Dating Tales

You might remember reading about my friend Alex and her tattoo mishap in a post I wrote last fall. Well, she is still undergoing her tattoo laser removal by Denver’s Ink-B-Gone and has lived to happily tell the story.

Before any laser removal treatments

After session number five

She says the treatments have been totally worth it. In fact, with such obvious results she recommends laser removal to anyone that asks. The staff at Ink B Gone have been nothing but helpful and her boyfriend is happy with it too. At first he wasn’t so sure, but now he’s on board. But then again, what choice does he have!

A close friend of mine has more courage than most women in their 20s. Not only did she eagerly take on a move to New York City and a challenging career, she can in the midst of complete disarray notice a hot doctor when she sees one.

Kayla was suffering from a serious flu. She couldn’t hold anything down and having gone two days without fluids or sleep she starting seeing stars. This is when two of her friends took her to the emergency room. She was instantly pumped full of fluids by the nurses and inspected by the doctor. The gorgeous, young doctor.

At first sight of the doctor Kayla cheered up attempting to look and feel better than she really did. But despite her efforts her lab work still showed signs of troubled kidneys and that required a physical exam.

After another couple of hours of tests, pokes, prods, and one more IV, Kayla was allowed to go home, but not before the doctor handed an information sheet with hospital address and home number. Through her foggy vision, she saw a love connection.

Was he extra gentle with the stethoscope? Did he take a second too long to brush the hair away from her neck when he looked in her ears? The way he smiled when she said she felt fine–did that glance last a second too long too? When he patted her back while she puked into a bucket, was that normal patient care?

Leaving the emergency room that afternoon, Kayla tucked the information sheet neatly in her purse because she knew she’d be needing that information soon. Not for her flu, but for her heart.

Twenty-four hours later Kayla found pen and paper and wrote:

Dear Hot Doctor,

Thank you for your attentive care this last Sunday in the ER. After a full 24-hours I feel much better and have you to thank. I do not mean to make an inappropriate step here, but I’m writing to give you my phone number. I felt a spark when you took my temperature, and it wasn’t my fever.

I hope to hear from you soon. 567-5309.

-Kayla

***********

Believe it or not, he called. But only to say that she wasn’t out of line and that he was married.  No love connection for Kayla, but major good karma points for taking the risk and trying to date her doctor.

Anyone who knows me well can attest to my non-violent nature. Last night that non-violent side of me disappeared after three glasses of wine and 1 1/2 hours of watching the movie Superbad.

And that something is misdirected violence.

While sitting on the couch I practiced balancing a tennis ball on my head with arms spread wide. This is not an easy task and one that I admit to be quite good at. Apparently watching me do this for 20 or so minutes was somewhat annoying to the boyfriend. To get that point across he took the ball from me and then threw it in my general direction.

The ball landed on the couch, which I was now standing in front of. In pure football tackle form (or at least what I would call tackle form) he started to race toward me. To keep him from grabbing the tennis ball and to keep him from tackling me, I put my hands out to stop him at his shoulders.

Instead I stopped him at his face.

With a fingernail I managed to slice the side of his forehead, even drawing blood. He claims I attacked him, but I claim bad aim and self defense. Though this morning upon seeing the swollen red bump on his face, I do feel a little bit like an abuser.

I blame Superbad. That movie’ll make anybody a little crazy. I don’t recommend it. For your boyfriend’s sake, don’t watch it.

Commuting every day on mass transportation can give the mind a lot of time wander. When I lived in Boston I had a one-hour commute each way, and since I arrived and departed at exactly the same time each day, there were several men I got to see routinely. Cute men, I might add.

I called these men my “T boyfriends.” Without sounding too stalker-esque I knew their cologne, what books they were reading, and what stops they got on and off at. I never intended to speak to any of my T boyfriends (there were several), I was just greatful to have interesting commutes.

Not everyone is as shy as I am, though. I do have friends that overcame the silence among subway passengers that serves as barrier to any sort of relationship building.

One friend of mine saw a cute guy on the subway every day for weeks. Finally, she was sitting next to him and decided to pull the plug from her iPOD and offer to plug it into his. He agreed and few songs later they became friends.

Another friend–after losing her balance while hanging on to the bar–fell against one cutie who then got off at her stop and coincidentally needed directions. He also asked for a date.

So it can pay to try and make a subway boyfriends the real thing. Too bad I never had the courage.

I’ve had many bad first kisses in my time. For that matter, I’ve had plenty of bad second, third, and fourth kisses too. One of the worst kisses involved an injury.

Like many first kisses, it was precluded by lots of drinks at a club. The overhead lights were dim and the black lights and disco balls were in full affect. With both of these two factors in action it was near impossible to tell a cute guy from the next, but in my drunk state, I was confident the man with me dancing was gorgeous.

A few more trips to the bar for beers and I started liking this guy more and more. When we snuggled in the back booth to make out I was delighted (it must have been the beers), but when my tongue braised the bottom of his teeth my delight faded. I couldn’t help but notice the sharp edges of two of his teeth. Seconds later I felt one of those sharp edges pierce the tip of my tongue.In pain, I flinched and pulled away feeling the taste buds on my tongue vibrate with the music. I tried to recover, but it just couldn’t be done. Moments later the lights came on and revealed the man in his full glory. Turns out this man was more gorgeous than I thought.

The pain magically subsided, and I went back in for another kiss, but not before he smiled and I noticed those teeth. Those pointy, sharp, and about as yellow as I’ve ever seen teeth.

I’m no tooth model and I recognize I sound superficial, but the beautiful brown locks and glistening blue eyes could not make up for the oral hygiene.

Here’s a dating tip for those that need it: caps and bleach could get you a second make-out session. Try Ivory White teeth whitener. Note: if you sign up for Ivory White, the product will automatically be shipped to you and your credit card automatically charged. Don’t blame me, just thank me for your second make out session.