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Monday, May 23, 2005

My Worst Kiss (and I've endured some bad ones)

I have a history of sports-related injuries. In the past five years alone I’ve had my front tooth knocked in, suffered a dislocated finger (much worse than a broken finger) and broken my nose by colliding into a point guard’s forehead. I almost suffered another painful injury my freshman year of college; I almost had my teeth knocked out one passionate night on Cocoa Beach.

After catching a midnite movie, I rode w/ a few of my friends (a guy and two girls) an hour east to Cocoa Beach. I have no idea where the idea originated, nor did I care. I remember speeding along the highway as Pavarotti blared through the speakers, a stark change from my usual Beastie Boys/Dave Matthews playlist. None of us were drunk.

We eventually arrived at the shore; my buddy and I, both tall, unfolded ourselves from the tiny backseat and ran for the beach. The girls followed. One of them spread a blanket on the sand, enabling us all to sit comfortably and stare at the autumn stars. After a while, my buddy finally got the hint and invited one of the girls for a walk. The other girl, a Jamaican native, and I soon found ourselves making out half naked on the sand. Unfortunately, things didn’t advance much further due to her painful kissing technique.

After a dozen or so times of her smacking her teeth against mine, I had to relegate myself to quick pecks on her lips. Anyone who’s had braces for two years can vouch for me on this one: There are very few things more important than teeth. And for that reason, I put a stop to the hanky-panky and hurtled the lower half of my body into the cold ocean waves. It was a long car ride home.

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