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.

Changing my ways

My birthday was behind me. Philly Matt had gone back home. Mr. Exec was trying to reach out, but after he had failed to be there for me following my concussion, my interest in him had waned.

April 2010 brought some unexpected intrigue into my life, though, when I met Dutch Boy at an embassy event. He wasn’t my normal type. Picture a nice-looking white guy, 5’11” with a very lean build. Dutch Boy is a scientist, doing a fellowship at the National Institutes of Health. He loved sports and writing so we had some shared interests, but that normally wouldn’t be enough to pique my interest.

What did attract me to Dutch Boy then? He oozed sex. He wasn’t particularly sexy, and yet, he had that indefinable magnetism. I commented as much to my girlfriend in the ladies’ room, and she heartily concurred. I tried not to monopolize Dutch Boy’s time at the event, but I wanted to converse with him as much as I could.

After talking to Dutch Boy for 30 minutes, I learned two unfortunate things:

Dutch Boy was returning to Amsterdam in a month…

And he had a girlfriend back home.

We exchanged information and contacted each other that weekend, keeping all of our correspondence casual. Dutch Boy and I alluded in our emails to seeing each other again – without throwing out a time or place. I wanted to get to know him better, but I also didn’t want to complicate my life. He was moving back home, and he had an old girlfriend there. (For once, I made the right call! For once!)

Three days later, I sat down to meditate. When I was done meditating, I came out of the session with one strong thought in my head:

I’m supposed to contact Improv Boy and go out with him.

“Improv Boy?!?” I asked myself with a baffled expression on my face.

What was my subconscious trying to tell me? I didn’t want to go out with Improv Boy last month, which is why I stopped corresponding with him. He wasn’t my type at all, but maybe it was time to think out of the box? It’s not like dating my type had been working out well for me.

I decided to send Improv Boy an email. I figured that I would answer the questions that he had asked me in his last email and invite him out to a small, informal Happy Hour. (He had repeatedly asked me out on dates in March, but I felt like that type of one-on-one activity was premature. A small get-together seemed like a better way to gauge if I wanted to go out with him.) I wrote:

Hi Improv Boy,

I know…it’s been a while. A lot has been going on with me (out-of-town, concussion, birthday and speech at an event), but that doesn’t excuse me from not being in touch.

How are you? I hope that you are doing well!

I’m an attorney, but I took time off to finish another degree. My thesis got approved in February, and now I’m pursuing some freelance writing. I miss my clients, but I’m keeping all options open.

You’ll have to tell me more about your possible new venture in person!

A few friends and I are going to watch the Caps game on Friday at Clyde’s. Any interest in joining us?

:), City Girl

The following morning, I heard from Improv Boy. He wrote about last night’s hockey game and indicated that he was free to come to the Happy Hour on Friday night. He also extended appropriate congratulations for my thesis approval and concern about my concussion.

We emailed each other once a day for the rest of the week. In one correspondence, he inquired as to my thesis topic. I gave a basic one-line response regarding my esoteric topic and was surprised when Improv Boy came back with follow-up questions. It took me a few minutes to realize that he had done some online research to learn more about the issue, which I found endearing.

I mentioned that to my friend, Julie, and said:

Improv Boy seems really nice, but I’m not sure if I’m attracted to him. He’s really funny, too…as one would hope since he’s a comedian. Maybe if I don’t like him, Autumn might?

Julie: You invited a guy to Happy Hour to fix him up with your friend?

Me [laughing]: Well, who knows? I’m trying not to over-think things like I normally do.

Happy Hour with Improv Boy and my friends was set. And, the following night, I would be at another embassy event — with Dutch Boy.

This month was looking up!

The Elite Elise

When it comes to sex toys, Lelo products are the creme de la creme! The Swedish company was established in 2003 with one key objective: to create sex toys of better quality, function, and design than any others on the market. After trying out the Lelo Elise for the past two weeks, I say: Mission Accomplished!

Lotus Blooms is a certified LELO dealer in the DC metropolitan area. The Elise is Lelo's biggest toy, and at first glance, it's a bit intimidating. However, upon closer inspection, only 5" of this sleek 8" toy is insertable, and the width is a reasonable 1 ¼".

What's great about the Elise?

1. No batteries required! As is the norm for Lelo products, the Elise is rechargeable. A two-hour charge guarantees you four-hours of fun;

2. It's made of silky smooth, FDA-approved, body friendly silicone. (Just don't use silicone lubricant with the Elise or else it might get tacky in texture.);

3. There are two pleasure points in the vibrator. One is at the top of the toy, and the other is toward the base. There are also five levels of intensity and five speeds (consistent vibrations, just the tip, just the base, a pulsating vibration, and a whirring vibration). This toy has a lot of options so you can adjust based on your own needs and preferences;

4. This toy is very quiet, even at its highest vibrations. You won't have to worry about anyone knowing what you are up to;

5. It's intense. Correction, very intense. Whether on your clit or inside for G-Spot stimulation, the Elise will have you orgasming every single time. There's a reason why this is Lelo's premier product;

6. It's perfect for travel. The Hitachi Magic Wand is many women's favorite toy, but a plug-in product is not convenient to pack and might not work overseas. The Elise is almost as powerful and much more discrete and versatile. You can fully charge it before your trip and put the toy in lock mode so there's no need to worry about your luggage vibrating; and

7. The Elise also works with your partner. Want a toy to help finish the job after sex or to help increase the sensations during oral sex? Care to bring something out for a mutual masturbation session? This toy can do all that and more! It's very effective, quiet and easy to pull out and just use (no batteries, cords or attachments involved).

Can you use this toy anally?

The Elise isn't designed for anal use. Nonetheless, this toy is very popular with male customers at Lotus Blooms. Guys and girls, if you are trying the Elise in your ass, please keep a strong grip on the base of the toy so that it doesn't get lost inside you! Or, ask your partner to lend a hand ;).

As an anal toy, the Elise provides a very fulfilling experience, given its size and intensity. Since this toy is large and powerful, start at the lowest, constant vibration to make sure that you don't lose your grip or overwhelm yourself.

What didn't I love about the Elise?

1. I found the controls to be confusing. How confusing? I had to break out the instruction manual to actually figure out what the buttons meant.

The circle on the bottom of the Elise has four markings. If you're not a fan of instruction manuals, the + sign at 3 o'clock on the circle turns the vibrator on. You can press the + sign four times to keep increasing the intensity of the vibrations. To decrease the intensity of the vibrations, press the – sign at the 9 o'clock spot. To vary the consistency of the vibrations or how much of the toy is pulsating, press the upward arrow at the 12 o'clock position. The negative arrow at the 6 o'clock position decreases the changes in vibrations, and a firm press in the center of the circle turns the vibrator off; and

2. The Elise could also be called the Elite, given its hefty price tag of $169. I appreciate that's quite a chunk of change, but this is a top of the line, multi-functional toy. If you have the money to spare, I'm sure you'll find this product to be a worthwhile investment!

If you're a newbie to a toy of this length or intensity, start on the lowest vibration and work your way up. If you're a toy aficionado, you'll appreciate the Elise's size, versatility and intensity.

How many squeals does this toy warrant? I'd give it a full Five (5) Squeals for clitoral and G-Spot stimulation for both beginners and experienced toy users. But, for anal use and price, I would give Three (3) Squeals. I'll average it out for a four (4) Squeal ranking, but picture those four squeals as very solid and very loud!

In accordance with FTC Guidelines, I received the Lelo Elise free of charge in exchange for my honest assessment 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!

Stage 1. Not so fun.

I've been thinking a lot about the different hats that I wear. I'm a relationship and sex blogger. I'm the in-house product reviewer for Dascha Boutique and a sexuality educator for Fascinations at Fun Love. I'm a non-practicing attorney who will still talk about the law ad nauseum and answer her former clients' calls at any hour of the day. I'm a sports fan, a dog lover, a cupcake and pizza fiend, a girly-girl, and an anal ambassador. And now, I'm a 37-year-old with breast cancer.

I don't want my cancer to define me, but for the past few weeks, cancer has dictated my schedule. I'm not looking for this blog to turn into a blog about cancer, but ignoring it is about as easy as ignoring "Buckeyes" Boy or any proverbial elephant in the room.

Since last I wrote about my diagnosis, I've had a few more tests, and the doctors have gathered some additional information. A second area of cancer was found so instead of DCIS non-invasive breast cancer, I now have Stage 1, invasive breast cancer.

This was still found early, and I know how lucky I am. But, the fact that there's now cancer in my breast tissue complicates things a bit. My surgery — originally scheduled for today — has been postponed. I need more biopsies this week and am waiting for results of the breast cancer gene test (BRCA) before I know the plan of attack.

I continue to feel my feelings as I need to without dwelling on them. And, I'm thankful for so many blessings, including my friends, great health care and early diagnosis. But, since I received the call from the doctor yesterday that the cancer is now in my breast tissue, I've wondered:

Will I lose my hair?

Even typing those words brings tears to my eyes. I admit it, I'm vain. I love my hair. What did "Buckeyes" Boy first notice about me? My hair! How did people on Twitter recognize me in real life even though I've never posted a picture of my face? By my hair! Why did the modeling agent think she could book me for work? Because I'm a tall redhead!

Is there a theme here?

Philly Matt told me this evening that he thinks I would be sexy if I was bald. And, I love him for that. But, it doesn't change the fact that seriously thinking about chemotherapy brings tears to my eyes. It's not a given that chemo will be the recommended course of treatment for me, but I don't like that it's even an option.

And, that's not the only thing that's on my mind:

A few weeks ago, I was on top of my man having sex and as he kissed my tits and sucked on my nipples, I thought to myself:

Will these be my breasts in a year?

I'm (thankfully) able to displace my emotions during sex, but later that night, I cried openly about that concern. My tits are a part of me and are inextricably linked to my sexuality. I don't want to lose them, and I'd much prefer to keep my big naturals than trade them in for a shiny, perky pair. Mastectomies might not be the recommended course of action for me, but again, I don't even like the option!

I didn't write this post to be Debbie Downer or make any of you worry. I realize that cancer won't keep me down for more than a few months. I know that I have dealt with far worse things in my life and come out the stronger for it. (If you've been reading my blog, you know that I've had much more toxic things inside me than this!)

I WILL beat this, and cancer will NOT win in the end! I see the future, and there's more more for me to do as a sexuality educator and a lawyer. And, although my goal to adopt a little girl is on hold, all of my doctors are aware of my plan to adopt. I've told them that I will do whatever they recommend to ensure that I'm around for decades to come!

For those of you who might be skeptical that I'm letting this get the best of me for too long, I'll leave you with this:

What DC relationship and sex blogger had anal sex when she got back home from her breast biopsies?

This one.

I might be a bit down, but I'm not out. Not even close. I'm not going to give up what I love to do if I can help it, even if that means that I have to be a little creative while doing it. (It's better to have sex with your bra on and ice packs inside your bra than not have sex at all!)

PS For those of you who have emailed, called, texted, commented or Tweeted, your support means more to me than you could possibly know. For my friends in real life who are my family, you are a huge part of what I'm fighting for! And, you know me well enough to know that I'm not going to miss out on any laughs, girl talk and gossip with you all. I love you with all of my heart. xoxo

Are 3am texts ever sincere?

Following my concussion in early April, I canceled my plans for several days to recoup. I wasn't sure when I would hear from Mr. Exec again. I couldn't tell if he had realized that I was disappointed that he had offered to come by to take care of me, but then didn't follow through.

So, imagine my surprise when I heard from Mr. Exec everyday but one that week. I would wake up to a text, asking how I was feeling or saying that he was thinking of me. He seemed sincere in his concern, inquiring if it was normal to have symptoms several days later (it is, for me) and whether or not I should see a doctor.

I tried to reconcile the fact that he was checking in on me with the fact that something seemed lacking. Three of the four nights that week, he was at meetings or out with friends within a 10-minute drive of my place. On two nights, he mentioned coming by my place to check in on me, and I replied that I'd like that. (When I'm home for health reasons, I'm always up for company.) Then I wouldn't hear from him until 11:30pm…or 1am…or 3am.

The 3am text said:

I'm sure you're asleep, but I wanted you to know that I'm thinking of you and hoping you're feeling better.

You're out drinking with your friends in Georgetown until 3am, but you're thinking of me?!? I wasn't sure whether that was a booty call, a half-assed attempt to pretend he was there for me without actually being there for me, or what! I might have taken the text at face value, but for the fact that this was becoming a pattern — and not a good one at that!

I didn't respond to him at 3am, but waited until normal business hours to send him this text in return:

I appreciate that we had only gone out a few times, and I had no expectations of you taking care of me this week. But, it doesn't make me feel very special when you say that you want to come over and check on me, and then you choose to go out with your friends. Hope you can appreciate that.

Mr. Exec wrote back that his intention wasn't to make me feel as though I wasn't special, but rather, just to let me know that he was thinking of me. I guess that would be fine for some girls, but not me. Given that we had only gone out four times, I would rather Mr. Exec had just texted me and said:

I'm sorry you hurt yourself. Take care and let's go out when you're feeling better.

A couple of girlfriends knew about Mr. Exec and the post-concussion texts, and I would forward them our text exchanges with a few added thoughts:

Seriously? Is this guy for real?
Same text, different night, but this was at 1am! Lol.
Does he want a post-concussion booty call?

The icing on the cake for me happened a week after my concussion. It was my 37th birthday, and I was speaking at an event in Northern Virginia. More than 1000 people were attending, and I had a dozen loved ones coming to support me. I was excited, but I was also very nervous. This was a BIG deal for me, and I had been worried all week that the effects from the concussion would impede me from giving my best presentation.

When the clock struck midnight on my actual birthday, Mr. Exec texted me and asked if I was out celebrating. (I wasn't. I was still not 100% and was resting up before the main event.) A half hour later, he called me. In both, he wished me a happy birthday and told me that he'd like to take me out to dinner to celebrate that week. I was awake when his text and call came in, but I didn't want to speak with him. I waited to reply via text until lunchtime the next day. I kept it short, as I realized that I didn't want to go out with him again.

I wasn't 100% sure at this point whether I wanted just companionship from a guy or something more serious. But, based on Mr. Exec's actions over the past week, he wasn't fitting either bill.

As I was scrambling to get ready for the event, Mr. Exec texted me at 3:30pm to wish me luck. He also reiterated that he wanted to take me out to dinner and that I should let him know my availability. I kept my responses curt.

I had things to do, places to go, and people to see.

Did I mention that Philly Matt would be attending the event? *wink*

Insult to injury

It was the first weekend in April, also known to any sports fan as Final Four weekend. I was planning to watch the games with friends, but first, I had to swing by Barkley Square with my dog, Nutter. While I was shopping, Mr. Exec and I were texting back and forth. Right before I left the store, I sent him a text about what I wanted him to do to me when we saw each other next.

(I’m trying to be respectful of Mr. Exec and not blog in too much detail about our bedroom antics. But, if you know me and/or you’ve read my blog with any regularity, you should at least have a clue as to what I was texting about.)

When I left the boutique, I walked back to my car and opened the passenger door to put Nutter inside. As I moved my head out of the car, I banged it hard on the door frame. The force was strong enough that I was thrown back to the ground, and as I fell, I heard a pop. I felt a sharp pain on the left side of my neck where I heard the pop, and the top of my head began to throb.

I’ve had enough concussions over the years to know that this was another one. A call to one of my girlfriends confirmed that my speech was slurred. I tried to focus on the street signs, but all I saw was double. I knew I couldn’t drive myself home so I texted a few people for reinforcements, including Mr. Exec.

I wanted to keep my text to him light, and so I wrote:

All that dirty talk got me so hot that I hit my head. In so much pain and very dizzy.

Thirty minutes later, he wrote back, asking what happened. By that point, my friends, Autumn and Jamie, had already offered to come get me.

I replied immediately to tell Mr. Exec that I had a concussion, but I didn’t hear from him until my phone rang over an hour after that.

Mr. Exec: Do you need anything? I could come pick you up. [Even in my fog, that didn’t make sense. He called me almost two hours after I hit my head. I was already home by that point.]

Me: No, I’m home. Autumn and a friend came to get me.

Mr. Exec: Oh, Joey [his best friend] and I could have picked you up, if we had known. Did you take any pain medicine? You don’t sound good.

Me: No. Just Advil. This is just how sound after a concussion.

Mr. Exec offered to come over, but Autumn was already with me so that seemed unnecessary.

The following morning, Mr. Exec texted me to wish me a Happy Easter and see how I was feeling. I was still a little dizzy and had a headache, but my speech was thankfully back to normal. After service a few hours later, Mr. Exec called me. He was off to have Easter lunch at a friend’s house, but inquired about coming over to my place later in the day.

Mr. Exec: I want to check on you and make sure you’re okay.

That made me smile. Since we had only gone out a handful of times, I hadn’t expected him to offer to help me out.

Me: I’d like that. Thanks.

We hung up. The afternoon passed into evening. By the time I heard from him, it was 11pm — nine hours after his previous call. I could tell within a few sentences that he had been drinking.

Mr. Exec: Sorry that I didn’t call you sooner. My friend had a couple of bottles of champagne so we all just started drinking on her patio. I had really planned on coming over to take care of you.

Me: That would have been nice.

Mr. Exec: You’re welcome.

Me [laughing]: Umm…you don’t get points for the idea. You get points for the execution.

Mr. Exec [chuckling]: Oh, so that’s how it is?

Me: Yes, it is.

We talked more and somehow professional football came up. I’m a New York Giants fan, and he’s an Indianapolis Colts’ fan. He started spewing off statistics about the Colts as a team.

Me: So…who won a Superbowl more recently? [Answer: the Giants.]

Mr. Exec: [He throws out several more Colts’ stats.] I predict that we’re going to have you in a Colts’ jersey before the end of the season.

Me: Really now? Is that jersey coming with a four-carat ring? Because that’s what it would take for me support any other team than the Giants!

He laughed, and then continued to throw out more football facts. I was tired and hadn’t been drinking so my tolerance for buzzed talking (let alone buzzed driving) was minimal. I told him that I needed to go to bed so that I could just get off of the phone.

I didn’t feel as though I had the right to be mad since we weren’t even a couple. I also didn’t know him well enough by this point to be emotionally invested. I wasn’t shedding any tears over the situation, but I was disappointed. Mr. Exec had said that he wanted to be there for me, and in the end, he wasn’t.

Was this a sign of things to come?

Asking a Guy Out

Now, a reader’s question:

Question: Any advice for a woman who is considering asking a guy out. I know him socially but not personally.

Answer: I think that’s great! A lot of guys find it refreshing for a girl to make the first move, and it’s also flattering (read: sexy) for a guy to know that a girl is interested in him. A few tips:

Do a little reconnaissance to confirm that he’s single. You mentioned that you know him socially, but not personally. Do you have any friends in common? Are you following each other on Facebook or Twitter? Contact a friend or check out his profile page to make sure that he’s not in a relationship.

Once you know he’s single, send out a casual e-mail/text to invite him out for a drink. I prefer meeting for drinks since it keeps your options open. Meeting for drinks is by its nature less formal than dinner, but if drinks go well, one of you can suggest dinner afterward. Likewise, if the conversation over drinks isn’t flowing easily (beyond the usual first date jitters), then you can end the night after a drink or two.

There are people who think of coffee as an ideal first date activity, but I feel as though that’s too casual and trite. A coffee date could come across as though you aren’t genuinely interested in him. If you enjoy similar hobbies or a shared love of sports, then you can always pitch an activity or watching a game instead of drinks.

If your interaction with this guy tends to be more in person, then you can ask him out for a drink during normal conversation. Whether virtually or in real life, keep your tone light and use phrases that are comfortable for you. You can broach the topic in a general way, leaving it up to him to pick a time and place by saying:

What are you up to this weekend?; or

I never feel like we have enough time to talk/I’d love to talk with you more about [insert relevant subject here]. We should grab drinks sometime.

Or, you can be direct and pick a place and a day that works for you like this:

I’ve heard good things about this wine bar/brewery/lounge, and was thinking of checking it out on Thursday. Wanna join me?

What you say or how much of the asking you do depends on your style, preference and comfort level. I make sure a guy knows that I’m interested, but I ultimately let him decide when and where and do the asking.

In my opinion, if you pick the time and place to meet, then you should pay for drinks.

Readers, do you agree with me on this? What other suggestions do you have for this girl?