Stef Woods

A swing…

As my group left Nationals Park, some of my friends expressed interest in going to a bar.

Improv Boy: Do you want to join them?

Me: I could probably last for one drink, but that’s it. I’d rather go home. [Winking.] It’s your call, though.

Improv Boy [putting his arm around me]: Let’s go home then.

A friend, Samantha, asked if she could share a cab with us since we live in the same neighborhood. We found a cab quickly, and it was a nice, white Town Car with plush seats. Samantha and I got in the back, and Improv Boy sat in the front. The cab driver was friendly and deftly navigated his way through the streets as though he was Mario Andretti.

Me: You rock, Mr. Cab Driver! I need to get your card.

[I noticed a Pakistani flag in the window of the cab and smiled to myself. I wrote my college admissions essay about Benazir Bhutto, but I figured that now wasn’t the time to get into a discussion about world politics.]

Improv Boy [to the cab driver]: There’s a lot of traffic. Why is that?

Cab Driver: There was a game tonight.

Improv Boy: Football?

Cab Driver: No. Baseball.

Improv Boy: Oh, the Redskins were playing?

Cab Driver: No, the Nationals.

Improv Boy: Who were they playing? The Cowboys?

Cab Driver: No, the Marlins.

I had been rolling my eyes during the entire interaction, and finally had to speak up:

Hey. Be nice. He’s trying to get us home as quickly as possible so don’t mess with him.

What I really wanted to say:

Stop being such an asshole to the cab driver! You know damn well what was going on inside the stadium and why there’s so much traffic. You were at the freaking game! You’re not in improv class right now, and the cab driver probably thinks you’re making fun of him! That’s not cool so please just shut up!

For the rest of the ride home, Samantha and I talked about local sushi places. When we arrived in front of my place, Improv Boy offered to pay and wouldn’t even let Samantha contribute to the tip. After we said goodbye to Samantha, I said:

That was really nice of you! Thanks!

As we approached the front door to my building, Improv Boy commented:

So…I don’t think I’m going to come upstairs.

Me [confused]: Are you joking?

Improv Boy: No.

Me: Is something wrong?

Improv Boy: No. [Pause.] I just don’t think we have a future together.

To be continued…

Take me out to the ballgame

As I arrived at Nationals Park, I smiled as I recognized some of the men working security. (I used to be a regular at Washington Wizards games, and many of the guys also worked at the Verizon Center.) I exchanged a few pleasantries with two of the men who remembered me, and a thought crossed my mind:

Could I give up dating black men indefinitely to pursue my relationship with Improv Boy, a white guy?

For many, that wouldn’t be an issue. But, I’m different. I know and respect my type.

My phone vibrated with a text from Improv Boy, indicating that he, too, had just arrived at the park. I texted him my location and noticed him before he noticed me. I tried not to show my surprise at his attire. Improv Boy was wearing:

A soft denim Washington Nationals baseball cap;
A Hawaiian-style shirt from Old Navy; and
High-waisted, baggy, light denim jeans with red stitching and a couple of holes in the legs that were not put there by the jeans company.

I realize that I might sound like a snob, and that’s not my intention. It wasn’t about how much money he spent on his clothes or that he was wearing jeans and a shirt. (We were at a baseball game, after all.) But rather, it seemed like Improv Boy didn’t care much about his appearance. He had mentioned to me before that he’s a “minimalist.” But, there’s a difference between being a minimalist and looking like you just came from a keg party.

When Abigail, our mutual friend, saw Improv Boy, she asked:

What’s up with the Blossom jeans?

I tried to stifle my laughter, but I just couldn’t. Yes, Improv Boy was wearing jeans straight out of the ’90s television show, Blossom. As Joey Lawrence would say, “Whoa!“

The pre-game activities were a bit of sensory overload for me. Add sensory overload to my already heightened senses – thanks, Post-Concussion Syndrome – and I was sick within three minutes of entering the park. I let Improv Boy know that he could enjoy beers and live music with the group, but he insisted on walking me to our seats and lovingly holding my head. He stayed just like that for 20 minutes, refusing to get up even though he was starving and needed to go to the bathroom.

Maybe I could handle the Blossom jeans, after all?

With each inning, I began to feel better. Improv Boy continued to take care of me and was kind to my friends, buying them a round of drinks. Improv Boy also gave me space so I could socialize. Quite a few people in the group commented that they could tell how much Improv Boy liked me by how well he treated me. That was nice to hear, even though deep down, I already knew that!

At certain points during the game, Improv Boy and I relaxed and talked while we watched the Nationals hold their own. We discussed going to the beach later in the summer, watching World Cup and NFL games together, and a few naughty items that were on our to-do list ;)! That part of the evening was fun and easy.

But, some of the evening was rather awkward. During the game, Improv Boy sat between Abigail and me. Four of my girlfriends were seated in front of us. In the first inning, Improv Boy asked us:

So…how do you play this game?

[One girlfriend and I look at him with a confused expression on our faces.]

Where do you kick the ball?

I realized that he was joking and rolled my eyes at him. I also made a comment that he might not want to say that in front of a group of girls who know their sports.

But, that didn’t stop him from repeating that bit again in the fourth inning…and the eighth…to the same audience! I let him know that it wasn’t funny the first time.

I also noticed that every 10 minutes or so, he would say something to the group to try to get their attention or make them laugh. That worked about 20% of the time. The rest of the time, I saw the girls in the row in front of me, rolling their eyes and biting their tongues.

Improv Boy was so much fun to be around at the Happy Hour at Clyde’s, but tonight, it felt like he was trying too hard. I wondered which side of his personality was the more dominant. If I’m dating a guy, I’d like him to be able to join me in a variety of social settings without having to worry that he’ll annoy people.

As the game ended, Improv Boy and I moved to the bar to watch the fireworks over Nationals Park. He put one arm around my waist and massaged my neck with his other hand. We chatted to one of my friends about the meal that I made for him. Improv Boy complimented my cooking and said that he would gladly make the next dinner for us.

There were some ups and downs to the evening, but the night seemed to end on a high note. Little did I know that there would be more fireworks in store for me – outside of the park.

To be continued…

Feeling safe

Improv Boy and I never talked about whether we were a couple, but we definitely interacted as though we were in a relationship. The dynamic between us felt good and easy so I just tried to roll with it. Whatever was meant to be would be anyway, right?

During one conversation, I told Improv Boy that I had been meditating, when I decided to contact him out of the blue. (He had emailed me regularly back in March, but I wasn’t interested in him so I stopped replying.) I then learned that Improv Boy had thought that I was incredibly rude for not responding to his initial email.

Improv Boy: Girls don’t appreciate how tough it is for us guys. It takes a lot of courage to ask a girl out. And, I did that, and you didn’t even write back. That’s why I wrote the second email, saying that it would be terribly rude of me to have mistakenly sent an email to the wrong person. [He pulls up the email that he had sent me on his iPhone.]

Me: I don’t get it.

Improv Boy: That was my way of saying that YOU were rude.

Me: Oh, really? [I view that behavior as passive-aggressive, but I also respect from where he was coming. I hadn’t been responsive to his emails.]

Improv Boy: When you emailed me after a month about meeting up at Clyde’s, I called Jen [an ex-girlfriend with whom he’s still close friends] to ask if she thought I should go. I didn’t know if I should give you a chance since you had acted so rudely toward me at first. And, I didn’t want to be at a bar with all of your lawyer friends. [I laughed out loud since very few of my close friends are attorneys, which he now knows.] But, Jen convinced me that if I felt enough of a connection to ask you out in the first place, I should meet you for a drink.

Me [kissing him]: Well, I’m glad that you did. [We kiss again.] Really glad.

We smiled and giggled to each other about how everything had transpired. Improv Boy also informed me that he had plans to go out with another girl that week, but that he had canceled the date because of me. That made me smile since I had done the same exact thing with Mr. Attorney.

Improv Boy: I’m traditional, and I prefer to date just one person at a time.

Me: Yeah, me too.

[Now, in the past, that wouldn’t have been the case. But, I was in a much different place now.]

The following day, Improv Boy texted me from the doctor’s office to let me know that he was getting tested for HIV/STDs. He also wrote me the following:

My doctor told me I’m not allowed to date lawyers. He married one. He said I should run!

Normally, the commitment-phobe in me would have been concerned that he talked about me with his doctor and used the word, “marriage,” even in jest. But, I decided not to read too much into any of that and just wrote, “lol,” in response. We were dating. He had a good heart. That’s all that mattered.

The following day, we had planned to go to see a Washington Nationals game with friends. The weather was perfect for a baseball game, as is often the case in DC in May. Improv Boy had bought our tickets in advance and offered to drop mine off since we would be arriving at the game separately.

Me: I don’t mind waiting in front of the stadium for you.

Improv Boy: Why should you have to wait, though? I’m happy to drop your ticket off at your place so you can just go the seats when you arrive.

I smiled, thinking how nice it was to be dating such a caring guy. When he arrived at my place, we began to make out in the foyer…then the living room…and then the kitchen. (That was definitely becoming a pattern for us.) I was packing him up the rest of the Chicken Parmigiana for lunch, when he said:

If the game is too much for you [given that I have Post-Concussion Syndrome], just say the word and we can leave.

Me [smiling again at his kindness]: I should be fine.

Improv Boy: I hope you are, but if you’re not, we can leave at any time and just come home and have sex.

I paused before responding since he knew that I wanted to wait a few more weeks before adding sex into the mix.

Me: Well, it’s not the 29th yet.

Improv Boy [smiling like a giddy school boy]: But I got tested yesterday!

Me: It’s not like you have the results yet, though…

Improv Boy [interrupting me]: But, I will on Monday!

Me: We can talk about it then. See you tonight and thanks for the tickets.

I decided to let the sex issue go for a few days and just focus on this evening. I had a feeling that it was going to be a great night!

The LayaSpot

Lotus Blooms' customers request that the boutique carry Fun Factory's LAYAspot more than any other massage toy! The toy was also featured on Oprah as a "must have" product in the Beginner's Guide to Erotica. Many online sources swear by the Laya Spot, but does the toy meet with my approval?

What's good about the Laya Spot?

It's a Fun Factory product! As I mentioned in my review of the fabulous Smart Balls Teneo Duo, Fun Factory is a German sex toy company known for its aesthetically pleasing and top performing products! If you purchase a Fun Factory toy, you can take comfort in the fact that the item is high quality, and free of toxic ingredients and allergens.

The Laya Spot is waterproof. You can bring this toy into the shower, bath or hot tub for added versatility. The product has seven different speeds and three different pulsations.


Press and hold the positive sign (+) in the middle of the toy to turn it on and increase as desired. After the seventh press of the positive sign, you can continue to press it to change from constant vibrations to varying, pulsating rhythms. To decrease the intensity or return to constant vibrations, press the negative sign (-). The toy takes only two (2) AAA batteries, and yet, it feels powerful in your hand.

The Laya Spot is made of silky smooth elastomer. It's soft to the touch and compatible with any kind of lubricant.

What didn't I like about the Laya Spot?

  1. The shape. Fun Factory claims that the design is ergonomically friendly. I found it awkward and uncomfortable. The tip of the Laya Spot is bulbous and doesn't maximize sensations. I tried the toy on two separate occasions. It was difficult to hold if I was on my stomach — so much so that the bottom of the Laya Spot kept detaching, thereby turning the toy off. On my back, the product didn't rest on comfortably. No matter how I positioned the toy, it wasn't pleasurable for more than a few minutes.
  2. Its limitations. The Laya Spot is for external, clitoral use only. It's not meant for vaginal or anal use. There are toys that aren't designed for internal use, but still can be used with caution inside your pussy or anus. The Laya just isn't one of them. If your man enjoys light vibrations on his balls or perineum during oral sex or a hand job, then you can try using the Laya Spot in that capacity. Beyond that, though, you and your partner are out of luck.
  3. Bad vibrations. In my hand, the toy felt powerful. But, in practice, I remembered that the toy only holds two AAA batteries. The product did not deliver – even on its highest vibrations. (One reviewer claimed that the Laya Spot has 2/3 of the power of the Hitachi Magic Wand. I'm rolling my eyes at that statement!) Try though I did, it was impossible for me to enjoy the Laya Spot.

Who might enjoy the Laya Spot?

  • A first-time toy user;
  • A woman post-childbirth or illness;
  • A couple bringing a toy into the bedroom for the first time; or
  • A person who only uses sex toys in the water.

The Laya Spot retails for $65.90. I just can't justify recommending that you spend that much for this product. There are other smaller massage toys that are more economical and versatile. There are also stellar products that can satisfy newbies, couples, long-time toy users and women with vaginal pain issues.

Personally, I'd give the Laya Spot One Squeal. If you're a sex toy beginner or water lover, then I'll go up to Two Squeals. But, imagine those squeals as very wimpy.

Buh baya, Laya! xoxo

* Pursuant to FTC Guidelines, I received the Laya Spot free of charge in exchange for my honest review of the product.

City Girl's Squeals of Approval Chart:

1 Squeal: Bad. This toy is not worth your money. Do not pass go! Do not pay $2, let alone $200.
2 Squeals: Slightly Sub-Par. You won't hate this toy, but you won't necessarily like it either.
3 Squeals: Average/Good. This toy might not be the most innovative or satisfying, but it serves its purpose.
4 Squeals: Very good. A strong sex toy with minimal negatives that will be part of your regular line-up.
5 Squeals: Great. No toy does it better!

Giving things a chance

I had just realized that I had been mistakenly texting my high school boyfriend, Boston Christian, all afternoon, instead of the guy that I was currently dating, Improv Boy. Boston Christian had played along in a manner that was mostly funny, a tad embarrassing and rather surprising given the fact that he was married. I also didn’t know what to say to Improv Boy about the day’s events, as he was standing in front of me.

As my cheeks reddened, I laughed out loud numerous times. When I explained the story to Improv Boy, he chuckled uncomfortably. Throughout the evening, I wanted to bring up how humorous I found the situation, but I didn’t. It was clear to me that Improv Boy wasn’t as entertained as I was.

When Improv Boy headed to the bathroom, I quickly texted Boston Christian.

Me: Omg!!! Rofl!!! I started dating a guy named Christian. Just realized when you wrote about a game because he’s over. So funny and so sorry! Xoxo

Boston Christian: I had a feeling… =)

I wanted to text more with Christian, but I knew that my attention should be focused on my date. I put my phone away and went back to the kitchen. While dinner was cooking in the oven, Improv Boy and I alternated between enjoying our drinks (Italian Chianti for him and diet pepsi for me) and making out. I hadn’t cooked in a while and I wasn’t sure if this recipe was a winner. But, when dinner was served, he complimented my cooking several times and even went back for seconds!

Me: I hadn’t realized how much I had missed cooking until tonight. Hopefully, I can make more meals for you in the near future.

Improv Boy: I’d like that. And, you know I love to cook so I’ll help you.

Me [smiling]: That would be nice.

We sat very close to each other as we were eating, brushing each other’s legs and kissing between bites. He then looked at me and said:

Guess what I’m doing on Thursday?

Me: I don’t know. What?

Improv Boy: Going to the doctor to get tested [for HIV and other sexually transmitted diseases]!

Me: Really?

Improv Boy: Yep!

I smiled and thanked him, but I really wanted to say, “Whooooaaa! It’s way too soon for that!”

Our first one-on-one date was April 29th. When the topic of sex came up that evening, I let him know that I didn’t want to have sex until we had been together for at least a month (May 29th). And, he made an appointment to get tested on May 6th! Yes, I had a crush on him, but it just seemed premature to decide if we were in an exclusive relationship. We had only dated eight days and were still getting to know each other!

My normal reaction would have been to run or at least to retreat a bit. But, I decided to approach this situation differently. I exhaled. I would know soon enough if Improv Boy and I were a match, and I didn’t have to have sex with him if I wasn’t ready. Plus, after dating several guys who didn’t take the HIV/STD testing issue as seriously as I did, it was refreshing to find someone who felt the same way and took the initiative to get tested.

After dinner, we moved to the couch to watch a movie and resume making out. The subject then turned to more serious matters.

Improv Boy: So, I’ve noticed your Medical Alert bracelet.

Me: Yeah, I figured you did.

Improv Boy: I know you have some health stuff you’re dealing with. I used to be an EMT so I want to be able to know how to help you if you need it. Mind telling me about your conditions?

Me [taking a deep breath]: Sure.

We talked for about 15 minutes about my health issues and how he might be of assistance to me. I made sure to mention what I learned from my conversation with “Buckeyes” Boy. (I hadn’t realized until “Buckeyes” Boy had pointed it out last year that I take for granted that my new boyfriends just automatically understand what to do when my conditions act up.)

After the movie ended, Improv Boy and I also decided to go to a baseball game that Friday evening with some friends of mine. Abigail, my friend who does comedy with Improv Boy, would be there, too.

Improv Boy: Will the game be too much for you? [I have Post-Concussion Syndrome so loud noises and crowds can be very disorienting.]

Me: It might be, but it’s worth a try, right?

Improv Boy: Okay. I’ll buy the tickets.

We retired to the bedroom for me to tuck him in. As our arms and lips locked, I felt happy and safe. Yes, we had gotten close very quickly, and I didn’t know what the future would hold for us. But, I decided to give my relationship with Improv Boy a chance. He seemed worth it.

Texting fun

I had a little crush on Improv Boy, and it felt good. We were in that blissful early phase of a relationship. I couldn't help but smile when I was with him, and I couldn't stop thinking about him when we were apart.

As much as we were seeing each other, I still wanted to wait to have sex with him. (When I have a crush on a guy, I can tend to rush into the physical side of the relationship. I didn't want to do that this time.) I suggested that we wait until a month after our first one-on-one date. I even sent him a Google Invite for May 29th with the event title: When the magic will happen. I hoped that would reaffirm my point in a way that was at least somewhat light and endearing.

He laughed at the invite, but commented that we wouldn't still be together if we didn't have sex before then. I reiterated my desire for us to get tested before we decided to have sex, and thankfully, he didn't seem averse to that. I figured that I would broach that matter again in two weeks. Maybe I didn't need to wait the whole month, right?

When I awoke Tuesday morning, I decided that I would actually cook dinner for Improv Boy that evening. I selected an easy menu of Chicken Parmigiana with Angel Hair and bought all the ingredients, a bottle of wine and cupcakes for dessert. I also had to purchase a casserole dish. I really don't cook often!

I texted Improv Boy to say that I would be cooking that evening, joking that I would be making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. As the day progressed, I got a migraine that would not go away. That normally wouldn't be a problem, but for the fact that my migraine medicine is so strong that I can only take it twice a week. Unfortunately, I had to hold out for at least another 24 hours before my next dose.

I wanted to give Improv Boy a heads up that I might not be feeling my best so I sent him a text:

Me: 3rd migraine in 5 days. But, definitely, definitely, definitely want to see you, cook for you and cook with you ;).

Improv Boy: I'm sorry for your pain, but I like the sound of all that kitchen activity. Where are you?

Me: My couch

[I was able to relax a bit since I had already started the preparation. All that was left to do was put the dish in the oven and boil the pasta when he arrived.]

Improv Boy: Probably the best place for you to be with a migraine. Do you need anything?

Me: I'm good — thanks! And, there might be a few things you can do for me after wine, pb&j, and dessert ;).

Improv Boy: I hope that your head feels better by dinner. What kind of wine do you prefer with your pb&j?

For me it depends on the varietal of the jelly. A Concord grape gets a cabernet sauvignon, strawberry goes with champagne, a nice zinfandel for black currant, etc. And after refreshments, you were thinking of a nice drive around the neighborhoods? Warm bath? Foot massage?

[I was beaming at this point because he was so incredibly sweet!]

Me: I asked the wine guy downstairs what bottle would go with pb&j and he chose an Italian Chianti. But, if you want to bring something else, please do so.

Lol about afterward. I do have a bathtub product for couples to review :-D.

Improv Boy: I didn't even think of Chianti! Good choice! Perhaps we'll just let you have the wine and I can show you my appreciation.

I smiled, laugh out loud, and got up to set the table. Since Improv Boy was always very punctual, I figured that he had sent his last text right before heading over to my place. Just as I expected, there was a knock on my door at exactly 6:30. I couldn't contain how happy I was to see him, and we proceeded to make out in the foyer…and the living room…and the kitchen. Our lips finally parted enough so that I could begin baking the entrée.

Improv Boy: How was your day?

Me: Better now.

Improv Boy: What was wrong?

Me: I have another migraine. I told you that, though.

My phone vibrated to indicate that a text had come in. I opened the message to see the following:

I hope you are feeling better. I'm off to my game, but I will be thinking of the job left undone at your place ;).

Me [smiling]: Did you send this before you got here?

Improv Boy: Send what?

Me: A text about me feeling better.

Improv Boy: No.

[Long pause.]

Me: Did you get my texts this afternoon about wine and pb&j and bathtime fun?

Improv Boy: No.

I looked at Improv Boy and then my phone, completely confused. And then, I did that again. As I started to put the pieces together, my eyes got wide, my jaw dropped open, and my face became flushed.

Improv Boy had the same first name as my high school boyfriend, Boston Christian. I had been texting Boston Christian – now married and definitely not Improv Boy – all afternoon. And, Boston Christian had played along.

Me: Oh. My. God.

To be continued…

Making me blush

Several hours after Improv Boy had left my place on a Monday morning in early May, I awoke with two thoughts on my mind:

1. It was comfortable and easy to be with Improv Boy; and
2. I really didn't want to go out on a date with Mr. Attorney the following evening.

There are times in my life when I enjoy dating several different guys at once. Other times, though, I prefer to focus all of my attention on one guy. Improv Boy and I had gone out with each other several times, and I wanted to see how things would evolve.

Did my personality mesh well with Mr. Attorney? I vacillated between sending Mr. Attorney an email canceling our plans for Tuesday and telling him that I preferred not to go out with him again — ever. I decided on the former to keep my options open. Mr. Attorney was my type physically and was great on paper. Improv Boy wasn't either of those things, but treated me like a queen. I figured that I could actively pursue Improv Boy without totally closing the door on Mr. Attorney.

I sent Mr. Attorney an email, apologizing for being unable to see him. He offered to reschedule for Wednesday since he was heading out of town after that, but I said that I was unavailable. He called me, and I let it go to voicemail. I realize that wasn't the most direct approach, but I knew that the tone in my voice would convey my disinterest.

As the day progressed, I found myself thinking about Improv Boy incessantly. It was odd for me to focus on how a guy treated me, rather than my desire to have sex with him. But, with Improv Boy, it was all about how kind he was. He checked in every day to let me know he was thinking about me, he told me how beautiful I was, and he was genuinely supportive of me, my health and my goals. I don't usually fall for the good guy, but maybe it was time for that?!?

Later that afternoon, Improv Boy contacted me via Google Talk. Our unedited conversation is below:

Improv Boy: I'm starving

Me: 2 bad u aren't here. have lots of things to feed you

Improv Boy: you're incorrigible
but adorable

Me: really?
aww – now i'm blushing

Improv Boy: any night you offer to make me dinner, you'll have me there with bells on. it's not an offer I get too often

Me: me cooking…for you?
u r a comic 😉

[I used to cook all the time for my parents, but I've rarely cooked since my Mom died. I associate cooking with love.]

Improv Boy: hey, if it's prepared before I arrive, then I promise to be blissfully ignorant….

Me: if i say, i'm going to cook. i'll do it.
u have plans 2mrw night?

Improv Boy: nope

Me: dinner & dvd at my place?

Improv Boy: sounds like a plan!
i might cook, but there will b food

[I had told him earlier that I was acting like a dork where he was concerned and decided to finally tell him why.]

Me: so…say there was this red-headed girl
who had a date for tomorrow night
but realized that she didn't want to go out on a date with that guy
because she had a little crush on a guy she hung out with last night
so she canceled that date

Improv Boy: uh huh

Me: and is really happy to see the guy she wants to hang w/ tomorrow
the end

Improv Boy: I like this story
I'm looking forward to the sequel

Me: me 2

As we signed off our session, I found myself smiling. I wanted to cook for Improv Boy and make him happy because he made me happy. I hadn't felt like that in a while. And, it felt really good.

I’m too vain for this!

After my Mom was diagnosed with terminal cancer in 1997, we went to Memorial Sloan-Kettering Hospital for a second opinion. As we waited in the lobby, we couldn't help but notice that one out of every third or fourth person in the waiting room:

Was bald from chemotherapy;
Had jaundice (a yellow complexion) from liver failure;
Had a large, visible tumor; and/or
Was missing a limb.

Quite a few of these patients were children, which only added to the horrifying image. As she looked around the room, my Mom brought her perfectly manicured fingers to her ears and clutched her carat diamond studs. She closed her eyes, shaking her head back and forth, as she said:

I'm too vain for this. I'm too vain for this.

An hour later, the oncologist informed my Mom that she wasn't a candidate for any treatment. In a manner void of all compassion, he told her:

Make an appointment for two months from now, and if you're still alive, we'll see you then. (And, yes, the doctor really said that.)

Two months later to the week, my Mom passed away.

Since I was diagnosed with breast cancer in June, I've tried not to compare my cancer to my Mom's. Her cancer wasn't caught until stage four, whereas mine was caught at stage one. I have breast cancer, which is very treatable when caught early. My Mom had cancer of unknown primary, which is rarely treatable. She did not survive cancer, and I know I will survive it.

On Tuesday, I went to Sibley Hospital for my breast cancer surgery. Because it's me and I attract the type of guys that I do, my man and I proceeded to have a relationship discussion via text for two hours while I was at the hospital. (If I could've taken my cell phone into the operating room, I would have. And, we probably would have continued to bicker at each other the entire time. I'll definitely be writing all about this in future posts!)

The surgery involved removing the two cancerous areas and two lymph nodes. As surgeries go, it wasn't that bad, and I'm recouping nicely. I'm thrilled to report that there's no cancer in my lymph nodes. That means that the cancer is confined to the right breast, and that it's not stage two. [Insert happy dance here.]

But, after speaking with the doctor today, there's some news that's not so good. When the doctor removed the cancerous areas, she also removed some healthy tissue or a "margin." The margin needs to be a certain distance from the cancerous area to ensure that all the bad cells have been taken and reduce the risk of recurrence. When the pathology report came back, it showed that one margin was smaller than it needed to be. So, I need to go back into the hospital this month for another surgery to remove more breast tissue. [Insert frustrated face here.]

But wait, there's more! The pathology report also showed that the tumor is medium-grade, which means that it's more aggressive than the biopsy had previously indicated. When the doctor told me this today, I immediately started to cry, as I asked:

So, that means that it's almost definite that I need to have chemo?

Doctor: Yes. You're 37, and we need to be conservative and treat this aggressively. I want you to adopt, to model…

Me [interrupting her]: I know. Just the agent wanted a tall redhead, not a tall bald head. [Pause.] I'm just sad out of vanity.

Doctor: I would be sad, too. I wouldn't want to lose my hair either.

Me [exhaling]: But, you're right. I'll do whatever I need to do to kick this so I can be around for my little girl and do all the things that I want to do with my life for decades to come.

The logical side of my brain knows that I will beat this and that chemotherapy is the strongest treatment available to prevent a recurrence. But, that doesn't mean that the thought of chemo is easy for me.

My hair is my signature. Have you seen it recently?

And, there's a 99% chance that I'm going to lose all of it! I don't want to hear any of the following right now:

It'll grow back;
You can get a wig; or
It'll be okay.

I'll be fine in the end, but for lack of a more eloquent expression, this sucks. I'm allowing myself to cry and be as angry as I want to be this weekend, and then I'm letting it go. I haven't lost my hair yet, and until I do, I'm going to make sure that it looks especially fabulous!

And, when I get the official word as to my treatment schedule, I will lose my hair in a way that promotes awareness for breast cancer and raises money for research. There will also be a Happy Hour thrown in because that's just how I roll ;).

As I reflect on the day's events and what lies ahead, I realize:

I am my mother's daughter. I'm too vain for this.

I am my mother's daughter. I will use my experiences to help other women and causes I believe in.

I am my mother's daughter. I will come out of this stronger, and when I adopt, I will teach my daughter all that my mom taught me.

PS I'm off to get ready for my man. It's me. I won't let cancer keep me down for long! xoxo

How nice is too nice?

For our first one-on-one date, Improv Boy suggested dinner in the city. That was perfect for me! I texted him to inquire if I should wear jeans or a skirt, and he responded: jeans. I typically date guys who wear more suits than casual clothes (and who would always want to see me in a skirt) so this was new for me. But, I reminded myself that dress doesn’t really matter and just put on a cute pair of jeans.

When Improv Boy picked me up at my place, he asked if I would like to take a cab or walk to Georgetown. I chose, as I often do, to walk. While walking, he reached over to hold my hand. That was sweet, and I tried to give him a chance. But, as I looked at him, I wasn’t sure if I was attracted to him physically and personality-wise. He was really white. (And, yes, I know that I’m white.) But, I don’t tend to date white guys.

Improv Boy and I walked up 31st Street. He stopped in front of a restaurant, Paper Moon, and said:

I love Italian food.

Me: Me too.

Improv Boy: I was torn between this place, Papa Razzi and Piccolo, but I thought that Piccolo would be best.

Me: Great!

Me [what I thought to myself]: Paper Moon – the place where I used to go salsa dancing as a college intern? And, Papa Razzi, where I went once in 1998 and my Armani pants got stuck to the table because there was a wad of gum underneath? [Yes, that really happened.]

Piccolo was definitely the best choice out of the three, but none of the restaurants were truly Italian. I tried not to be a food snob, though, or knock a gift horse in the mouth. After all, Improv Boy wanted to take me out on a date. “Buckeyes” Boy lived with me for three months and only bought me breadsticks.

The maitre d’ showed us to our table on the balcony. The restaurant has only three tables for two on the balcony so it’s quite romantic. The weather was also perfect for dining al fresco, as is often the case in late April.

As Improv Boy and I talked about life, work and past relationships, I realized how little we had in common beyond sports and the arts. I wasn’t bored, but I didn’t sense much of a connection. I felt more of a friendly vibe with him, rather than a romantic spark.

We got into a conversation about being friends with exes since that’s important to both of us. We both make an effort to try to be friends with our former significant others. However, Improv Boy has a lot of back-story: an ex-wife; a girlfriend that he lived with; and an ex-fiancée.

Improv Boy: Were you ever married before?

Me: No.

Improv Boy: Any kids?

Me: No, but I’ve started looking into the process to adopt a school-aged little girl.

I spoke for a couple of minutes about my plan. Normally, I wouldn’t bring this up with a guy so early on out of fear of scaring him off. But, I really didn’t see this date going anywhere. Improv Boy made a kind comment that I would be a natural as a Mom. He then told me that he did in fact have an older child.

Improv Boy: I’m sorry that I lied to you on our walk home from Clyde’s, but I wasn’t prepared to talk about it then.

He then briefly explained that he was estranged from his 18-year-old daughter. I could tell that the topic brought him much pain. I didn’t want to judge his situation since I didn’t know many details, and yet, I couldn’t help wondering why his teenage daughter didn’t want him in her life.

Improv Boy was a total gentleman during dinner, sharing his food with me, making sure I had everything I needed and paying for the check. He was a very nice date. As we walked home, though, I wondered: how nice was too nice? Could I really be attracted to a guy like Improv Boy? Were our backgrounds, goals and interests too different?

Once we arrived at my door, that should have been the end of the date. It didn’t seem as though we were a match. And, yet, the date was far from over.

To be continued…
 xoxo

Nice guys are…nice!

As I headed over to Clyde’s for Happy Hour, I found myself rather apathetic about meeting Improv Boy. My apathy stemmed less from true disinterest than it did from my expectations of the evening. I hoped to enjoy the evening with my friends and get to know Improv Boy better. But, I didn’t see the night as the first step toward anything serious with him.

Quite a few of my friends were at Clyde’s when I got there. Within the next half an hour, a few more trickled into the bar. I was talking with Autumn, when Improv Boy arrived.

I stood up from my bar stool to greet him. I then introduced him to my friends, all of whom I had met through Twitter.

When he sat down next to me, he commented:

I figured that all of your friends would be lawyers.

Me [chuckling]: No. I only have a few friends who are attorneys. [I decided to spare him the reasons behind that, but I sensed that he had that impression that I was one of those people who chose the law for money, power or to follow in my father’s footsteps. None of those reasons were the case!]

As Improv Boy and I talked, it was clear that we had very different backgrounds. He seemed to have a lot of wanderlust and indicated that he might want to quit his job and go back to school or settle in a new city. He had also served in the military for over a decade with two tours in the Gulf.

That’s not normally the type of guy that I’m drawn to, but I decided to throw out my usual playbook. Nothing he said about his past or his uncertain future were negatives. I reminded myself that I could just get to know him and don’t have to over-think the situation.

I also didn’t let his appearance faze me. I definitely have a superficial side and like my men to fit a certain mold. Improv Boy is white and not conventionally attractive. His appearance and expressions are great for comedy, but as Autumn recognized:

He has a very big head and oddly shaped facial features.

I didn’t disagree with her, but as I continued to talk to Improv Boy, I realized something:

He’s not visually attractive, but he has a great personality and that makes him attractive!

We stayed at the bar during the entire Washington Capitals playoff game. Improv Boy was comfortable letting me socialize with my friends, but when I came over to him, he made it clear that I was his primary focus. He interacted well with the group and was interesting to talk to one-on-one. He insisted on paying, even though I didn’t view Happy Hour with my friends as a date. And, as one would hope since he’s a comedian, he had a great sense of humor. All of these things won points with me.

One Twitter friend, Adam, discussed the dating scene in DC with Improv Boy and me:

You just need to eliminate dating 30-35 year old women unless you want to get married or have kids. That’s all that they’re thinking about in this city.

Me: Really?!? That hasn’t been my experience. So, what is a better demographic?

Adam: 20-something girls are too young, unless you’re just looking for fun. After 35 is perfect since they already realize that they’re done. It’s too late for them to have kids so they’re just happy dating.

Me [laughing loudly]: Seriously?!? I totally disagree! But, it’s good to know that you’ve put me out to pasture. [Look at Improv Boy.] Apparently, you have nothing to worry about. I’m lucky to even go out on a date at such an old age. [The three of us laugh.]

The Capitals lost, and Improv Boy offered to put me in a cab. I told him that I prefer to walk home and he offered to accompany me.

Me: I’m really glad that you came tonight.

Improv Boy: Me too. I had a great time meeting your friends, but I hope that you’ll let me take you out on a proper date next week.

Me [smiling]: I’d like that.

As we were walking home, Improv Boy mentioned that he would be spending the weekend with his family.

Me: That should be nice! Do you have any kids?

Improv Boy: No.

Me: Oh…I thought that Abigail [my friend who does improv with Improv Boy] had told me that you had an older child.

Improv Boy: No, I don’t.

Me: Oh…sorry. It doesn’t matter to me either way. I was just wondering.

We changed topics for the rest of the walk home. Improv Boy asked if there was a place en route for him to use the restroom. I knew of one bar, and as we walked inside, I saw UConn Boy‘s best friend. (I keep telling you all that DC is small!)

He and I chatted for a few minutes while Improv Boy was in the bathroom.

Me: Oh, not to shock you, but I’m out with a white guy tonight. [We laugh, and I introduce him to Improv Boy.]

Ten minutes later, Improv Boy and I reached my building. He took my face in his hands and gave me a sweet, soft kiss. Picture open mouth and no tongue. It was just enough to make me want more, but not too much that it was inappropriate.

Improv Boy: Would you be free to go out this coming week or next weekend?

Me: This week! Sooner is better! [Smiling like a kid in a candy store.]

Improv Boy wasn’t my type, and I had a feeling that I wasn’t his. But, after dating quite a few guys who weren’t nice, I was finally ready for a guy who was.