The difference between a man and a manuscript…

Very hard.  The answer to yesterday’s question, for those of you still interested, is very hard.  To break through the sarcasm I’ve adopted in order to chronicle this “experiment,” to ignore all of the “empirical data” I’ve collected over the past ten months, to let go of the “perfect” sentence in favor of the imperfections…

Love, or a Literary Exercise?

Thank God my data plan now supports unlimited texting.  Date #7 and I exchanged 82 messages yesterday.  Eighty two!  Granted, he was sitting on a plane at the time so he was presumably bored and subsequently grateful to receive 50 text messages from Yours Truly, even if the majority of these were written with the…

The Exercise of Reason

It was bound to happen sooner or later—and this, my friends, is why I should probably stop embarking upon pseudo-scientific “experiments.”  Experiments, you see, require procedures, and hypotheses, and control groups and those nerdy little lab coats that no amount of accessorizing can render sexy. Above all, experiments are supposed to be conducted according to…

A Not-So-Happily-Ever-After Ending

It’s over.  The end.  Finito.  I don’t quite know what to do with myself now.  It’s officially summer— I should be going to the beach or working on my tan or scouting out my next bar-of-choice for Wednesday’s Center City Sips Happy Hour (I take Center City Sips very seriously)— but there’s a huge void…

The Family that Plays Together…

As every professional dancer knows, cross training is of the utmost importance.  This is why I take advantage of every possible opportunity to play mini golf. Fortunately, I come from a long line of mini golf champions. Landlord: Chauffer: Tech support: Now I know what you’re all thinking.  You’re thinking “Mini golf is not a…

Just About Tapped Out…

This morning I spent a good three minutes standing in the bathroom, staring at my pink Schick Quattro razor trying to remember how to change the blade.  Not because I just got this razor, mind you (I’ve had it since my senior year of college when then marking folks over at Schick Quattro decided to…

Help! I’m Dating Myself…

He wants to write to me.  Like a proper, hand-written letter— envelope and all.  Evidently I wasn’t the only one feeling completely mashed up inside after our weekend together; he tells me he needs to get it all down on paper… and being the hopeless romantic that I am, I’m already salivating. And here we…

“Kissed, and Often, by Someone Who Knows How”

Let’s talk about kissing for a moment, shall we?  As you might have noticed by now, I’m hesitant to say too much about my weekend with Date #7, partially because I know if I do I’ll end up with a terrible case of “analysis paralysis” but also because Date #7’s been known to stop by…