All posts tagged: Long-distance relationship

The Rest of the Story with Date #7

It’s been exactly one week since Date #7 walked me to my car, wrapped his arms around me and told me—for the umpteenth time—that I was making a terrible mistake.  As such, I suppose it’s about time for me to finally stop dragging my mud-caked heals over the chronicling of his brother’s wedding and get to the point: How the hell did it end? I’m tempted to fall back upon the “relationship status” parlance that my generation—the Facebook generation— has come to accept as… well, acceptable and leave you with a trite “it’s complicated,” but really, it’s not. It’s quite simple. Long distance relationships require three things: trust, communication and a more or less steady supply of simple-yet-thoughtful gestures to remind your significant other that you’re thinking about them, even though you’re not with them. Date #7 and I don’t have these things.  I’m confident that we could work towards them—he’s not stupid, and I could do with a bit of “personal growth” myself—but right now, considering how seldom we see each other (and how …

Why I’m NOT Buying Sexy Underwear

So I’m trying to be more honest with myself and this entails being more honest with all of you.  Oddly enough, I find it easier to be honest on the internet than I do in my personal interactions (which, come to think of it isn’t all that odd at all—the internet fosters a certain sense of anonymity, which is why it can be so dangerous.) First order of business?  Date #7, aka the man across the state who I’ve never actually met.  If I’m to be brutally honest with myself, I’ve already fallen head over heels for him—at least for the idea of him.  (And the significance of the number seven is not lost on me.) Fortunately I’m a bit smarter than I used to be: I know it’s just an idea, and that my version of him may be completely different than reality.  Plus, there’s always the off chance that someone might happen between now and next Friday—that he won’t actually come. The last time a man told me he’d like to visit me …

It’s all Relative, Except when its NOT!

I’m chatting with my friend Ove from Norway about Date #7 (the man from across the state who I’ve never actually met) when he asks the obvious question: Why don’t you just drive out to wherever it is that he lives and meet him? Well, this may be an obvious question for a Norwegian (you can read all about my thoughts on Scandinavian dating culture here and here) but for me? “No way,” I respond.  “He has to come to me.” Ove shoots a bevy of emoticons my way and types, “You are too traditional, Kat.” And so I am.  I am American after all and the so-called “land of the free” is also the land of the Pilgrims.  We’ve come a long way since 1620—feminism, for example, has been invented; ditto automobiles—but there is no way I am driving across the state to spend the weekend with a man I’ve never met. According to my latest WordPress subscription notice, I have quite a few international readers these days so I will pause briefly for …

Close Encounters of the AWKWARD Kind

It was bound to happen sooner or later.  In a city the size of Philadelphia, there are only so many single men, so many bartenders and so many routes one can take from Old City to South Philly.  This is the problem with dating locally— or perhaps with serial dating, come to think of it.  All I know is that after my little “encounter” earlier this week, I need to either A) stop dating or B) go back to long distance relationships. Let’s start at the beginning, shall we? A friend from the Philadelphia Writer’s Conference invites me to join him for a meeting in Old City.  It has something to do with civic engagement and the arts and since I’m still struggling to develop a life beyond Match.com, I say “Sure, why not?” (Additionally, there are going to be free drinks.  As such, this is a no brainer.) I’m wearing my very best power outfit: floral print dress, red heels, red scarf, red chopsticks in my hair and red earrings, all paired with a …

Remember Date #7? Well…

In preparing for (and recovering from) my 50th date, I neglected to mention that I’ve met the man of my dreams.  (And no, my 50th date did not involve said man, because that would be entirely too simple). He’s intelligent, artistic, humorous on occasion, “deep” enough to indulge my philosophical tendencies, sexy, and—thank goodness!— taller than me in heels.  He also has blue eyes and even though I never knew I had a thing for blue eyes, apparently I do.  He has a respectable career that he’s passionate about, he sends me sexy text messages in Italian (at least I think they’re sexy; one can never be too sure with the romance languages) and he seems to have mastered the art of not wearing sneakers. So what’s the problem? Well, he lives on the other side of the state so when I say “I’ve met the man of my dreams” I’m using the term “met” rather broadly.  Very broadly.  Approximately 306 miles broadly, as in we’ve never actually… you know… met. Shall I explain? Of …

My Worst Valentine’s Day Ever, Part 1

Pour yourself a cup of coffee and, if it’s after noon in your country, add a shot of your favorite adult beverage because it’s time for a pity party. As promised, I’ve compiled my worst Valentine’s Day stories ever for your viewing pleasure this weekend.  Today I present the first of my top three. Valentine’s Day 2003: I was seventeen and reaching the six month mark with my first boyfriend.  As such, I was excited as only a seventeen-year-old can be and my excitement was further exacerbated by the fact that ours was a long distance relationship.  Not only was it Valentine’s Day but we hadn’t seen each other since Christmas.  The stakes were high, and the potential for disappoint even higher. Even though we’d met that previous summer and spent a majority of our free time exchanging sappy emails, we’d only logged a matter of days in each other’s presence.  And because we had yet to declare ourselves an official couple, I knew better than to expect anything particularly grandiose on Valentine’s Day. Of …

Of Snowflakes and Stalking

To celebrate Wednesday’s snow day (and reward myself for having shoveled the entire sidewalk and driveway), I decided to be truly decadent.  First, I rummaged through my mother’s closet for a dress to wear with my new tights, then I went to the bank to deposit this week’s paychecks and finally, I trudged up the gray slush of South Street (which is gray and slushy even when it doesn’t snow) and headed to Starbucks. There I ordered a medium chai latte, a bottle of Ethos water and an egg white breakfast wrap. Did you know that a whole grain bagel contains 320 calories whereas a whole wheat wrap filled with vegetables and protein contains only 280?  I didn’t.  Obviously I’m not eating Starbucks bagels any more… or those yummy looking but equally treacherous raspberry scones— 500 calories a piece! It so happens that my splurge costs a bit more than the $5 gift card I got for Christmas from one of my students but the upstairs seating area is perfect for writing so I didn’t …