All posts tagged: United States

A Rock Obama

Because I get a kick out of trying to turn my preschoolers into “global citizens” at the tender age of three, we have a world map posted in the dance studio and every once in a while, I’ll trade Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes for a little civics lesson. “Where do we live?” I asked a few months ago. “Earth!” one of my particularly astute three year olds shouted. I’d been going for “Philadelphia,” or perhaps the “United State of America,” but I had to concede that she was in fact correct. “Very good,” I replied.  “We do live on earth.  But can anyone tell me what country we live in?” “A-rock Obama!” was their unanimous response. “Good guess!  But Barack Obama is the president of our country.  Can anyone tell me the name of our country?” After several well-intended but incorrect responses (Philadelphia, North Philly and “the ocean”), I finally cupped my hand to my ear, thereby signaling a temporary suspension of our usual “raise your hand” rule, and prompted “The United States of…???” …

Happy (We Should Not Have Declared) Independence Day

Today is July 2nd.  This means that we’re halfway through the Wawa Welcome America eleven-day July 4th extravaganza.  You think I’m kidding?  It began last week with the first of three fireworks displays and will conclude with an “eye-popping, jaw-dropping, light-up-the-sky fireworks display” (“the nation’s largest free outdoor Fourth of July concert”) on Ben Franklin Parkway in front of the art museum on the actual 4th of July. (And that’s quoted verbatim from the official Wawa Welcome America website.) If it seems like we Philadelphians take this holiday a bit too seriously, it’s because we do.  Then again, the City of Brotherly Love is the cradle of liberty and all… what with Independence Hall, the Liberty Bell and the Constitution Center. Aside from the cheesecake I plan to make for tonight’s party, I’m not particularly enthused about Independence Day.  Whereas I imagine most bloggers will be posting a bunch of patriotic summer barbeque recipes or photos of red, white and blue cupcakes, I thought I’d take a different route this morning.  A slightly more subversive …

Speed Dating: An Accident (waiting to happen)

Okay, I know I just finished writing “enough is enough” (and subsequently cancelling all of my online dating subscriptions) but my little “breakthrough” took place after I’d already committed to a night of speed dating.  (Leave no stone unturned, and all that.)  For those of you who’ve somehow managed to escape the many trials and tribulations that comprise dating in the 21st century, speed dating is the Russian Roulette of romance.  You pre-register (in order to ensure that there are an equal number of men and women), dress to impress, head over to your local bar and take a number. If you a girl, you’re lucky: you find a table, take a seat and wait for the men to come to you.  The men have to make the rounds, sitting down at the start of each “date” and moving on to their next victim/PSM at the sound of the bell. You make small talk for a minute or two with each prospect (hence the “speed” part of speed dating), mark their name or number on …

My Own Personal Memorial Day

In honor of Memorial Day and the fact that I’m too busy relaxing to write, I thought I’d pilfer a bit of amusement penned by Yours Truly exactly one year ago. This was written before I was Freshly Pressed for the first time (which means it will be new to all but the most loyal amongst you), before I’d quit my job at The Shop and before I’d launched my online dating “experiment.”  I’ve come to refer to this period of my life as The Dark Ages and I entreat each and every last one of you to please shoot me if I even think about spending another six months as miserable as I was during the time that I wrote this. A year later, I can look back and see that I lost a part of myself during those six months—and I don’t just mean the part of myself that would go rock climbing or backpacking through Europe as opposed to getting all gussied up for a night at the Union League.  I mean …

PSM#2, Part 2

After my first date with PSM#2, I found myself looking forward to our second meeting with entirely too much enthusiasm.  My brief dalliance with Date #4 taught me that the more you look forward to seeing someone, the more they’re going to disappoint you.  Time spent preparing for a date is inversely proportional to the enjoyment of said date and enthusiasm, therefore, ought to be avoided. But I couldn’t help it. Having spent the weekend witnessing the romantic interludes of my recently and not-so-recently coupled friends, I found myself thinking, “Well, Self, it would be nice to have a boyfriend again, wouldn’t it?”  I’ve been single for over a year now and although I’ve been enjoying my Great Date Experiment, there’s something to be said for drowsy afternoons spent canoodling with a member of the opposite sex. I thought I might reach this point with PSM#1, seeing as texted me on Christmas, accompanied me to Black Swan and subjected himself to an entire evening of my lackluster ice skating prowess… but he failed in a …

Yoga Yuppies Part 2

A new post two days in a row?  I know, I know: I rock, even if it’s only at the expense of the magazine article I was supposed to be finishing tonight.  Consider the following a little Happy Thanksgiving gift, or rather the result of a few too many drinks at Monday Margarita Madness… Date #17 and I have already established that neither of us can do a headstand.  And no, this is not because we’ve been engaging in freaky inverted tantric sex practices, but rather because Date #17 mentioned that he enjoys yoga on our first date and the conversational progressed, for whatever reason, to inversions. “I can’t do headstands,” he confessed. “Don’t worry,” I assured him, “neither can I.” “Really?” he asked. “Really.” “And you’re a dancer!” he exclaimed in disbelief.  “That makes me feel a lot better.” “You’re welcome,” I laughed.  “Boosting the self confidence of yoga practitioners is just one of the many services I provide.” (I just crack myself up sometimes.) Despite our corresponding inabilities in this regard, I’m not …

Thirtieth Time’s a Charm

I have a confession to make: Monday morning’s post took me a rather long time to write—three days, in fact— because the men in my life refuse to let me finish writing about them before they make their next moves.  I really wish they would stop doing this.  Don’t they understand the basic conventions of good storytelling?  How am I supposed to steer this tale towards its happily-ever-after conclusion when my main characters refuse to cooperate? Next time around, I’m going to stick to dating inanimate objects (they’re easier to control, and no, that’s not a sexual reference).  Until then I shall simply confess that was I while I was busy recounting my most recent conversation with the Man from Marshalls (and wondering if Date #17 would ask me out again), I managed to plan, reschedule and finally execute my thirtieth date! (Cue applause, confetti, fireworks, champagne, more confetti and more champagne… or rather coffee and breakfast cereal as it’s only 8:30am but make it a good cereal, not something healthy and cardboard like; this …

A Liaison in the Library

Today, something brilliant happened.  I ran into a friend at the library.  Now before you get all excited, I should confess that this friend happens to be happily married, and she was there with her new baby so if you were hoping for another titillating “We went for a stroll along the river and then we…” I’m sorry to disappoint.  (You’ll have to wait until the next time I see Date #9 for that.) Anyway, running into a friend in Philadelphia marks a huge turning point for me, especially because it’s happened twice within the past three days.  I should confess that I’m not terribly close to either of these friends; today’s was an old co-worker from The Shop and Saturday afternoon’s was a Turkish acquaintance from the New-to-Philadelphia-Social-Misfits-Support-Group that I joined a few months ago, but still: I’m making progress. (The group’s real name, by the way, was slightly cooler and its members were actually a lot more fun than my little nickname would suggest but I have issues with authority.  Whenever the Meet …