neighbor--Mr. Asshole--might complain, too, but we're not talking about him, we're talking about the part of the body we actually like, not the one who's frankly kind of an embarrassment to everyone.

Anyway, I certainly don't remember having this problem when I was younger. And I will say that jalepenos seem to cause this reaction more than other run-of-the-mill spicey foods. But I still have to eat them, dammit, because I'm also old enough To Take Responsibility For My Actions. The pleasure I get from eating the food is still worth any potential crotch coddling (balls balming? testicle tranquilizing?) that I might have to engage in the next day.

I know that the time is coming where I'll have to forgo these foods completely, I'm sure. But for now, I'm still willing to amuse myself at the expense of my body.

I'm pretty sure this makes me more foolish than principled.