All posts tagged: men

sleep-walking-cartoon

You Said Yes, So What if You Were Asleep?

The European is a very heavy sleeper. And by “heavy,” I mean that it’s a very good thing that he quit smoking a while back because I’m pretty sure his house could burn down around him and he wouldn’t notice. This is the only thing about him that truly distresses me. Well, that and the fact that he wears black crew socks with his sneakers. When I brought this to attention, he very quickly reminded me that he is European, that he thinks the white, ankle-length athletic socks that Americans wear are “stupid” and that he is never going to change his mind on this account so there was no use trying to convince him. I decided, for once in my life, to shut up. I mean really, what business of it is mine if he wants to persist in wearing strange socks? Sleeping, though, is another matter. He takes forever to wake up. And until he’s had his first cup of coffee, he just mumbles, stumbles around in his sexy underwear and, upon noticing …

waterhouse

The Height Thing

Last month my aunt and uncle came to visit. I’m not terribly close to any of my extended family so when my mom suggested I ask my aunt about “the thing” I had to stop and think for a minute. “What thing?” I asked. “You know. Your height thing. Because your Aunt Chris is taller than your Uncle Mark and they’ve been together for years now. Maybe she’ll have some words of wisdom to offer.” So I did. Granted, it took me several drinks to work up the courage but after a few Limoncello cocktails at Bistro Romano, I finally sidled up to my aunt and said, “Okay, so you and Uncle Mark. He’s shorter than you. How does that work?” “It’s fine,” she replied. “I can always look him right in the eye.” Hmmm. What I really wanted to know, though, was “How’s the sex?” The logistics, the lining up of the requisite body parts, the being made to feel protected and small and delicate… Only one doesn’t ask those sorts of questions on …

update

The House and the Men: An Update

So here’s where we’re at: The House: As many of you know, I was supposed to close on my little 1,200 square feet of paradise last Wednesday but the bank appraiser is refusing to sign off on my loan unless the seller installs a stove, fixes the holes in the kitchen floor and puts some sort of flooring in the second bedroom. The seller and listing agent are now MIA, however, my realtor is in China for two weeks and my loan officer up and left for his own summer vacation without telling me.  (I learned he was out of town via an out of office reply in response to my latest email.)  My main strategy at this point is to distract myself from the impending doom by sanding furniture with the hopes of someday storing elsewhere than my father’s garage, visiting The Plant Hospital in search of discounted hydrangeas and of course dating. The Men Who Are No Longer: As most of you also know, I have been seeing a number of different men, …

zoo

The (Sort of) Return of the Zoo Date

Last week I got an email from the Zoo Date, who entered my life in March of 2011 and exited it shortly thereafter. I remember very little about him except that he was funny and kissed rather… enthusiastically. The email read as follows: Hey Kat, This is […] (aka The Zoo Date). Anyway, I was reading your blog and just wanted to say hi and see how you’ve been. I’m working downtown now, and I was wondering if you wanted to grab lunch sometime? I’m really sorry about not calling you back in the day when I should have, but I’d love if we could reconnect and be friends. Have a good one, […] I responded: […]! My goodness, it’s lovely to hear from you. How are things? Don’t worry about “back in the day.” My conduct wasn’t exactly Nobel Prize worthy either back then :)  But yes, lunch would be fab.  My schedule is winding down for the semester but I’ll be teaching near Rittenhouse quite a bit. Perhaps somewhere in that neck of …

fish

(Plenty of) Fishing

I didn’t mean to. Honestly. I was just trying to adjust my email notification settings so that the Plenty of Fish account I set up four years ago would stop blowing up my inbox every three seconds… But in order to do that, you have to log on. And once you log on, they strike. We’re talking nearly 2 dozen messages in less than 24 hours. Short notes, long notes, well-written notes, your-English-teach-needs-to-be-shot notes, desperate notes, hopeful notes, hopeless notes, and, against all odds, a few diamonds in the rough. I might possibly have stopped to browse for a moment a two… not because I’m interested in dating yet but because I’ve always been very pro-browsing and it’s infinitely less creepy to browse Plenty of Fish than Craigslist. Not that I would know anything about browsing Craigslist. Okay fine. In the interest of full disclosure, I know plenty about browsing Craigslist. I started less than 48 hours after TWD and I broke up, not because I had any immediate interest in replacing him but because …

toilet seat

Okay Gentlemn-with-whom-I-share-a-bathroom

Okay gentlemen, I have to ask: how does one get chin stubble on the bottom of the soap dish?  I don’t normally spend a lot of time studying the undersides of my tub’s odds and ends but the other day I took a bath and as I sat that luxuriating in my combination of Epsom salt, vanilla verbena massage oil and vanilla lavender bubble bath, I couldn’t help but notice a rather sizeable collection of tiny red hairs on the bottom of the soap dish. Clearly my brother was shaving in the shower—which is fine; technically it’s his shower too—but how did he manage to get his chin hairs on the soap dish? And while we’re on the subject, I’d like to talk about urination. I only clean the bottom most toilet seat when TWD is coming to visit because as a woman, I never use the bottom-most toilet seat and aside from the few nights a month when my brother is home, I’m the only one who uses that bathroom. Well, the last time …

How to Get a Girl to Stay the Night

Those of you who’ve been following my love life for some time may recall that I penned the following in response to my ill-fated visit to Pittsburgh this past summer.  And although I was talking specifically about hosting a date for a weekend at the time, the same rules apply for the “Oh no!  It’s too late to drive home!” sleepover: We all know that you’re not planning a weekend visit to sit around playing checkers (and if you are, you should probably just go to a convention or something) but if this is the first time your lady-friend is spending the night, you ought to offer—at the very least— a façade of quasi-Victorian propriety. If you have a guest bedroom, offer it to her.  (Any woman worth her salt will prefer having someplace semi-private to stash her things, lest she clutter up your kitchen with her shoes and makeup.)  If you don’t have a guest room, offer her your bed and—this is the important part— offer to sleep on the couch.  I can personally …

Four Little Text Messages All in a Row

Date #7 wants me to come for Christmas dinner.  Actually Date #7’s mother wants me to come for Christmas dinner but if her son’s cell phone records are of any indication, she’s not the only one. This is problematic, because I’m going out with The Wedding Date tomorrow night and we’ve already got our fifth and sixth dates lined up as well.  Plus, thanks to you all, I now know the difference between ewoks and wookiees (who knew The Force would inspire so many comments!) and I’m pretty eager to take my newfound knowledge of all things Star Wars out for a spin. (And no, The Wedding Date does not get dressed up and go to conferences.  Have a little faith in me!) Whenever a friend asks me how my love life is going, I reply, “Oh God, it’s a hot mess!”  Not because it’s going badly per se, but because it’s going in two different directions.  Date #7 and The Wedding Date are polar opposites and even though I’ve tried to close the door …