Think back to the first time you and your friends tried mixing all the sodas in the pop fountain. You watched each different fizz cascade into the 64 oz. Big Gulp, mesmerized as the cola-colored puddle metamorphosed into a rust-colored, guaranteed gut-buster of a beverage. You thought to yourself, "Is this a good idea?"

And if you're anything like me, you said, "What the hell," and took a sip and even as you felt your Cheetoes and chocolate milk crawling back up your throat (with just a hint of Dr. Pepper), you swore to all your friends--you swore to God--that it was the "best thing ever made, try it, you gotta try it, just try it." And in the end, after fighting back your lunch, you decided it wasn't really that bad. And you took another sip.

That's what life is like in mredison's neighborhood. Welcome.

Saturday, October 13, 2007

Strength in Numbers

I went to a medical clinic today, and one of the questions on the intake forms was "Are you Married/Partnered or Single?" The lady at the desk asks the question, and I kind of pause out. I'm not married, but I'm not single either. . .I have a lady friend. . .I live with my lady friend. . .Aren't you supposed to call your s.o. your "partner" in professional settings? . . .

So I tell her that I'm not single, but I'm not married either. "Partnered?" she asks, and then, without waiting for a response, marks the box and moves to the next question. I return to my seat, and ten minutes go by.

Then I begin to wonder. . .By "partnered," could she mean "1/2 of a long term homosexual relationship?" Before I could think it all the way through, I was called in to the examination room.


The intern begins by asking if I have any chronic conditions. I respond that I suffer from fatness. She asks if I exercise to mitigate my weight gains and high BMI score. I respond that I bike to and from work everyday and a couple times a week beyond that. After an hour or so of questions that had nothing to do with my earache, I get ready to leave the clinic.

The intern wishes me good luck and says: "Get better, and get your partner to go biking with you. Strength in numbers!" Then she puts on a serious face, does a fist pump and finishes the gesture by flashing me a strange smile. . .

I ran all this by the lady friend, and she thinks I took the intake question the wrong way. So by my own unwitting admission, I passed as an openly gay man with a double ear infection for a few hours this morning.
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