Before we started dating, my last boyfriend had an unconventional way of trying to ease his way into my good graces: He attempted to fix my computer. I invited him to my apartment several times under the impression that he was trying to rid my dumpy Dell of its several persistent viruses. His technical efforts were in vain as the machine ultimately went kaput, but they did get him the girl (i.e. me).
Don't get me wrong: I'm thrilled when any guy wants to hang out with me in public. I'm even more thrilled when he agrees to classify it as a date. I'm downright ecstatic when he makes a point of saying how he's going to take me to a great restaurant and then for fancy cocktails. Yay for me.
Wow. That's pretty funny. Punk rockers and freeloaders? That's like Crummy Guys 101. I could teach a college-level course on that. We've gone out with guys who were waaaaaay more insane. Like the guy who only hooked up with me to steal my friend's number out of my cell phone. Or, the guy who drank up all my vodka at 9am on a Tuesday when I left him at my house to go on a job interview. Or, the guy who claimed that he had to be taken to the hospital because he had alcohol poisoning but when I dropped everything and raced across town to get to him, he said that he didn't really need to go to the hospital; he just wanted to cuddle me. Actually, the last two things happened with the same guy. On the same day. *shakes head*I dated this kid for a year in high school and he wore the same shirt and ripped jeans the entire time. And what shirt was it, do you ask? It was from the band Leftover Crack and it said "Shoot The Kids at School" on it. This was interchangeable every few weeks with his other Leftover Crack shirt that said, "Rock the 40 oz." Regardless, I loved him in all of his punk rock skater glory. He did have a job and a car. Really what more can you ask for in high school?
Which brings me to college where I had a brief fling with a guy from the Southern region. He was gorgeous: long curly locks, bone-thin and draped in a v-neck tee, skinny jeans, and cowboy boots. He was funny and had just gotten a job at American Apparel. He was also homeless. Like, he did not have a home. He crashed on couches--and in my bed--for weeks. I made him food when he stayed over because he was paying back credit card debt that he'd accrued to make it to Philly. I heard that even when he did find a place he was a total freeloader, surprise surprise. As you can see I have really high standards.
You're killing me! My Mr. Belvedere joke zoomed past you, unnoticed. You thought I had Tourettes when I blurted, "Oh, fuck my cock," in line at Trader Joe's until I explained that it's a quote from Wet Hot American Summer. You didn't even crack a smile when I said, "You got it, dude" like a Tanner tot on Full House.
I used to kick it with this one guy who was a total scumbag. We were together only a short time; less than a month. Everyone knew he was a scumbag. Hell, even he knew he was a scumbag. How much of a scumbag? Well, he hooked up with one of my friends while we were together. He denied it until the end, even though I had proof. None of my friends could understand his appeal to me. I wouldn't even argue with them about it. "Yes, he's a jerk," I'd concede, "but he's so much fun to watch movies with."
Without a doubt, hearing this phrase makes me want to invent a time machine, go back in time to five minutes before I met the guy who is saying it to me, and beat myself up ala Tanya Harding--anything to stop myself from meeting him. As soon as I hear the word, "you," followed by the syllable, "des-" I'm out the door, deleting his number from my cell phone as I walk away quickly. I don't want to be associated with this guy for one more second. Of all the phrases we've talked about wanting to stab in the face, this one is by far the worst for me to hear. Of course I deserve the best! What am I gonna say in response? "No, I don't deserve better." There's nothing left to say once it hits my ears.
You can't hang out with me this week because you are on a Master Cleanse diet? What the shit? Let me get this straight. You can't:
The way a man wears his backpack can tell me a lot of information: Mainly, would I ever agree to be seen with him out in public or not. We like a simple backpack on our men, nothing too intense, bizarre, strappy, or kitchy. But, really, we are mostly concerned about how he wears the thing.
If we could reach through our computer monitor and pinch these guys' cheeks, we totally would. How can you not fall for this charming duo? Philly ad men by trade, they post their work outfits up on TieOrDie.com, where readers vote on who wore the best outfit that day. It's a friendly, stylish competition, like a duel at a tea party. Here are the rules, according to their site:
The loser is the first person to break any of the above rules or whomever receives the lower number of total votes in the month–long "who wore it best?" competition. The winner is the other guy.Well, if you ask us, both of these guys are winners in our books. We dig how they are kickin' up their work wardrobe a few notches for our benefit. So, I asked these Tie Or Die-ers, Ryan Brown and Jon Fruman, some questions about being a Philly guy with a tie on. Pull up a chair.
SK: How did you come up with the idea of TieOrDie.com?
[This exchange is taken directly from Facebook:]
Ryan Brown: Tomorrow is October 1st. I will wear a tie to work every day this month, and not just that--but a different tie every day. This is because I have all of these great ties that rarely see the light of day.
September 30 at 3:34pm
Jon Fruman: I'll take that bet. I get to kick you in the pants every day you don't wear a tie!And then a coworker from our agency misunderstood the exchange and thought that Jon was going to go through with it as well. (He doesn’t really back down from challenges.) We both wore a tie on Thursday, October 1st, and by Friday we had a Web site with pictures and all.
September 30 at 3:44pm
SK: What do you like most about Philly girls?
Ryan: I think they’re typically rather independent, aren’t they? I like a girl that seems like she can handle anything and would be comfortable in a variety of environments.
Jon: I can’t say for sure there are one or two things I like, so perhaps I like the diversity Philly has to offer.
SK: What's your idea of a perfect Philly date?
Ryan: One where you keep finding things to do throughout the evening because you don’t want the night to end: Find the best burger in the city, go see a concert, get drinks at your favorite bar, go for a walk, see how that goes. Maybe an open-mouth kiss or something. I dunno.
Jon: Coffee, sneakers, watches, tequila, Wii, and High Life (the order it happens in is irrelevant).
SK: What do most guys do wrong?We probably should've asked more hard-hitting questions about health care reform or their position on third world debt forgiveness. We threw them some softballs, admittedly. What can we say? We spent the whole time daydreaming about taking one of them home to meet our Mom. High Life, sneakers and Wiis? Have they been reading our diary? What are you doing still reading this? Go vote on who wore the best outfit at TieOrDie.com!
Ryan and Jon: refrain from launching microsites of them shamelessly looking their best for all the girlies to see?
SK: Tell us a secret!
Ryan: a sexy secret? Um. I lost my virginity in a foreign country. Don’t tell.
Jon: I’m a huge fan of R. Kelly, specifically Trapped in the Closet. I frequently think about producing, directing, and starring in the first Broadway adaptation. I’d play Tron.
SK: Where's the most romantic place in philly?
Ryan: A corner booth in a cozy down-home bar (Good Dog, etc.) at 1am during winter when it’s snowing on a weekday. Or the Ben Franklin Bridge walkway during summer at sundown, but I’ve only been there by myself.
Jon: There are a couple rad places in the city and they all depend on a specific time of the year. I’ve always been keen on our skyline and the best place to see it from is Belmont Plateau in Fairmount.
SK: What would you put on a mix tape for a girl that you liked?
Ryan: MSTRKRFT’s “Heartbreaker” featuring John Legend. The video for that song makes me want to get my crush on faster than you can say, “Mstrkrft.”
Jon: “So Much” by Spill Canvas.
SK: Are either of you single?
Ryan: Yes. But. I’m two or three dates in with a lass that I’m excited to be hanging out with, so I need to be careful what I say here!
Jon: Yes, but similar to Sir Brown, things are on the up and up.
I continually astound myself with how terrible I am at giving a guy a fake phone number. I am physically unable to do it. I can lie about a myriad of other details: I'll shave off a few years and tell him I'm 24. I'll lie and say that I live in South Philly without batting an eyelash. I'll even make up an occupation just to keep things interesting.
In perhaps one of the dorkiest Tip Our Hats we've ever done, we are now honoring skillful harmonica players. There's something in us that gets a little charge when we see a guy whip out a harmonica from his back pocket and go to town on it. It's so jangly, so folksy. Wheezing in and out, he gets downright soulful. Huey Lewis, Mick Jagger, Bruce Springsteen: we can't get enough!
*Deep breath* Confession: When I see those astrological magnets in line at Whole Foods, I nod along at the accuracy of their descriptions. This is a big thing for me to admit and it probably seems borderline crazy. Accordingly, I have been known on occasion (read: every single time) to consult my horoscope to see if I am astrologically compatible with my new dude.
Dating a designer or musician is almost cliche. But every once in a while you meet someone who has a truly original job. I recently met an artist that draws the little cartoons on all the Trader Joe's packaging, a skydiving instructor, and my personal favorite, a cheese monger. Yup, one of our very own Philly dudes, Josh Kaplan, spends all day slicing, eating, and educating the public about cheese.SK: What does a girls' cheese choice say about her?Whoa. We need to take a minute to catch our breaths after that last answer. You can join us this Friday to hang with Josh and some other handsome cheese dudes and local brewers at Di Brunos for a cheese/beer pairing. Josh, we raise our toothpicks to you and all of your kind.
Josh: If a girl eats cheese, particularly gourmet or artisan cheese, it is a statement of self confidence: “Who cares about fat content? I look good and when I eat this cheese I feel good, too.”
Would you ever date a girl who hated cheese?
Josh: A girl who hated cheese?! If she is willing to write off every cheese (all 3000 or so) based on limited experience, what else won't she do? I would never date a girl who isn’t searching for a new culinary experience.
SK: We want a cheesesteak! Now! What cheese would you use?
Josh: Taleggio, a washed-rind cheese from northern Italy produced from the foothills of the Italian Alps. Taleggio is a velvety and slightly sweet cows milk cheese that melts like a dream over seared steak, adds just the right amount of salt to the mix and is well accepting of cracked black pepper. Philly-o-sophically, however, I am against calling a gourmet steak sandwich a “cheese steak" as they are two different foods. The only cheese on a cheesesteak is wiz. [Lora's note: he has street smarts despite his vast, cheesy knowledge!]
SK: How the hell does cheese relate to dating and romance?
Josh: Cheese can be great when dating! It is an indulgence and necessity wrapped up into often sensual flavor profiles. What is better than a late spring picnic in the park with crusty bread, a bottle of light burgundy, and a decadent triple cream? Pre-packed produce and cheese in perfect geometric shapes deprive us of the romance of eating. Sharing a meal is intimate, particularly when we allow ourselves to be more closely connected to each other and our food.
There's this guy that I call Boy George because he's always down to "Tumble 4 Ya." He will use any excuse to kick out a cartwheel or roll out a somersault. He's always tumbling! He bops around like life is one big Cirque Du Soleil tryout. I once invited him over to my house and as soon as he walked into my hallway, he busted out a round off. Did someone send me a court jester-o-gram? I don't wanna date a guy who even knows what a round off is!
THIS GIRL!
As we head into the cool fall months, I usually think of mix CDs and long drives through the country. Here in Virginia, it's awesome to get out of the city for the weekend and go see the leaves change color and maybe go find a hike somewhere.
My face looks like he just told me that he's only had "a handful" DUIs or that he is really into the Furry scene. Fuck this fuckin' guy and goddamn I'd like to stab this stupid phrase in the face.Me: "So, what do you do for a living?"
Him, laughing: "Well, I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you."
Me, groaning: "No, really. What do you do?"
Him, fake exasperated: "I just said! I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you." Then, he took a swig from his beer and shrugged his shoulders, like he's saying, "Hey, it's outta my hands, lady."
I waited a full ten seconds to be dramatic. "Seriously. What is your job? What do you do all day? How do you pay your rent? Are you a can collector? Do you sell your blood? Do you sell vacuums door-to-door? What's with the secrecy? Just tell me!"
Him, not laughing, determined to stick to his line: "I already told you! I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you!"
Imagine my shock when I reached into my mailbox and saw a letter from you nestled in with my Macy's bill and Netflix DVDs. Look at this little gem! Is this your handwriting? It is! I've never even seen your handwriting before. It's looks like a chicken having a seizure wrote the letter, but I don't care. It's a letter for me from you and I freakin' love it. I want to throw it up in the air and twirl around my living room.
You’ve been eyeing me from the corner since you stepped into the party with your homeboy. Your head turns as I shimmy and shake, mix and mingle and play pranks on the party hostess, who has already passed out. You're clearly interested, but instead of coming over to make intelligent conversation, you feel compelled to call out my every move like you’re a sports announcer.
Oh boys of Philadelphia, how do you manage to be both be never around when I want to see you yet everywhere when I don't. It takes you three days to return a text message but I can't make a quick pop into H&M on my lunch break without running into you on the street. I am never the one to see you first and I usually have no idea how long you have been standing there scoping me from behind a telephone pole. You stealthy bastard, you're like a Visa card; you are everywhere I want to be and even some places I don't.
You're too disinterested to be stalking me, but just attentive enough to make me wonder about our several, frequent coincidental meetups. I don't want to be in a kung fu movie, but pretty soon I'm gonna start expecting you to drop from the ceiling clad in all black like a real ninja. This city is either too small or you have somehow become the king of coincidence.
Boys of Philly, just contact us through the many forms of communication available to you and stop being so creepy. You are too old to pull a Jordan Catalano i.e. roll up to me all nonchalant and act ridiculously casual like it ain't no thang but a chicken wing on a string that we even ran into each other. I'm just saying that it's pretty transparent. Grrrr. Ok. Rant over.We have to agree with you there; this is a small town. It's almost uncanny how you'll manage to run into the one person you were avoiding pretty much every time you leave your doorstep. Our solution? Become a hermit, obviously. Well, either that or pretend like you're suddenly both blind and don't understand English. Whatever's easiest.
We get a kick out of guys with a drunk alter ego. For those unfamiliar with the concept, this is when a usually reserved dude undergoes a personality transformation when he gets sauced and decides to assign a name to the other drunker, wilder side of him; a Mr. Hyde to his Dr. Jekyl, if you will. For some reason, they always give their other halves manly names, like Derek, Biff, Marco or Steve.
Alright, alright, we've been beating up on guys all week. We figured it was time to balance it out by talking about what we love about them. So we gotta say, we LOVE guys who are Black Sabbath fans. We're getting all giddy just thinkin' about 'em.
Okay, I get it: Your last girlfriend was a crazy bitch. That would explain why you’re not dating her anymore. But now that you’ve been dating me for several months, I’m getting sick of you reminding me how insane she is and blaming all your problems on her. At first you don’t even want to go out with me because you’re afraid She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named will find out, hunt you down, and rip you to pieces like a piece of raw meat in a cage of tigers. But we worked things out eventually. Then, you can’t find the balls to make our relationship status public on Facebook, because god forbid a friend of a friend finds out and the word gets back to the ex.
But no matter much you try to keep things under wraps, inevitably she found out. She went berserk and tried to win you back by telling you that you’re ruining her life by not getting back together with her. But that's not the problem. The problem is that you continue to talk to her, listen to her, buy into all her bullshit and then mope around all day like a certain sad-sack stuffed donkey. In fact, I don’t think I can even date you anymore, because after hearing “I’m sorry, my ex-girlfriend really fucked me up,” for the zillionth time, I’ve finally realized that what you’re actually telling me is that you’re a pushover who lets crazy bitches jerk you around, can’t take responsibility for your own issues, and can’t commit yourself completely to a relationship with me. So, if I can’t help you get over your ex, I’m just going to have to settle for getting over you.Wow. That is what happens when you stop being polite and start getting real! Any phrases you'd like to stab in the face? Email us at hi@shmittenkitten.com and pretend like your letter is a 2D voodoo doll that you can poke over and over again.
This has happened to me enough where it's starting to become a "thing." The date is going great: We're enjoying our meal, el vino is flowing and we're--for lack of a better word--vibing. (I know that sounds hippy-ish, but you know what I mean.) Then, I say that one thing that blows their hair back. Maybe I'll quote something from Arrested Development. Maybe I'll make a particularly funny Jurassic Park joke. After he drops his fork on his plate and holds both of his sides in laughter, he'll say, "Just marry me, now!" Then, we'll laugh. I'll blush. We'll pick up the conversation from where we left off doing our best to be unselfconscious about what just happened. It's awesome.
