All posts tagged: postaday2011

Biscuits in Bed and Other Shenanigans

Whoops.  I got a bit ahead of myself yesterday.  I wasn’t supposed to write about the wedding.  I was supposed to write about what happened before the wedding, with The Wedding Date. The original plan was to wake up at 5:00am, fly to Boston, check in at the hotel and spend the morning at the Salem Witch Museum, thus giving us just enough to return to the hotel, shower, and get ready for the ceremony, which started at 4:30. Upon arriving in Danvers, however, we discovered that the Salem Witch Museum was closed for repairs. Alas, there was no culture to be had—unless you decided to count the movie theater near the hotel (which we did not)—so we were left with no other option than to entertain ourselves for the next seven hours. First we went to Denny’s as opposed to other, slightly-nicer diner nearby because I threw a fit about having whole wheat pancakes and the other, slightly-nicer diner didn’t have whole wheat pancakes according to the man who answered the phone when The …

The Aliens Are Coming For Me

As if I didn’t have enough on my mind with tomorrow’s trip to Boston with The Wedding Date, E.T. is sad at me. I know this because one of my beach balls, a particularly verbose three year old, turned to me at the end of his daily creative movement class earlier this week, pointed his chubby finger at the familiar extraterrestrial depicted on his t-shirt and declared “E.T. is sad at you!” “Why is that?” I asked. “Because he didn’t get a star!” “He did get a star,” I corrected.  “He got a little star.” “But E.T. wants a BIG star!” “Well, E.T. can’t get a big star until he gets ten little stars.” I know that reasoning with a three year old is an exercise in futility but this is the way it works.  And this is the way it’s worked ever since I decided that my beach balls needed an incentive to keep their more malicious bumbling in check earlier this year. Each class has a behavior chart, and each student’s name is …

A Surprise in My Inbox

Well folks, I have a new Facebook friend. And the conversation that prompted his request somehow pre-empted his reading of my post on the subject. Go figure. As for other news, tomorrow night’s New Year’s Eve Martini Bar Soiree is just hours away and I still don’t have anything to wear.  I’ve spent the past three days scouring the East Coast for a suitably blingy (and admittedly clingy) countdown-to-midnight frock but at this point I shall have to go naked. Or find something in my closet that I’ve already worn. Which is almost just as bad. What can I say?  I read that online dating subscriptions jump 15-20% in the days leading up to New Years because people are so darn desperate to find someone with whom to play tonsil hockey as the clock strikes midnight.  For the first time in years, I actually have someone and I couldn’t be happier (not that I anticipate much tonsil hockey, seeing as we’ll be at a party hosted by Landlord and Chauffeur), but is it too much …

Since when is “Friend” a verb?

Absence doesn’t make the heart grow fonder.  Absence makes the heart grow nitpicky.  It’s been eleven days since I last saw The Wedding Date and even though I have very little to complain about, there’s one tiny little detail that’s been bothering me for the past… well, several months actually. And we’ve talked about it, and I’ve assured The Wedding Date that I’m okay with it, but I’m not, not anymore. It all began several weeks ago when we were snuggled up on his couch about to watch Modern Family. “Ready?” he asked. “Not yet,” I replied, “I want to ask you something first.” “Uh oh.” And so began my State of the Union address. “The thing is,” I explained, “I write a blog.  You can read about what’s going on in my love life on the internet every morning.  But you… you don’t write a blog.  I don’t know what’s going on with you.” “Finally!” he exclaimed. “Finally?” “Yes!  I’ve been waiting for you to ask me that.  Most girls—most girls would never make …

Crossing the Rubicon

Crossing The Rubicon: Navigating the Facebook Relationship Status

Today’s post comes courtesy of my former flat mate and partner in crime, Meghan.  Meghan and I lived together in London and we spent hours “researching” the male sex during our time abroad.  I’m really excited about her story; for starters, she’s a web writer and a social media consultant (i.e. a damn good writer) and her tales of relationship woes always crack me up.  In addition, the subject of today’s post is rather near and dear to my heart (for reasons I’ll explain tomorrow).  In the meantime, enjoy! This side of last year, I was 23 and I’d never been in a real relationship.  I’d never called anyone my boyfriend, and as I finally relocated back home to the east after three years away (two in London and one in Las Vegas), I didn’t see that changing any time soon. I spotted “Adam” across the floor at the cavernous Casbah night club in dear old Atlantic City. 6’4” and sporting a serious Jersey white boy swagger, I knew I was staring at a welcome …

Break Up 101: How to Dump (or Get Dumped) with Dignity

Nothing from nothing but if you’re dating a woman who writes a blog about… well… dating, you probably shouldn’t send her twenty two text messages when she finally comes to her senses about your relationship (or lack thereof) and decides to call it quits. Nor should you email her.  Or send her Facebook messages.  And you certainly shouldn’t send duplicates of the same messages just to ensure that she gets them. Trust me: she gets them.  And you’re not doing yourself any favors when you call her names and accuse her of being a drama queen.  (After all, she’s not the one who’s sent 22 text messages, now is she?) The good thing about breaking up with a man who’s made you miserable for the past six months is that the actual break up causes very little pain.  Mind you, I use the term “breakup” loosely because it’s hard to break up with a man who never wanted to be your boyfriend in the first place, but I’m proud—if somewhat mystified—to report that I shed …

Picture Perfect… Almost

As fate would have it, I did in fact wish The Wedding Date “Happy Birthday” instead of “Merry Christmas.”  It’s not that I don’t know the different between “Feliz Navidad” and “Feliz Cumpleaños”—I do— it’s just that I was in a rush and I always write “Happy Birthday” in Spanish on Facebook so when I start to write “Feliz” the word “Cumpleaños” just follows automatically. The best part is that his entire family spent the holiday at his place, which means everyone saw the card, including his Spanish-speaking parents. Awesome. At any rate, Santa was very good to me this year and he brought the entire Richter clan matching hats, gloves and socks.  Naturally, we decided to do a photo shoot: See you tomorrow!  And yes: the dating talk will resume first thing Tuesday morning. Related articles Feliz Something-Or-Other (katrichterwrites.wordpress.com) Feliz Navidad! (laaventuraproject.com) Feliz Navidad!… with jet lag (melanieenespana.wordpress.com)

Feliz Something-Or-Other

It’s funny what a difference a year can make.  This time last year, I was smashing candy canes with a vengeance for my annual foray into holiday-chocolate making because I was so frustrated by Date #17 and his workaholic tendencies.  This year, however, there was very little to be angry about—not with The Wedding Date sitting across from me at the kitchen counter asking “How can I help?” It’s Christmas Eve and for the first time in a very long time, I won’t be spending the evening feeling sorry for myself.  True, I’ve recently undergone my annual holiday break up (it wouldn’t be Christmas if I wasn’t breaking up with someone) but I’ll be seeing The Wedding Date in exactly one week and between now and then, I have FIVE WHOLE DAYS off.  It’s a Christmas miracle. Speaking of Christmas miracles, my presents are all wrapped and ready to go.  I am hours ahead of schedule.  Usually I wait until the last minute and by then, Landlord and Chauffer have used up all the good …