All posts tagged: compromise

Line_at_Love_Park_Statue

The Rain Test

Eventually, I’m going to have to stop posting about TWD.  After all, no one is going to date a girl who blogs about her ex-boyfriend every day.  But today is not that day. Then again, today’s post isn’t actually about TWD.  It’s about me. Here’s the crazy thing: after TWD and I broke up, I felt relieved.  The relief, of course, was followed by panic (Would I ever find someone else?) and that panic continues now that it’s been two weeks without the slightest hope of a rebound but in that first moment, when I hung up the phone, took a deep breath and sat up, I realized I was sitting a little taller. I loved him.  I loved him more than I’ve ever loved anybody, more than I knew it was even possible to love somebody.  But I did not love him more than I love Philadelphia. I’m sure that sounds very strange and I feel guilty to even admit it but the thought of moving to New Jersey terrified me.  I was willing …

long distance

Compromise? Well, it Sucks…

I’m hoping, as I pull into the parking space in front of The Wedding Date’s house on Wednesday night, that he’s going to sweep me up in his arms and tell me he’ll do whatever it takes to be with me: sell his house, quit his job, move to Philadelphia, anything so long as we can be together. But he doesn’t. And frankly I shouldn’t expect him to. Especially because he’s not even here yet. I knew it was going to be a difficult conversation, which is why I went to yoga the morning after last Tuesday’s conversation, convinced my partner-in-crime to join me for a much needed “working lunch” and decided to bring my best self to the table—the self that isn’t always stressed out and running late—so I left Philadelphia fifteen minutes ahead of schedule and arrived at The Wedding Date’s house with time to spare. Instead of professing his undying love and willingness to do anything for me, he clutches his chest when he sees my overnight bag. “What?” I demand. He …

Anti NJ

Sometimes You’ve Got to Fix Your Mascara without a Mirror

I get it.  Relationships are about compromise.  And compromise requires both parties to give in once a while.  But as The Wedding Date and I prepare to celebrate the one year anniversary of our first date, I feel like all the things I want are getting sacrificed to what he has to have. And I’m not happy. He called me yesterday just as I was getting ready to head into work for the evening and asked, “How much time do you have?  Oh.  Only fifteen minutes?  Well maybe I’ll tell you later.” As you all know, “later” is never an option with a prelude like that.  So he told me then and I was right: state workers are required to reside in the state in which they work.  In other words, our plans for happily-ever-after are basically f*cked. It wouldn’t matter if he worked in Pennsylvania—the state of Philadelphia, of me, and of all things wonderful— but he works in New Jersey and having grown up in New Jersey, I have less than no desire …

The Real Reason I Want(ed) to Go to Europe

You want to know the real reason I love to travel?  Sure, I’m into museums and history and discovering that my way of doing things isn’t the only way but really I like the girl I become when I travel: fearless, self-sufficient, confident, and—get this!—I almost never get lost when I’m somewhere else. I still get turned around on my way to New Jersey (which is bad, seeing as The Wedding Date lives in New Jersey) but give me a passport, a plane ticket and a map?  I’m fine. (Seriously.  I spent nearly two months on my own in Europe when I was seventeen and I only got lost once.) The new-and-improved me that suddenly springs to life when I’m abroad, however, is only half the story.  Because with it comes my new-and-improved ability to meet people and by “people,” I mean of course men. Even when I was seventeen and had a boyfriend, I met all sorts of men when I was abroad.  There was my flat mate in Sevilla, then the Polish student …

And Suddenly a Beach Pass is a Big Deal

The Wedding Date wants to know if I’m a beach person—not because he’s planning some sort of mid-winter, Caribbean getaway (at least not as far as I know), but because he’s trying to decide whether or not to buy a beach pass for the summer. A beach pass. For the summer. It’s only January—the “summer” is still six months away! How am I supposed to make a decision about a beach pass now? Especially because in my book, summers are meant for adventures.  Adventures abroad.  I’ve been emptying out my savings account for this express purpose almost every year since the summer I turned seventeen.  In fact, to me, the hardest part of producing last September’s show for the Fringe was not the stress or the financial investment or the last minute choreography that left my partner and me trying to finalize our duet just minutes before going onstage. It was the fact that I had to stay put through July and August and after teaching all year, spending the entire summer in one place …