All posts tagged: Philadelphia

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The 12 Hour Marathon Date

You know those people who go on first dates that last like for 12 hours? With men they meet on the internet? Those people confound me. Especially because those 12 hours are followed (depending on the severity) by at least 48 hours of “Oh my God, he’s THE ONE! He really is this time, I just know it!!!” and then those 48 hours are, in turn, followed by another 72 of “He’s such a jerk! How could I have been so stupid???” If you’re like me (i.e. trying to be a decent friend) you refrain from saying things like, “Duh. What did you think was gonna happen?” Instead, you open the consolatory bottle of wine and keep to yourself the fact that 12-hour first dates with men from internet are just bad policy. They never end well. In fact, considering everything I’ve gleaned over my years of online dating, I would go so far as to say that 12-hour first dates with men from the internet should be avoided at all costs. Which is why …

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The De-Stringing

So where were we? Right. The street corner, Starbucks in hand, him asking to see me again and me saying yes. The only problem is that this is late November, which means we’re coming up on what I like to refer to as my Ultimate B*tch Period, courtesy of The Lady Hoofers and our annual holiday concert. As most of you know, I’ve spent the past three years directing a small dance company. Because we’re a small dance company (7 First Company dancers, 4 Apprentices and no real “staff” to speak of aside from our lone—albeit fabulous— intern), “directing” really means producing shows, running meetings, designing costumes, contracting musicians, balancing the budget, managing payroll, choreographing repertoire, recruiting volunteers and carting everything to and fro the various theaters in which we perform and—oh yeah—dancing. Making matters worse, I often get really brilliant ideas in the midst of it all. Ideas like, “I know! To save the company money I will MAKE all of the costumes we need for the show’s new opening number” or “Wouldn’t this …

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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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And Then I Fell into a Rowboat

The plan was to meet for Happy Hour at Bistro Romano, head down to the Harbor Park and spend an hour or so canoodling in a hammock and then meet up with a few friends for an outdoor screening of The Princess Bride beneath the Walnut St. Bridge. Mistake #1 was thinking that I could wash my hair, shave my legs and get dressed in exactly 15 minutes. Have you seen my hair? No? Well then you’ll just have to take my word that is very long, very thick and very curly. Washing it is an epic process. I should probably get in the habit of setting aside a month or two. Mistake #2 was blogging about The European’s tardiness on our first date back in June. He’s gotten a bit hyper vigilant about it now so instead of having a my-date-is-going-to-be-late buffer zone, I have a man who arrived at the restaurant ten minutes early to my ten minutes late. Whoops. Mistake #3 was wearing a bra. I am seriously not into bras these …

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Throw Back Thursday: Date #12

Here’s a little tidbit from 2010, back when I was young and crazy and able to date multiple men at the same time.  Enjoy! I’m sitting cross legged on the floor, eyes closed, holding the index finger of my left hand against my left nostril and breathing through my right.  Why?  Because the flap on my box of Yogi Chai Rooibos tea bags told me to, that’s why.  These twenty six breaths through my right nostril are supposed to bring me “sunny energy” and with five first dates in five days, I need all the energy I can get.  (Sorry if you were hoping for a steamy account of tantric sex; it’s just cardboard box yoga). Prior to the advent of this blog, I don’t think I’ve ever been called “energetic.”  Actually, there was one time.  It was in Ehmkendorf, a tiny town in northern Germany.  I was seventeen and just completing my first international service project with Volunteers For Peace.  On the last day of the workcamp, one of my fellow volunteers presented me …

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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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Throwback Thursday: The Latina Barbie

I know, I know. I’m supposed to be posting about the culmination of Sunday’s date in Rittenhouse Square. But I haven’t finished writing it yet. So here you go in the meantime: a little blast from the past (from 2010 to be exact). For the last time, “No, 42 Year Old Bald Man with Four Children and a Beer Gut: I will NOT be your ‘Latina Barbie!’” It’s my own fault. Having dated four perfectly lovely men and found myself rather enamored of three of them, you’d think I’d be content to leave it at that. But I’m only eleven days into my three month match.com subscription. Think of all the crazy stories I’ll miss, the outfits I’ll never get to wear, the restaurants I’ll never get to try if I call it quits now! And so, for the sake of my morbid interest in cyber chemistry and what makes people click, I’ve thrown myself back into the games of “making connections” with renewed enthusiasm. After enduring more than a few awkward conversations on the …