All posts tagged: Marshalls

The Devil You Know?

Remember that line in Love Actually when Emma Thompson turns to Alan Rickman and says, “The trouble with being the Prime Minister’s sister is it does put your life into rather harsh perspective.  What did my brother do today?  He stood up and fought for his country.  What did I do?  I made papier-mâché lobster head.” Well, that’s how I’ve feeling right lately, although not about my brother.  He did recently acquire an iPhone (whereas Yours Truly is still stuck with a malfunctioning Droid) but in this case, I’m referring to my BFF.  She works for Interpol and her emails always start the same way: Sorry for not getting back to you sooner!  I’m in Argentina/Kazakhstan/Switzerland/Italy and the internet connection is a bit spotty. This times its Turks and Caicos, although not for Interpol.  She’s on vacation. With her soon-to-be-fiancé. And they’re not even sleeping together because she’s super Catholic and he’s Catholic enough to go along with it.  (At least last I heard…) I’m happy for her, if only because we’ve been friends since …

Did I Learn ANYTHING from My Experiment? Yes, Actually…

Earlier this week, I finished “The Science of Single” by Rachel Machacek.  This means I’m nearly back on track with my a-book-a-week initiative but more importantly, I think I’ve cracked the code. Whether you subscribe to “The Rules” or the so-called “science” of PSM compatibility as purported by the likes of eHarmony, every scrap of relationship advice ever offered boils down to the same thing: confidence.  If you exude confidence, you attract confidence and if you attract confidence, well, everyone knows there’s nothing sexier than a confident man. (Except perhaps for a confident man who likes to cook, cooks well and grates cheese on his own abdominals.) But getting back to my theory: aside from a few months of angsting over Date #17, I kind of forgot to analyze the results of my experiment.  Had I made the proper calculations (or whatever it is that real scientists do) I would have discovered the following: I was at an all-time confidence HIGH when I met the Man from Marshalls.  I mean seriously, what’s the likelihood of …

Fireworks at Midnight

Since my last post, I’ve consumed one and a half martinis, three chocolate rum balls, two glasses of champagne, another two glasses of sangria and at least eight cups of coffee.  Fortunately New Years Eve festivities span a full 48 hours here in Philadelphia so I managed to pace myself.  Nonetheless, I was extremely grateful for the fact that New Years Day fell on a Saturday this year.  This way, I had an entire extra day in which to drink more coffee, consume more chocolates and prepare for my first date of 2011 before returning to my real job. But something rather unexpected happened at the annual Richter Family New Year’s Eve Martini Bar Soiree—something of the romantic variety.  And before we get any further with the latest developments in my eHarmony online dating experiment, I feel that I simply must explain. Having grown up on a steady diet of Jane Austen, I’ve spent the past decade or so waiting for a Darcy-like fixture to move in around the corner.  It hasn’t happened (which is …

Those Yuppie Yoga Couples

It’s not that I want to be one of those yuppie couples who spend their Saturday mornings carting their matching yoga mats through the sophisticated suburbs of Cherry Hill or Mt. Airy, discussing the merits of soy vs. almond milk as they head to their weekly “Couples Yoga” class.  It just that… okay, I do kind of want to be one of those couples, almond milk and all (although I’ll pass on the matching yoga mats—for now). As such, you can imagine my surprise and immediate delight when, after a week of studying, Date #17 emerged from the cavernous depths of his GMAT test prep and invited me to join him in his weekly yoga class. Actually, he didn’t really invite me.  Instead, he pulled me into his arms and whispered in my ear, “It’s such a beautiful day to skip yoga and go to brunch, don’t you think?”  To which I replied, “Absolutely not!  You’re going.  And more importantly, I am coming with you.” If I come across as a bit of a fitness …

The Importance of Eating Sushi

There’s nothing like carpooling with a female co-worker to illustrate the obvious differences between men and women.  Fifteen minutes into our commute, we’d covered ex-boyfriends, current boyfriends and everything in between (including Date #17, who has ricocheted from one category to the next over the past week, through no fault of his own).  I’ve been chatting about modern dance with The Preschool’s male site director for nearly two months now and I know nothing about his love life. “So who was that guy you brought to the art show?” my co-worker asked.  “Your brother?” “My brother?” I laughed.  “No, that was the Man from Marshalls… but he was so last month.” By the time we pulled into the parking lot, I’d given her the full scoop on Date #17, leaving out the fact that I’m meeting the Man from Marshalls for a coffee over the weekend.  (In my defense, this is not nearly as scandalous as it sounds.  I loaned the Man from Marshalls a library book—a library book taken out on my mother’s account—during …

The Mystery Man Revealed

I know what you’re all wondering.  After reading about the careful construction of my thirtieth date outfit, my discussion of Austen over pancakes and my decision to accompany my evidently enlightened mystery man for a stroll through The Piazza, you’re just dying to know, “But what about your thoughts on the history of tap dancing and its connection to American race relations?” I know, it’s a pretty fascinating topic if I do say so myself.  So fascinating, in fact, that I responded to a call for papers four months ago and submitted a proposal to write 10,000 words on the subject.  My proposal was accepted (fabulous!) but to date, I’ve written less than 3,000 words (not so fabulous).  I’d blame my dating habits, but really it’s the blogging about my dating habits that’s the real problem.  I’ve become incapable of constructing a complete sentence that doesn’t somehow include the words “martini,” “the Man from Marshalls” or “Match.com.” Having written a 20,000 word MA dissertation, I know how to do academic writing.  All you need is …

A Familiar Feeling

The morning after Date #17 takes me for dinner in Center City, I awake with a familiar feeling.  Being that it’s been some time since I’ve been on a first date, however—let alone a first date to a Steven Starr restaurant—I can’t quite place it. Is it a crush?  Date #17 is awfully cute—much cuter than his Match.com profile would suggest, actually.  As I step into the lounge at Alma de Cuba and notice a rather well dressed businessman seated alone at the bar, with a glass of cabernet sauvignon and an obvious first date demeanor, I realize that Date #17’s profile picture does not do him justice.  Being the benevolent dating guru that I am, I consider advising him to change it, but then I realize that if he does, all of the other girls on Match.com will find him and I’m not that benevolent.  I’d rather keep this undiscovered diamond in the rough to myself. So yes, it could be a crush that I’m feeling. But it could also be that peculiar brand …

The Conversation

After the art gallery, the bowling alley, the sports bar and a few days in between to recover from my marathon five-hour date with the Man from Marshalls, I finally found the courage to mention my blog.  The ensuing conversation included the “f” word.  Shall I explain? We decided to meet for a coffee.  On account of his having come straight for work, he arrived to pick me up sans baseball cap but no sooner had I complimented him on his young professional look than he pointed out the ubiquitous baseball cap resting just a few inches away on his dashboard.  Oh well. “Are you hungry?” he asked. “Not really,” I confessed.  “You?” “Yeah, I could eat.” We spent the next five minutes driving around the block and debating the merits of Vietnamese vs. Thai cuisine, at which point he said, “My feet are kind of wet and I’d like to change out of my work clothes.” This did little to resolve the Vietnamese vs. Thai debate, nor did it bolster my confidence in terms …