All posts tagged: Carrie Bradshaw

Delicious Dating

Wow.  I’ve got to admit the responses to yesterday’s post completed floored me—what a huge range of experiences in the “I love you” department!  In reading everyone’s stories, I was reminded of two experiences that even I’d forgotten.  The first was in third grade when a boy from the Czech Republic wrote me a love note using his sister’s nail polish.  His name was Vladislav and as the son of recent immigrants, he struggled with his English.  He also wore really girly sweaters and everyone teased him—everyone except me, that is; I used to hang out with him during recess when no one else would and tried to help him with his homework.  Evidently I’ve always had a thing for foreigners.  And metrosexuals. The second was perhaps the most romantic “I love you” of my life because, as several of you noted yesterday, “J’taime” is way better than “I love you.”  (Especially when you’re eighteen, freezing to death and just after seeing The Nutcracker.  Sigh…) But getting back to my “research.” Up until approximately three …

Baby You’re a Firework (Whoops! Did I just quote another teen idol?)

Personally, I think America ought to adopt a new Independence Day tradition: instead of shooting off fireworks and holding barbeques, we should all make July 4th Resolutions instead. Think about it: by this time, the majority of your New Year’s Resolutions have probably gone out the window.  July is the perfect time to assess your progress, fine tune your goals for the rest of the year and re-launch your attempts to lose weight/read more books/lose weight while reading more books (I’m still trying to figure out how to maximize my time on the elliptical). Plus, a new July 4th tradition of this sort would reduce the need for barbeques.  I seriously cannot handle any more barbeques.  I’ve just finished losing all the weight I gained over Memorial Day—and now we’re back to hot dogs and hamburgers and cheesecakes all over again.  (To be fair, no one forced me to polish off two servings of cheesecake last night but seeing as the cheesecake was my contribution to my parent’s barbeque, I had to test it.  And …

(M)anthropology, Part 5: Those Guys who are just THERE

He who was following me on Twitter is no longer following me on Twitter.  One can only presume that he read the associated blog post and subsequently decided to “unfollow” me.  Oops. Maybe one of these days I’ll learn that blogging about my love life is not exactly the most effective way to build relationships. But that day isn’t here yet, and lest I succumb to another sob-fest like I did yesterday, I’ve put together a (m)anthropological analysis of what I believe will comprise my fifth and final “type.” I’m not sure what to call this last one.  So far, I’ve got the Impressionists (men who like to impress women), the Pre-Raphaelites (men who like to love women), the Surrealists (men who like to confound women) and the Old Masters (men who like to bore women to death) but here my knowledge art history maxes out. I need to go back to the Tate Modern.  The Tate has that great wall just above the escalators that’s painted like a timeline with all the major periods …

A Precipitous Predicament

I’m going to blame the snow.  On account of Philadelphia’s first real snow storm, I got a little stir crazy on Sunday night.  And because my most recent foray into the world of online dating has endowed me with half a dozen eHarmony pen pals (each more intriguing than the last) I was also feeling a bit frisky.  Why invite PSM#1 for a frolic through the snow when I could instead call upon PSM#2? Especially since PSM#2 has been writing me lovely, novella-length emails for ever since we were “matched” a week and a half ago… And so it was that I decided to introduce a new contender into the equation.  “Would you stop emailing me and just ask me out already?” I punched into my keyboard Sunday morning (yes, I know, I have a real way with words).  I proffered some excuse about my computer screen making my eyes hurt due to my relentless sinus infection and hit “send.” A few minutes later, I had my response, a phone number and an invitation to …

Date #6

Date #6 isn’t a date.  He’s not terribly keen on my “anthropological experiment” (I’ve warned all would-be suitors on Match.com) and I can’t say that I blame him.  Nonetheless, he suggests that we meet “just as friends” for Center City Sips at LaScala’s and because there are only two weeks of Sips left—and because I wouldn’t mind having a few more “just friends” in my life— I agree.  He tells me he doesn’t want to put me through the ordeal of my usual pre-date primping and encourages me to just come as I am.  On one hand, I think, “What a guy!” and my eyebrows rejoice at the prospect of an evening without tweezers.  But on the other hand, I think, “Yeah right!  Center City Sips sans makeup?”  I don’t care if this a “just friends” date or not; there’s no way I’m going to La Scala without makeup, especially given the failure of my quest for “sublime skin” last month.  I do, however, deign to wear jeans.  It’s cold and drizzly and since this …