Month: October 2012

5 Things I Don’t Get About Halloween

Here is what I don’t get about Halloween: Halloween Greeting Cards: Seriously?  What is the point?  If you’re going to mail a child a greeting card to wish them a spooktacular Halloween, you should honestly have your grandparent status revoked.  Think about it: what kid wants a non-edible piece of cardboard covered in glitter when they could have Reeses Cups instead?  If you’re going to take the time to send a card, you can take the time to buy a padded envelope and send some candy instead. Personally, I think it’s a scam. Cancelling Halloween: Thanks to the arrival of Hurricane Sandy, several towns have cancelled Halloween.  We’ve fared rather well in Philadelphia (we lost power for a brief second while watching Big Bang Theory but compared to trees falling on houses, I’d say we did alright) so I’m glad to report that Halloween has not been cancelled here, but others have not been so lucky. How exactly doesn’t one cancel Halloween anyway?  Is it like cancelling school?  A notice goes up on some official …

rainy romance

Hurricane Sandy = One Hot Date

With Hurricane Sandy threatening to wallop the majority of the Eastern Seaboard, most sensible folks are out loading up on bottled water and extra batteries for their flashlights.  I, on the other hand, am scheming for an entire two days with The Wedding Date. We’ve decided to weather the storm together and he’s assembled a rather fabulous emergency kit of our own: broccoli cheddar soup, popcorn and chocolate chip cookies. Fortunately, I just finished editing a piece called 10 Great Rainy Day Date Ideas for so we won’t be stuck just eating popcorn and cookies for the next 48 hours. If you’re searching from some storm-friendly fun, take a look!  (Unless of course you’d like to spend the next 48 hours eating popcorn and cookies; then don’t let me stop you). Happy puddle-jumping and stay safe, folks!


Of Love and Pizza

This why people get fat. I’m in the car, on my way to The Wedding Date’s house from the Oak Lane Library in northeast Philly where I’ve just spent the past hour and a half espousing the virtues of online to middle aged strangers.  It’s well past dinner time, and I’ve had one of my protein bars (since they’re now hidden in an Abuela-proof container) but still, I’m hungry. It’s not your average, run-of-the-mill hunger.  It’s not even hunger, actually.  It’s desperation.  Every time I think I’ve wrapped my head around the idea of my grandparents in, some sappy song comes on the radio and I get all emotional and start to wonder how long The Wedding Date will put up with me like this. I’ve been a wreck all week. I’m overtired and burning the candle at both ends and even though I’m super excited about getting this dance company off the ground, I’m overwhelmed by the amount of work it’s going to require.  Between my work schedule and TWD’s custody schedule, it feels …

cookie monster

Reasons (Not) to Get Married

I watch enough reality TV to know that there are some very stupid reasons to get married.  That hasn’t stopped me, however, from compiling the following list: (Keep in mind its late and I’ve just come from baking 160 cookies for Parent Observation Night at the studio.) Health Insurance: The Wedding Date works for the state.  He has good health insurance.  I work for myself.  I do not.  My current plan is simply “Don’t get sick.” Water Pressure: The Wedding Date has an amazing shower.  Because he’s a neat freak, it’s always clean and the water pressure is to die for.  Seriously.  I could spend hours in his shower. Vacuuming: The Wedding Date actually enjoys vacuuming.  He says it makes him feel zen.  I have tried to cultivate a zen attitude while vacuuming on numerous occasions but now that I can’t vacuum in the nude, it’s not nearly as fun as it used to be.  (Who am I kidding?  Vacuuming is never fun.  I hate it with a passion.) My Grandmother: I had breakfast with …

alzheimers disease

My New Roomies

I’ve been avoiding this post for a while.  It’s too personal.  It’s not fun.  And there’s really no way to even inject a bit of humor into the situation because you’re not supposed to joke about these kinds of things. So, here goes: My grandmother has been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease. I’m not used to this sort of thing.  No one in my family has ever had Alzheimer’s or breast cancer or any of those other “causes” that they ask you to donate a dollar for when you go to the supermarket.  And while I don’t mean to trivialize either these diseases or the people who’ve been through them, I’m not used to ribbons or fund raisers or “raise awareness” campaigns.  Heck, I wear pink all the time as a dance teacher and the one day I chose to vary my wardrobe last fall was the day we were supposed to be “celebrating” breast cancer. But now, things are different. And I feel guilty.  It’s no big secret that I think my grandparents are crazy …


A Revelation in Ikea

I’m ogling bedspreads at Ikea when it finally hits me: I’m staying. Staying here. In the US. In Philadelphia. Not moving back to London. It’s like a brick.  And not because it hurts but because it’s so solid, so certain, so “Duh!  Where have you been for the past three years?  You’re holding auditions for a freaking dance company tomorrow!” For the longest time I’ve kept my passport in my desk drawer, ready to go at a moment’s notice.  I still have my NHS card, my Oyster card, even the top up card for my mobile phone and the phone itself tucked into an old makeup bag for safe keeping with the remaining pounds I brought home from my last trip across the pond. In the three years that have passed since I completed my MA and moved back to the US, I haven’t bothered to close out my Barclay’s account or even to transfer funds.  (The damn thing was so difficult to open that I’ll probably never actually close it but I should probably …

girl daydreaming

Things I Never Thought I Would Do

Upon finding myself implicated in yet another “Single Bridezilla” debate (this time written by an Australian journalist who contacted me for an interview last week) I can’t help but wonder: How did this happen? Right.  I wrote a blog post about my grandmother’s wedding dress.  Then I said yes to Marie Claire, yes to Good Morning America and the rest is history. But I don’t care this time.  If 204 people want to waste their time calling me and the other “Single Bridezillas” crazy, that’s their prerogative.  Especially because the jokes on them (take a guess who’s traffic has just quadrupled.  Actually it hasn’t even quadrupled.  It’s eight-drupled.  Is there a word for that?) Nonetheless, I’m amazed.  Becoming the poster child for “Single Bridezillas” everywhere wasn’t exactly the reason I went to college (or went on to grad school to complete my MA in anthropology). Then again, neither was becoming a writer.  And the more I think about it, the more I realize that I’m doing tons of things I’d never thought I’d do. For …

jet pack

The Kat-apult

I have an idea.  A really good idea.  Better than a jet pack or a robotic pug.  (I don’t actually have any use for a robotic pug but The Wedding Date is very anti-dog so a cuddly cyborg might be the best I can hope for if we ever move in together). It came to me last night while I was on the phone with TWD.  It’s been nearly a week since we last saw each other and even though a week may not seem like a very long time, it is when you’re cold and lonely and sleepy and stressed out.  A week is forever then. “Can’t you come over?” I whined, knowing full well that the 90 minutes drive was out of the question at such an hour. “You come over here,” he replied.  “My bed’s bigger and less squeaky.” “But my bed is warm and I’m already in it!” “Yes, well I’m already in mine too.” “If only you had a jet pack,” I mused.  “Then you could be here in a …