All posts tagged: boyfriend

soft

Candy Necklaces for Grown Ups, or How to Survive the Atlantic City Beer Fest

On Saturday night, I went to a beer festival with PIC. I hate beer but I love him, and one of his favorite bands was playing and it was his birthday so I donned my concert-going uniform (more on that some other time) and joined approximately 9,000 beer lovers at the Atlantic City Convention Center. Having never before been to a beer fest, I didn’t know the protocol. Like you’re supposed to wear matching t-shirts, or Viking helmets, or Scottish kilts or scrubs with signs that say things like, “Hi, My name is Dr. Hangover.” More importantly—and this is crucial—you’re supposed to bring a necklace made of pretzels. Who knew? Ill-equipped as I was, I spent the majority of the evening drinking pear ciders and asking folks if I could take pictures of their edible jewelry. These ladies, for example, had both pretzel necklaces and light-up suspenders. This guy explained to me that soft pretzels are “way better” because they’re bigger and “soak up the alcohol.” Plus you can get 20 for a dollar (or …

one way

What Happened Last Week

I’m sorry for last week—for getting you all excited about my return to “regular” posting only to leaving you hanging with a single, solitary, charming-but-rather-daft post about shower curtains. The thing is I have this friend. And three months ago she met this guy on the internet (Plenty of Fish of all places…) and now they’re talking about spending the rest of their lives together. We keep telling her she’s crazy—sure, he’s a great guy, and no, there aren’t any obvious red flags, but isn’t this all a bit premature? Granted, he has yet to officially ask, and she has yet to officially say “yes,” and they’re having all sorts of sensible discussions about the logistics (the pros and cons of premarital cohabitation, the financial ramifications, the legal) in addition to the implications of “putting a ring on it” (isn’t the whole practice just a bit anti-feminist? A bit Wedding Industrial Complex?) but we’re still rather concerned on her behalf. Especially because on Thursday morning, after one such discussion (which was less logistical and more …

TopSecret

Writing Wednesday: How to Date a Blogger

If you write a blog about dating, should you tell the man you’re dating? I get this question a lot actually (especially after last Monday’s post), and my answer is always the same: YES! During my Manthropology days, I let all prospective suitors know up front, from the get go. I felt it was important, especially because in those days a lot of different men took me out to dinner and if a man takes you out to dinner, the least you can do is let him know said dinner might show up on the internet in the morning. (How’s that for a little nugget of wisdom in this here digital age?) Now though, the blog is different. And now I’m not just dating any Tom, Dick or Harry. Now I know what I want; now I want to build a life with someone. And so the blog comes up again. I told PIC on our first date. I told him I write a blog, I told him the name of it and I told …

picnic

On My Team

I’ve spent the better part of my life wondering if love is real or not. On good days, I think it’s a feeling, an emotion, an action, perhaps even a scientifically verifiable state of being if I listen to enough NPR. But on bad days, I think it’s just something we poetic types go on about, something that the rest of the world buys into, something we spend our entire lives trying to achieve and we dress it up with engagement rings and wedding gowns to prove to everyone else that we’ve found it. Then I met PIC. (You had to know I was going to say that, right?) Each time I’ve had a new boyfriend, I find myself thinking, “This! This is what love feels like!” But this time it’s different. It was a weeknight when I invited PIC over to my house for dinner for the first time. I know how to make approximately four proper dinners, and I’d chosen the most impressive (Thai peanut satay chicken) but as I got the preparations …

bonnie+and+clyde+1

Introducing P.I.C.

We’re on the train, the new boyfriend and I, heading downtown from his apartment in the suburbs. I’m writing a blog post on my phone and he’s reading Time Magazine. “You need a name,” I tell him. He looks up. “For my blog. It’s been almost three months.  I need a nickname for you.” I toss a couple of ideas into the air but they’re all lame or to obvious or too cumbersome. He suggests “The One” (sort of in jest but not really… more on that later) and finally it hits me. “I’ve got it,” I tell him. “You can read about it tomorrow.” So here it is: PIC, which stands for (obviously) Partner in Crime. And that, quite truthfully, is exactly what he has become, whether we’re scrubbing rose petal stains out of a fancy hotel duvet or painting the spare bedrooms in my house. A woman walks onto the train with a bedazzled ski hat. “Look at that,” I whisper, “that is ridiculous. I’m all about rhinestones but you have to know …

El Salvador Sunday 335

Painting in the Dark

I thought I knew it all. I thought I had it all figured out. I’d read every brochure, every guide, every scrap of literature in the paint department at Sherwin Williams but I didn’t know this. Shall I start at beginning? It would be helpful, I suppose, to first explain that I come from a long line of perfectionists. My dad is especially anal. Back when he was the captain of an oil tanker, he used to make his crew practice painting with water on their rollers. (Or so the story goes.) Now that I have my own house, I am discovering that I’ve inherited this particular stroke of genius (or lunacy, depending on how you look at it), and that I am an excellent painter. I’ve perfected the art of “cutting in,” of always leaving a “wet edge” in order to avoid unsightly streaks. I’ve learned, courtesy of my mom, to always keep a wet rag in my pocket lest I make any accidental ceiling swipes and when my dad reminds me to hammer …

sushi box set

Sushi in a Box

One of the interesting things about teaching anthropology is that you end up wearing your anthropologist’s hat ALL of the time.  As such, as simple purchase for your boyfriend’s birthday becomes much more than a quick trip to the mall.  Much more… A while back, TWD mentioned that he would like a scarf. “Are you kidding me?” I replied.  “I was at the flea market this weekend.  There were tons of scarves!  I could have gotten you one then.” “I don’t want one of those scarves.  I want a nice scarf.  Like… you know, like in your blog.” Right.  The Is He Scarf Worthy? blog post I wrote during the early days of my manthropological experiment.  How could I have forgotten? TWD wasn’t even a blip on the radar when I wrote that post but now that he’s been in my life for the past year and a half, it seemed a reasonable request.  And one that I was happy to fulfill. Only it’s been a while.  And it takes a while.  I love getting …

Sheldon folding laundry

Folding Boyfriend for Hire?

Here’s a little something I bet you didn’t know about me.  I hate folding laundry.  Like really hate it.  I find that moving it around works just as well.  I usually maintain a nice chair-to-bed-to-chair-to-bed pattern, although sometimes that gets difficult when TWD comes to visit or I find myself needing my chair for other things (textbooks, tap shoes, laptops, etc.) When that happens, I go chair-to-bed-to-floor but never the bare floor, mind you.  I’m way too civilized for that.  In college I used to carefully position everything on my area rug.  Now that I no longer have an area rug, I just line up my various pocketbooks, dance bags and laptop cases to make a nice little shelf.  Then the piling begins. TWD, on the other hand, loves folding laundry.  At least I’m pretty sure he does.  He seems to fold laundry all the time.  And he’s very fastidious about it. One time, a while back, we were hanging out in the living room at his house; I was working on choreography for my …