Story Time: F*ck You

Everyone is geeking out about Cee Lo's new song, "F*ck You." Have you seen it? It's a total riot:




I can think of three kinds of people I'd like to say FUCK YOU to off the top of my head:

1. Guys who say that they aren't "ready" to date me. Like watching a movie cuddled up on his couch is so demanding. FUCK YOU!
2. Married guys who still hit on me. I'm sure his wife would be thrilled. FUCK YOU!
3. Guys who interrupt me when I'm out with my best friend, shove their hand between us and wait for us both to shake it and introduce ourselves. FUCK YOU!

What do you wanna say FUCK YOU to? Tell me in the comments. (Try it, it's kinda fun.)

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I Love Love Love Boys That Wear A Jaunty Bandana Around Their Neck

Well, look at what we have here! *sits up straighter and bats eyelashes as he walks past me with his iced coffee* I'm not sure why he'd need a red bandana as an accessory when it's 96 degrees out and we're smack dab in the middle of a sweltering city, but I'm lovin' it (sang to the tune of the McDonald's jingle).

Is he a bank robber? A ranch hand? A bandit? I don't know and I don't care because he is the cutest guy on this block. He's like if a unicorn and a bottle of hot sauce mated. HE'S ADORABLE! He probably has a PhD in Breakfast Burrito Preparation with a minor in Horsing Around.

I will not picture him tying it around his neck. I will not imagine how it smells (probably like neck sweat and stress, I'm guessing.) I will not picture him buying it. I will just pretend that it's always been on his neck, like a cute deformity.

Just don't tell me that he still uses MySpace to email people. Don't tell me that he's the xylophone player in a student alt rock band. And, don't tell me about how he probably only dates teenagers and doesn't talk to his dad. Shhhhhh. Let me just stare at him and enjoy it, like a double rainbow.

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Hey Homies

I'm not sure if you've noticed, but as I write this, Shmitten Kitten now has 977 Facebook fans. You can see over there on the right, in that handy widget. However, since I REALLY like round numbers, I want to push that number over the 1,000 fans mark. There's something about that comma in there that I wanna have in my life.

Once we reach 1,000 fans, I'll post a super special exclusive mix for y'all to download on our Facebook page as a way to thank everyone for their support. Again, this mix will ONLY be available to our FB fans, so get on it. You'll dig the mix, I swear. Girl Scout's honor.

So, go ahead and like us. Tell your friends to like us. If you've already liked us and already told your friends to like us, then do nothing. You're golden. As a thank you for reading this, I will now post a series of random funny pictures:

[Update: We WERE able to reach our goal. I just posted my '60s soul mix up on our Facebook page as a thank you present. Enjoy it! Thanks from the bottom of my heart. You guys are the bessssst. xoxo]

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Things In His House That Make Me Sad: His Neglected Backyard Patio

Tramp stamp! Haha.

There are several things in his house that I want nothing to do with. I'd rather kiss a cockroach then step foot in his musty basement. I'd rather eat a bowl of scabs than smell the inside of his microwave. But, what really sends chills down my spine is stepping foot outside onto his neglected backyard patio.

It's not even that big. We're talking, what, like ten square feet? I have no idea how he managed to corral so many terrifying items in one place. It's like a 1993 garage sale barfed out here.

For one thing, opening the door to get outside takes all of my upper body strength. For some reason, that door is a total motherfucker that is heavy and gets stuck easily. It's as if the patio itself is telling me to stay away, like it's a teenager that doesn't want his parents coming into his room because it reeks of pot. It knows.

Once I bust through the door, I'll stand still as I survey the damage. It's a graveyard of smashed beer bottles, dented cat food cans and mangled tricycles. Why are there tricycles in here? He doesn't even have a kid! There's a metal trash bin that even Oscar the Grouch would turn his nose up at. It's filled to the brim with garbage and the lid is hanging on top of the heap like a dirty, stiff beret. There's a doll's arm and a deflated dog's toy tossed in the dirt. A couch cushion is on the ground like a war casualty. GOD FORBID I'm wearing flip-flops because who knows what kind of toxic liquids my toes would squish into.

Did Britney's "I'm A Slave 4 U" video take place in here because this feels like a third-world slum. This patio makes Children of Men look like Couple's Retreat. I wouldn't be surprised if you told me that this is where monkey pox originated because it feels like a cauldron of disease out here. Basically, I'm in District 9.

There's a rusty shovel leaning against the fence leering at me like the bikers at the bar Pee Wee Herman walks into. It's eyeing me up and down like I shouldn't be "in these parts" in the first place. I'll spin around on my heels and scurry back inside. Fuck his neglected backyard patio foreverrrrrr!

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I Love Love Love City Ambassadors

From our homeboy, Zack, a traveling man who digs it when a girl can show him the inside scoop to the best parts of her town. Take it away, Zack:

12 hours and 800 miles lie behind me. All I want right now is a back massage and a soft bed. I stop off in some little dive to clog my arteries one more time. Once you show up, my dreams of slipping into a two-day coma vanish. We call your type ambassadors, the ones who know absolutely everything about the area: The best food, the best entertainment, all the coolest spots to hang out. And you’re not about to let someone pass through without getting the whole experience, even if your town’s only claim to fame is meeting the man who met Andy Griffith (I’m talking to you Pavo, GA). Sure, I’m sore and tired, but I suppose I can sleep next week. Tonight, I’ll follow you anywhere.

Maybe you’re the waitress who spends all night sitting at my table, practically ignoring your other customers. I just stopped in for a quick bite, yet here we are when your shift ends heading to a late-night café that just happens to make the world’s greatest tarts. Or maybe you’re just another patron who saw me sitting at the bar reading a book and came over to say hi. Next thing I know, I’m halfway across town at a party listening to an awesome local band. Or perhaps you’re an old friend that I haven’t seen in years. Two phone calls later, you’ve whipped up an impromptu game of Manhunt in the city park. When the cops show up to chase us off, it is like we’re back in college all over again.

Ask any road warrior about his past trips and watch his eyes light up. These random encounters are what keep us driving, pushing through the last 100 miles to discover what lies just beyond the high beams. So for all of you city ambassadors who show us a glimpse of home from 1,000 miles away, I tip my hap to you.

I used to have friends' bands stay with with me all the time when they were on tour and I'd get a kick out of taking them to my favorite spots around town. I'd shuffle them to my favorite diner after their show and giggle over grilled cheeses. I'd file 'em into my favorite coffee spot for morning bagels and a coffee fuel-up. It was so much fun showing my buddies the best parts of my town. Thanks, Zack, for writing in. Radical!

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Pics and Vids: The Boob Apron

Check out this "bonerkilling tit-kerchief."

via

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I Love Love Love Guys That Wear Bowties

Shiiiiiiit. Boy, you lookin' fiiiiiine. That little bowtie you have on there? Damn, Papi. *bites knuckle like Lenny in Laverne and Shirley* There's a reason Chippendale dancers all wear bowties, because it connotes class. You know that. You get it. Oh God, I wanna mess your hair up. I wanna nibble on your earlobe. I want to give you a bowjob because you're basically wearing neck lingerie. Rawr!

WOULD!

PS: He gets extra points if he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his pointer finger as he asks for my phone number.

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Awwww Shit! I Totally Saw Him Take A Picture Of Me When He Thought I Wasn't Looking

What's up, paparazzi? I was talking to a friend when I saw the flash out of the corner of my eye. He totally took a picture of me on the sly.

"Did you just take a picture of me?" I asked.

He shook his head no, but his wide smile gave him away. I watched him review his handiwork when he thought I wasn't looking, his face illuminated by his camera's bright playback screen. He seemed pleased as he hovered over one particular shot for a few seconds. Then, he slipped his camera into his pocket and resumed drinking his beer like nothing had happened.

But, something had happened. You could tell because his chest was puffed out, like a birdwatcher who just snapped a picture of a rare bird. I played along and didn't bring it up. But, he knows I know. And, now I know that he likes me. It's official.

Here's the thing, this only works when you know the guy and have a little baby crush on him anyway. Then, this sneaky move is adorable. It's not a full-on stalker thing to do, but it has a dash of stalker to it. Just a dab. Sometimes, that can be a good thing. 

The good news: He's not going to do anything with the picture. He's not going to upload it. He's not going to tag me on it. He's not going to show his friends or print it out and paste it up in a locker. He's just going to have it in his camera like a secret. I made his camera cut! YESSSSSSS! 

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