Dr. Cop-A-Feel

This is a re-posting of my third or fourth date...a timeless classic.

I charmed the 59 year old physician from India with my spectacular knowledge of his country, Salman Rushdie, Ganges River issues and the whole Hindu/Muslim thing.

a

I fascinated him with my understanding of Nehru, Lord Mountbatten and Edwina. (I studied, uh hem…prepared for the date.)
a

My Uncle (an Irish intellectual/physician) called to offer relevant material such as current events in India and Pakistan so I would "have something to talk about”. (Dating for me… it takes a village).

a

I added my own unique contributions such as reciting Shakespearean sonnets.

a

“Why would you memorize sonnets for no reason? " he asked. Trying to sound like an intellectual I responded, “Just cuz”.

a

He was smiling, grabbed my hands and rubbing my arms. “I had no idea we would have so much in common” he said.

a

There would definitely be a second date.

Doctor Cop-A-Feel picked me up for Date two (2)  in his shiny Lexus. I slipped into the car and met a confident grin that insinuated…."You think I'm sexy, don't you?”

a

One had to admire his confidence. (He was a nice but "sexy" did not spring to mind.)

a

Soon we were gliding down the Pacific Coast Highway. I adjusted my passenger climate settings, jacking down the temperature because I was sweating. I already knew he was too old for me.  I did not, however, know I was having a hot flash. 
a

We arrived at Sapphire Grill in Laguna Beach, a hip new restaurant. Rivers of women, alone and in pairs watched...looked, strolled and trolled.No one was getting their hands on my doctor.
a

We drank wine for hours waiting for our table. We had an excellent meal. The doctor was giggling and enjoying my sparkling conversation.
a

He ended dinner with “Would you like to come to my house for a night-cap” “or was it “would you like to see my etchings”? I don’t recall because of the wine haze. "Sure…hiccup…why not? " I replied.  I forced myself. I HAD to get over my shyness.  (You have no idea what an uptight prude I am.  Really, you don't.)
a

He gave me a tour of his overly decorated mini-mansion.

a

After pouring two amber glasses of desert wine we strolled to the tiny couch in front of a gargantuan plasma screen.

a

Then…it happened.

a

It’s what I dread, the second date kiss.

I’ve been known to bob, weave, accidentally trip...ANYTHING to dodge the terrifying second date kiss.

a

This time I was going for it. My date had been married for 24 years. It would be a well rehearsed kiss.

Seconds after our lips touched, with the focus of a pit bull, the doctor attempted to suck every last drop of blood from my lower lip. I couldn’t believe it. The sheer pain of it.

I moved, adjusted, pulled back and in every manner available to me... tried to shake him loose.

a

If you can visualize me pulling away from his face…my lower lip stretching out between us because he would NOT LET GO.

a

I thought for a second, maybe this is some new technique?  But my eyes started tearing up… I couldn’t take it.

After extricating myself and tracing my lips with my fingers to check for blood, he looked at me seriously and inquired, “Are you breasts real?”

I tilted my head to the side like a dog responding to a high-pitched whistle.  Uh...“yes”.
aa

Then, in a moment I replay in slow motion in my head, the man reached out and grabbed my right breast.

a

It was no fondle or any manner of caress, it was a grab.

a

“You are correct” he said. "They are real".

My mind was in a swirl. I didn’t know how to respond. I was speechless. I looked him in the eye and said intelligently, “I can't believe you grabbed my breast”!

a

With a considerable Indian accent he retorted, “Eets ok. Omm a doctor”.

I laughed out loud.

Then I went home.

The next morning I saw it in the mirror as I was brushing my teeth. There was a purple bruise on my lower lip.

a

Doctor Cop-A-Feel gave me a lip hicky. Wha the?

Restaurant Date Review
Sapphire Laguna
http://www.sapphirellc.com/

It's a place to be and be seen. Just try to get a reservation on Friday night. Go ahead. Try.

a

The vibe is cool and casual. Lot's of locals. I had the braised short rib perched above a potato and celery root puree peppered with pieces of caramelized parsnip and carrot. It was lightly perfumed with clove and melted off the bone. Despite devouring it completely, the effects of drinking wine for 2 hours straight were upon me. I might have actually had the Duck.

My Dad

Hey Dad.  How are you?

Why are you dead? I thought I'd never get over it.  You know, when you died? Just the thought of you  missing my entire life. It makes me mad.

I tried to sue the moronic Cardiogist that killed you. I did all I could. I was too young.

Mom's okay.

Rent Me.

Due to these hard economic times, I had to lower my rates.

During a mid-life crisis, I dyed my hair brown.  Considering my new career path... should I have opted for blond?

My hair color is as unstable as Uranium.

Trying to "act sexy" when uptight AND of Irish descent sitting on a van bumper in a neighbourhood where drug deals were taking place...was no easy task.  Did I mention "unstable"?

What was I doing there?  Oh, you know...just advertising picking up a piece of furniture.  I was with "The King".  Unlike most men, he likes to read about himself in my blog.  Most men go ballistic. (Like their mother is reading my blog.)

Talk about a guilty conscious.

Speaking of new careers: I tried to become a famous rap star but it didn't work out. (See below) My nephew and I rap on a hip hop radio station. 

When Auntie Charmaine comes to town...let's just say my nephews are introduced to new experiences. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NHwjL-tgPf8

Turning Point

There are turning points in every relationship.
 
My "turning point" generally includes a left turn, sending me through the guard rail, over a cliff and onto jagged rocks below.

"Soaring through air I exclaim, "Wee, this is fun.  I'm flying".

Crash!

I tend to take my eye off the road.

Mesmerized by the beauty of the landscape, I drive directly into it. It only hurts for a minute.

The King and I drove to pick up an Armoir he generously purchased for me. (Very unlike me.)  It wasn't expensive enough to ingratiate me (a little over a hundred bucks at a consignment joint) but appreciated! There was a time I NEVER would have allowed a man to buy me ANYTHING.  I don't need help.

Maybe I do, just a little.

We rented a van and proceeded to the warehouse.

It was located in a sketchy neighbourhood.

We witnessed a drug sale. The drug pusher was a woman wearing pajamas and slippers. (You NEVER would have suspected her.) The client looked like walking death.  He watched us. He knew we'd witnessed the transaction.  He was too drunk to care. 

Skid row types limped past, taking swigs of Vodka.  Folks meandered looking forlorn and homeless. A granny shuffled past with a grocery cart. A man slept on a plot of grass.

I felt nothing but compassion.  I wasn't afraid in the least.  I said, "See King? Without friends or family (and unemployment insurance) that could be me. Nobody cares about these people."

The King took me by the arm.  He opened the passenger door and whispered, "Please get in.  It's not safe here.  I don't want anything to happen to you."

That was my turning point.

If I wrote a note to God (below). 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P4Xd435coD4

Charlotte Vale Allen

She's a writer. She was relevant in my life.  She lived next door. I loved her middle name.  I still do. I mean, my middle name is Mary.

I didn't know it at the time.  I was 15.  Later, when we reconnected, I knew.

http://www.charlottevaleallen.com/on_writing/

She knew my mother. The hell of my mother.  

Her first book was called, "Love Life".  She survived abuse.  Then she became a woman's advocate.

I remember the day she brought the manuscript of her first novel to our house in Connecticut.

She was consequently published 36 times.

She adopted me and my two (2) sisters.  She took us everywhere.

She was glamorous, beautiful, impudent and brilliant. Now she is mostly kind.

I'm lucky.  Not lucky in love.  Lucky in other ways. I get to know interesting people.

The Lyin' King

(Another reprisal.  What can I say?  I have nothing new to report.)

a
The Lyin' King's match.com name is "Blue Eyes Looking for You".

In the first paragraph of his profile he admits lying about his age. (What's the point if you're going to confess?)

He asked me out. I said I would agree if he changed his profile to reflect his real age. He did.

After making an "honest man of him" we met at Bandara restaurant in Corona Del Mar. I go there on match.com dates.

The receptionists are beginning to look at me funny.

We met for drinks to test his theory that women want to kiss him after one Martini.

If you know anything about me ...you KNOW I disproved that one.
He was very good looking.

It was one of those dates where the man tells you who he is as opposed to BEING who he is...like reciting his biography. "I'm this, I'm that, I like walks on the beach".

He's a lawyer. I like lawyers. Really, I do.

When I returned home he called to say how much he enjoyed meeting me. He said I was warm (obviously doesn't know me) and attractive. Then today, at work, another email. He sent "virtual flowers" and expressed how lucky he felt to have met me. Then more...and MORE emails.  I had to return a call to the IT department.

"Your emails are congesting the network," said Fred.

"Shut up Fred," I demurely responded.

He's coming on strong...I like it. But I've learned not to get my hopes up. The minute I do...CRASH.

One of the first things he said was, "I was recently layed off".

Question: Is that a Red flag? I'd hate to be judged similarly.

Wait for round two.  The part where he asks me for a  job. 

I Miss Him

I don't know why I run away. I go days without speaking to him. 

I'm conflicted.  I think I shouldn't be dating a man with a minor child.  I think his kids should be up and out before he get's involved with me. 

I think of them before I think of myself.

Then I look at a picture of him.

Heart melts.