Let’s hear it for new experiences!
I think I freaked out the women working at the free clinic today. But not in a bad way. I should start at the beginning.
In every relationship that begins as a one-night stand, there comes a time when one partner says to the other, “We should get tested for the HIV [pronounced "The hiv"], just in case you are diseased.” The other partner says, “Sure, why not?” And then, since they are both very thrifty, they go down to their local free clinic and try not to pick up hepatitis from the other patients while waiting for their blood test results.
Saturday is the designated day for women to show up and get tested, so I strolled in around noon.
“Hello!” I said cheerfully to the girl at the front desk, who looked like she was barely old enough to drive, and had maybe volunteered for this job to get credits for her high school health class. “I would like to make sure I don’t have the HIV.”
She seemed pleased. “Great! Take a number and a counselor will be right with you.”
Since the Army has taken care of my disease-testing/vaccination over the past several years, I’d never been fortunate enough to know what goes into this kind of procedure in the civilian sector. In the Army, they just say, “Stand in that line so we can draw your blood and then put something else into your veins. Do it. Now.” And with no further comment, you do it.
At this clinic, I was ushered into a smallish office by two women who seemed like they were, again, considerably younger than I am.
“Do you mind if we ask you a few questions before we do your test?” the one with the clipboard asked me.
“Not at all,” I chirped, glad to be getting this out of the way after several weeks of procrastination. “Ask away!”
They then proceeded to ask me several details about my coughsexlifecough. This is where I think I may have freaked them out. But not in a bad way.
The thing is, I have never (in case you hadn’t noticed) been a shy person. I’ve never even been a slightly reserved person. If two women approached me on the street and asked me what my preferred method of birth control was, I’d probably tell them, without even asking why, that I am partial to Lifestyles condoms, the ones in the blue box, and what was your name, by the way? It should also be factored in that, in the junior enlisted sector of the military, one’s sexual exploits were not necessarily considered sacred in any way, and unless you were hooking up with someone else’s spouse, the rules were that there were no rules, if you know what I’m saying, and I think you do.
So, I was more amused than uncomfortable with the questions (and answers) being bandied back and forth with some degree of awkwardness on their part.
“Um, how many, um, sexual partners have you had in the last year?” one asked, as the other prepared to take notes.
I counted aloud. “… three, four, five … six? Six!” I said confidently. “Or seven.”
“Ummm, okay.”
It continued like that for a while, but in the interest of retaining some semblance of class in this entry, I’ll refrain from transcribing the entire “counseling session,” as they called it. The whole thing only took about ten minutes, but by the end I felt as though I had really made a statement about sexual liberation … or something. All I’m saying is that I think they were maybe surprised that my test came back negative.
Anyway, hi! The Too Much Information portion of this post is now concluded. If any of you are still reading at this point, I would like to share something with you that is completely unrelated to STDs. It originated as a Facebook Note, but I feel like too much effort went into it to just let it stay there, so I’m sharing it with you. It is titled …
The Electric Flavor Wave Turbo Test
“Is it better than ‘Everyday Normal Guy?’” I asked, referring to the last time she’d made that assertion.
“Hmm, I don’t know if it’s better,” she frowned. “But Mr. T is in it!”
Sparking the lighter, I raised an eyebrow and glanced over at her roommate, Emily. “Is this true?”
She nodded.
The three of us huddled around Aleece’s laptop, the screen casting its bewitching glow between our drooping eyelids. As Aleece entered F-L-A-V-O-R W-A-V-E into the YouTube search box, I settled back on the couch. I was slightly hungry.
“Here it is!” Emily pointed excitedly. “WATCH THIS.”
It was an infomercial for the Flavor Wave Turbo Oven – an invention that could allegedly cook, among a plethora of other things, a block of frozen meat in sixteen minutes. Mr. T was a supporting actor, whose role consisted of periodically gushing with earnest enthusiasm to the lead demonstrator, Darla, about how amazing it all was.
“This is DELICIOUS!” he proclaimed as he chewed a hunk of steak and proceeded to pity the fool who could not taste it.
Naturally, I was overjoyed to see a product which required me to exert even less effort than the George Foreman Grill, especially knowing my personal history of “cooking.” I have burnt items which started out frozen, undercooked some which were all but coated in kerosene, and (more than once, I’ll admit) turned a coffeemaker into a caffeine volcano, spewing grounds and brew hither and yon.
My most infamous endeavor involved a box of Minute rice. Tired after a long day of being owned by the government, I returned home for dinner one night to discover that the only foodstuffs to be found in my apartment were rice, Jell-O and butter.
Two of these things go together, I thought (rice and butter, since I was not high), and proceeded to dump the proportionally-appropriate amount of rice and water into a pot. I twisted the burner’s dial to “medium” and turned on a movie while I waited for my rice to cook.
Several minutes later, I peered into the pot.
“This isn’t cooking,” I announced to my then-spouse, whose help I had refused on the grounds of his goodnatured remark that maybe he should help, what with it being the last food in the house, and all. “Why isn’t it cooking?”
A short investigation into the matter concluded with my moving the pot to the correct burner. A few moments later, we ate our buttered rice, which had cooked at the usual pace once given a fair go at it.
My eyes were riveted on the Flavor Wave. I imagined it to be the answer to all of my cooking woes. There would be no more complicated multiple burners, confusing dials or meek eggshell timers; no more cold-in-the-center meat or soggy vegetables. The lapsed time between desiring food and consuming it would be cut drastically.
I had to take action. Clicking my way to the Flavor Wave Web site, I selected the cheerily-flashing ORDER NOW button.
Aleece and Emily gaped at me.
“You’re actually buying it?” they squealed. “No way!”
Yes way, I certainly was. Having never before ordered a product based solely on its infomercial, I was slightly surprised at myself, but nonetheless continued to the Shipping Information page.
One step away from purchasing my dream machine, I filled in the blank Address lines on the order form, but stopped short when I reached an impasse – the form wouldn’t allow me to select a country other than Canada.
“Drat!” I moaned, just in case I would ever have to relate the story with a PG rating. “They only ship to Canada!”
A message was hurriedly dashed off to my Canadian friend Leah, pleading with her to accept delivery of the Flavor Wave Turbo and forward it on to me. Ten years ago, Leah stood in line with me for hours outside a Toronto music store so I could shake hands with Puff Daddy (as P. “Sean John” Diddy was then known), and I knew that if anyone would be up for some international smuggling, it was she.
We were entering the wee hours of the morning, so I parted ways with Emily and Aleece, promising to keep them informed of further Flavor Wave developments.
A few days later, having gotten the go-ahead from Leah but not yet placed my order, I showed the infomercial to my friend Carolyn, who is a legitimate culinary artist.
“What do you think?” I asked her, fully sober at the time. “Is this possible? Is Mr. T right to pity me for not experiencing all that the Flavor Wave has to offer? Do you think the thing could really work?”
“Probably,” she affirmed. “It sounds possible.”
That was really all the confirmation I needed.
A quick visit to the correct Flavor Wave Web site told me that it was manufactured right here in California, and my order could be filled anywhere in the United States. I took the plunge. I promised Leah that I would keep her informed.
Two days and one (of three) easy payments of $39.95 later, my Flavor Wave arrived, and I intend to keep my promise to those who helped (or would have helped) make its acquisition a success.
Here, without further ado, is the Official Flavor Wave Turbo Test.
Bonus detail: While cooking in the Flavor Wave, the potatoes look eerily similar to the sacred stones in “Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom,” do they not?
That cooking lesson was indeed amazing! As one who considers Hamber Helper to be a normal everyday food, that steak looked amazing!
P.S. Glad your test came out ok!
Jess
May 11, 2009 at 8:33 am
Oh god – I think I love you. That std thing was just brilliant, and the everyday normal guy was a hoot. You can keep your nasty cooking thing though. All the best, Anna (friend of wittykitty) xx
Anna
May 11, 2009 at 4:21 pm
Two questions…was the “Rub me on your butt” t-shirt a promotional gift with the Flavor Wave? And did you wear it to your free clinic appointment? I know my love life would increase dramatically with that. Plus I’d suddenly know how to cook too!
awittykitty
May 12, 2009 at 7:57 pm
Yo, this here is Wenchie from the long left Diaryland… I just followed you here, and I think I love you too! Read a bit here and there, admired the garden of tattoos blooming all over you this spring, scrolled over all the photos to catch up a bit… dang, love the zen moment of the different years of March. I had to look at that three or four times: the green in the third photo just blows one away. I guess you’re lucky you were just in the army over there and not a native. Dang. Anyways, glad to see you getting around so much, looking good, and having adventures that don’t involve so much hierarchy and bullets. Interesting to see your (very fit and young) parents. I think I’ll subscribe.
later!
ps, you’re a really great blogger.
wenchie
June 2, 2009 at 10:16 pm
I can’t believe it took 2.5 months to click on your e-mail telling me there was an update. I’ve gotten so lazy.
I think it’s utterly fabulous that you bought something off an infomercial and that it was such a success. Would it work on asparagus? Because I loved grilled asparagus and me being a vegetarian the rib-eyes aren’t so tempting really.
It’s so nice to see you as you, instead of being Army girl.
Kathleen
July 21, 2009 at 2:20 pm