All posts tagged: first date

3day

Quite Possibly My Last First Date

As the bus crawls towards Rittenhouse, it dawns on me: this might possibly be my last first date. Not because of anything in particular in his profile or the messages we’ve been exchanging (although I do like him quite a bit on paper) but because of me. I finally have my sh*t together. I’m wearing jeans and we’re meeting at a cheap Mexican place for happy hour tacos and margaritas.  Part of me wishes we were going someplace fancier, but really only so that I can brag to my friends about it. (The truth is I can’t afford any place fancier right now, not with the house, and I don’t want to assume that he’s going to pick up the tab so one dollar tacos are actually a much safer bet.) The date itself doesn’t blow me out of the water.  There’s a bit of an awkward kerfuffle as we make our way to the booth and he seems a bit nervous, but its a safe date.  A date with potential. He’s tall, and cute, …

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The Story Begins

Okay, okay, I shall stop teasing you all. Here at last is the story of the flowers behind my front door, but we must start, as all good stories start, at the beginning. It was today. Exactly one year ago. When my world (or so I thought) cracked in two. It was today that a young father-of-two from New Jersey called his even younger (and even unhappier) girlfriend from Philadelphia and gave them both the freedom they so desperately needed. It would take her months to see it that way, and she would spend many of these months drinking too much, crying herself to sleep and watching Breaking Bad until the wee hours of the morning but eventually time, that ancient mover of things and mender of hearts, did what everyone promised it would do. She realized, after the initial wailing gave way to enlightenment (as it always does if you quiet down long enough), that there were things that they could have never fixed, but things that she herself could have fixed and so …

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Dating Standards: The 30 Minute Countdown

Ladies (and gentleman, I suppose), a girl’s got to have standards. Which is why, when the European texted me to say that the “the 76” was backed up just a few minutes before we were supposed to meet at Franklin Square for our first date, I started counting. First of all, “the 76” is always backed up, and if you live in Philadelphia or any of the surrounding suburbs you know this. My dancers use this excuse all the time when they’re late to rehearsal and in my head I’m always like, “Really? Did you just move here? No. You know better. Leave earlier next time.” Secondly, I had spent the afternoon with a friend who was dog sitting for her aunt and even though I didn’t want to tear myself away from the sangria, the gossip and… oh yeah… the pool, I did, because I had made a commitment. And when it comes to Center City Philadelphia, the only thing that’s worse than the traffic is the parking. At any rate, I found a …

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Dating and Christopher Columbus

It’s Thursday morning and I’m chatting online with a friend from college. “So you went out on another date?” he asks, referring to my newly updated Facebook status. “Yeah.” “What about that guy you went out with on Sunday? No good?” “No, he was great.” “Then why someone new?” “Well, you know me…” I have a system. I promised myself I wasn’t going to go crazy this time. Actually, I promised myself I wouldn’t even start dating until I’ve moved into (and possibly even renovated) my new house. But old habits die hard, and even though I think I’m doing a darn good job of embracing the single life, making new friends and reconnecting with old ones (girl friends in particular), I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t just a little bit bored. So I’m dating again. In fact, I’m dating several different people again because dating several people simultaneously keeps me from going into full blown happily-ever-fantasy mode. And this, frankly, is something with which I really struggle. I suffer from a rather …

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Date 2, Part 2

Okay, getting back to last Sunday’s date. I do not throw up. Nor do I retreat. I keep putting one foot in front of the other, ignoring the throngs of people crowding the perimeter of the park and telling myself, “I used to be good at this. I used to be GREAT at this. How hard can it be?” And there he is: smiling, on time and wearing a striped dress shirt. He appears, for all intents and purposes, to be normal. Two arms, two legs, ten fingers and presumably ten toes (although I can’t tell this for sure because he’s wearing dress shoes). He’s been reading my blog and he’s warned me—for the sake of my ongoing ethnographic inquiries— that he’s going to give me a hug hello (and teases that I can make of that what I will, anthropologically speaking). Secretly, I’m glad of this because it saves me the trouble of wondering if I should hug him, kiss him or shake his hand. (And let’s be honest: if he’d left me to …

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My Second First Date

I don’t know what is wrong with me. I’ve just finished teaching my weekly Beginner/Intermediate tap class at Koresh but I’m having trouble breathing. I feel, in fact, like I might throw up, which would be a true shame because I’m wearing my favorite black dress. For a brief second, I consider bolting—I could make it back to parking garage in about 90 seconds—but there’s a man waiting for me in Rittenhouse Square and I’ve promised to meet him by the goat statue in the southwest corner of the park at 2:00pm. It’s one thing to feel finally ready to date again. It’s another to give yourself a five minute makeover in a dance studio restroom and meet a complete stranger for coffee. (Especially when said stranger writes a blog of his own and you’ve spent the past 24 hours trying to suss out his political views.) I force myself to soldier on but I can’t help feeling out of practice. I don’t know what to say. I can’t remember what he looks like. I’m …

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I Blame The Sangaritas

So, as most of you know, I accidentally reactivated my Plenty of Fish account and went on a date last Monday. In the spirit of teachable moments, here is what I learned: If you’re going on your first first date in nearly three years, you should not—I repeat, DO NOT—order a Sagarita. I’m still not entirely sure what a Sagarita is but it involved triple sec, wine, rum and tequila. If you’re a moron and do end up ordering a Sangarita, don’t order a second. No matter how pretty it is. And if you’re stupid enough to order a second, for goodness sakes, stick to one deadly cocktail and don’t go switching to wine, then cider and finally back again. Why? Well, for starters, it’s not a good idea to get drunk in public. Especially on a date. Especially a first date with a man you met on the internet. But that’s not even the worst part. The worst part is that you might find yourself out with a nice guy, and at some point …

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My First First Date

On Monday night, I went on a date. It was my first first date (read it again; that wasn’t a typo) in nearly three years but since it had just been Easter Sunday, it seemed like a good idea. (Not that I think meeting a man for a drink at a swanky bar downtown is exactly the same thing as Jesus rising from the dead, but in the spirit of rebirth and renewal and rejoining the living, I did spend the majority of the afternoon wandering the house muttering, “If it’s good enough for Jesus, it’s good enough for me.” (And yes, I am well aware that I will I probably go to hell for that.) Anyway, like I said, it seemed like a good idea at the time. And generally speaking, I enjoyed myself. The end of the night, however, found me in my now-regular spot on the bathroom floor crying (again), eating Cheerios (again) and wondering if another episode of Breaking Bad would make me feel better or worse. I should have known. …