Month: August 2011

Today’s Catch: Plenty of Fish from the Jersey Shore

When I signed up for Plenty of Fish back in March, it took me about 0.00023 seconds to realize that I ought to set up a new email address—one that did not contain my full name, for starters—so I registered for a new Gmail account. Now, I’ve been done with Plenty of Fish for months, but Plenty of Fish is like that ex-boyfriend who just won’t let go.  I still haven’t managed to delete my account, which means I still get emails from hopeful Fishes on a daily—sometimes hourly—basis. Today’s catch included: (And no, I’m not making these up…) Jerseyboy7883 Ebonyhardgold Cornbread_wings MasterX2 DaWeaselDavey Polish_Stallion HardTrailXC Spiritual_Warrior DaveyDaveyDavey Let’s start with JerseyBoy7883, shall we?  Having spent the majority of my childhood in the great state of New Jersey, I could technically call myself a “Jersey girl” but I don’t—because when it comes to online dating, you’re supposed to put your best foot forward and there’s a reason why New Jersey is oft-referred to as the “armpit of America.”  (And why shows such as Jersey Shore …

Why Angry People Should Stick to Home Exercise

“You f*cking b*tch!” The blond chick with the chunky red highlights ignores me, so I add a curt “I hate you!” under my breath. Of course, she doesn’t respond to this either.  Why?  Well, she can’t hear me.  She’s on TV, and even though I’ve already done the “last eight” of my bun-toning squats, she tells me to do eight more. In keeping with my love of all things insane, I’ve decided to start a new exercise regimen in the hopes that I’ll see some “quick results” in time for my show on September 8th, and Blondie here has promised super-fast results with her 10-minute targeted toning workout (courtesy of Netflix). I initially thought I’d get to tone everything in ten minutes but no: its ten minutes for your arms, ten minutes for your abs, ten minutes for your buns, followed by a ten minute “dynamic power stretch.” (This far, I’ve been fast-forwarding through the ten-minute thigh workout.) Blondie, unfortunately, is a big fat liar.  Actually, she’s not fat at all—she has a rather amazing …

Ten Days Out… and its getting TOO DARN HOT!

So remember the time I got really bored and decided to do something crazy?  And no, I’m not referring to My Great Date Experiment.  I’m referring to my other “it seemed like a good idea at the time” project: the production of an all-women, all-tap revue for the Philadelphia Live Arts/Fringe Festival, complete with live music and an all-star line-up of professional dancers. Too Darn Hot will make its debut in exactly ten days.  Am I stressed?  Oh no.  Not stressed—suicidal, to be precise.  Those of you who’ve been following the show’s development over at our official blog know that my partner in crime and I have built this entire show from the ground up, literally. Having never worked together before, we’ve also had our share of artistic differences (not to mention administrative differences) and although I’m no stranger to choreography, performance and costuming (all of which I’m doing for the revue) I’ve never actually produced a show before.  Unless of course you count the “Nutcracker Extravaganza” I orchestrated for my preschool students last December, …

Of Hurricanes and Hipsters

I should be in a hot tub overlooking the Chesapeake right now.  But like President Obama, I too have cut my vacation short in order to prepare for the onslaught of Hurricane Irene.  So far, I’ve closed a few windows and had a chai latte.  I also spent five hours “evacuating” from the Eastern Shore yesterday and helped a neighbor navigate his sail boat from one slip in the marina to another, from which it will be hoisted out of the river for safe keeping. I was supposed to spend an entire week relaxing before the start of the school year (which happens to coincide with the debut of Too Darn Hot, the all-women, all-tap revue I’m co-producing for the Philly Fringe) but after three and a half days in the middle of nowhere, I discovered that I’m not all that good at relaxing. Even with a hot tub and my parent’s liquor cabinet at my disposal. So I’m back in Philadelphia, for better or worse, and since I’m up early, I figured I’d beat …

The American Heiress

It was so much easier to get married in the nineteenth century.  I know this not because I majored in history as an undergraduate or because I spent the majority of my teen years writing sappy historical fiction but because I’ve just finished reading The American Heiress by Daisy Goodwin. That’s right: I’ve completed my “lit review” of everything ever written on the subject of online dating (what a depressing project that was) and have finally gone back to the sort of books one’s supposed to read during the summer vacation: books that offer an escape. Goodwin’s debut novel tells the story of the aptly-named Cora Cash, heir to a flour fortune, who suffers, as all teenage protagonists must, from the constraints of Victorian society and her mother’s constant meddling.  When it comes time for Cora to marry, she simply hops a boat to England (her father’s private yacht, to be exact), spends an afternoon horseback riding, and conveniently gets knocked unconscious in a forest that just so happens to belong to unmarried English duke. …

The Next Installment of the Gentlemen’s Guide: Weekend Wooing

Back in junior high, my BFF and I decided to write a manual for boys—boys who were interested in dating us.  We were fed up with their blundering attempts and, fancying ourselves the lucky recipients of a superior education concerning all things romance (courtesy of Jane Austen novels and BBC costume dramas), we set out to equip them with the knowledge they so desperately needed. The only problem (at least the only evident problem) was the publication of our little treatise.  How would we get them to read it? If only I’d had a blog back then… As such, I feel that I am bound by duty and honor and the godforsaken desire to date a man who knows what he’s doing to publish the following.  Consider this the next installment in my Gentleman’s Guide to Wooing Women, except this time, instead of focusing on online dating protocol we’re going to take a look at the weekend visit. Now before you jump to conclusions and assume that the following assemblage is in any way indicative …

A Cowgirl I am Not…

Upon my return from Pittsburgh, one of my former college roommates invited me to a little get-together at the farm where she’s been house sitting since the beginning of the month.  Finding myself in dire need of some serious girl talk after my weekend with Date #7, I accepted the invitation, grabbed a bottle of Two Buck Chuck and headed south. Tempted by the promise of “farm fresh” eggs in the morning, I also accepted to the invitation to stay the night (call me crazy, but drunk driving all the way from Baltimore to Philadelphia isn’t really my thing, especially after I’d just driven from Pittsburgh to Philadelphia). Unbeknownst to me at the time, “staying the night” also meant assisting my roommate in closing the gate after the last of the local guests had left for the evening. Truth be told, she didn’t ask for help in closing the gate but it was dark and starting to rain so I felt I ought to offer. In order for the rest of this story to make …

“Brilliant but Insufferable” (A direct quote from the man himself)

“What do you think?” Date #7 asks, his voice no more than a whisper as he slips his arm around my back. “I think I need to write a best seller,” I reply.  “Several, actually.” We’re standing atop one of the many terraces that comprise Frank Lloyd Wright’s Fallingwater, the admission to which has been my “birthday surprise” from Date #7, and I am suffering from a serious bout of rich-people envy. The desk on the third floor alone is enough to send me into a tizzy—how could one fail to write the great American novel with such a view?—and each terrace is bigger than the last. “You could host some really great parties here,” I muse. Date #7 just nods and I surmise that he’s probably not the party hosting type. At the conclusion of our tour, he leads me down the path to a clearing in the woods that offers the best view of the house.  Once I’ve snapped my fill of pictures, he hands my camera to one of the guides and …