Quick Rant: Lunch Daters

Alright, I got the memo: you're a busy guy. You're burning the midnight oil on some big project so you try to squeeze in some date time with me over your lunch break. That's sweet, right? Well, maybe in theory, but in practice lunch dates are the worst.

For one thing, you're a stress mess. You'll show up panting 'cause you hoofed it the three blocks from your office to the restaurant. Oh dear.

Secondly, you are distracted by the time constraint. Before we even sit down, you announce how you only have an hour to hang out. It's hard to be relaxed when you check your watch every five minutes.

And, without fail, the first ten minutes of the date will be him just unloading about how awful his morning went. Yes, your boss sounds like a tyrant. How could the intern not know how to work a fax machine properly? Why is your secretary never at her desk? I nod, trying to empathize with your petty office dramas when what I'm really thinking is, "Where's the good-timey dude I saw last weekend and what have you done with him?" Bonus points if he excuses himself to say hi to a "client" at the next table and leaves you to pick at your Caesar salad by yourself.

Oh, and the last five minutes of the date will be him complaining about all the work he has to do once he gets back to the office. Great. I applied mascara for this?

I don't care how amazing the lunch specials are at this eatery, it's not worth hanging out with a crummier, stressed-out, slacks-wearing version of the dude you kicked it with last Saturday night. Save the dates for nighttime, where they belong. Just say no to lunch dating!

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Dear Shmitten Kitten: Spring Sprang Sprung

Dear Shmitten Kitten,

Is Mercury in retrograde or something? It seems like everyone I know is going through some intense drama all of a sudden. Couples are breaking up, friends are losing their jobs left and right; everyone just seems on edge. What's the deal?

Signed,
Sprung by Spring

Dear Sprung by Spring,

Man, we hear ya! March came through like a wrecking ball. As the temperature rises, the nuttiness turns up to 11. It's like those old skool Bonkers commercials where a huge fruit-shaped object crashes through your roof and lands on your sofa except instead of a giant strawberry mucking up the flow, it's people bumming out our loved ones.

Our advice: roll with it. Spring fever is hitting hard so do some crazy stuff yourself. As long as you don't throw a drink or a punch, you're good. Switch it up a bit. Get a haircut. Hang out in new places. Make new friends. Flirt with the hot guy you always see at the cafe who totally has a girlfriend. Toss out some negs to the cute guy at the Mac store. Make it count! Besides, come summer barbecue time, you'll be relaxing poolside with buddies, margs and (veggie) burgers. There's a light at the end of the tunnel and it's called Memorial Day Weekend.

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This Week: Movie Mayhem

Besides going out for dinner, going to the movies is one of the basic building blocks of a date. If dating were the Periodic Table, going to see a movie would be hydrogen (that's a science joke for all you nerrrds out there.) So, you're in the dark snuggled up in a comfortable seat with a dude; what could go wrong?

Well, a lot of things apparently. This week we will talk about all the ways a movie date can go south. Whether it's the choice of film, the awkwardness of sitting next to a relative stranger for roughly two hours, or an unfortunate popcorn-related accident, there's plenty of room for movie dates to quickly transform into horror stories.

Can you relate? Drop us a line to hi@shmittenkitten.com and tell us your movie mayhem story. Pass the popcorn!

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Movie Mayhem: I was That Dude

We received this reader submission from Danny. Apparently, he's been on the other side of the movie date coin. See?

I've been reading these stories of bad movie dates and laughing until I remembered that I've been that dude. There was this one time in high school when I asked a girl to the movies and she, surprisingly, said yes. Years later, I learned it was a pity date; a mutual friend convinced her to go with me. [Ed. note: Insert "awww!" here.]

My mom drove. We picked her up and found out she'd be bringing a mutual friend along for support. Strike one: this date wouldn't be going smoothly. We got dropped off at the theater and I hadn't planned well--or, at all really--so I picked whatever movie started the soonest. I paid for her ticket thinking I was being gentlemanly, but she offered to pay me back. Strike two.

We walked into The Scorpion King five minutes late. I didn't even buy popcorn and we sat in the second row in front of her ex-boyfriend. My "date" leaned over towards her friend the whole time. Strike three. It was the worst movie I've ever seen and that says a lot because I think The Rock is a generally likeable guy.

The friend's mom drove us home. There was an awkward, and probably unwarranted, hug in the backseat when I got dropped off. We hung out after because we had the same friends, but we never talked about that date again. On the happier side, I ended up dating the mutual friend later and did bring her to the movies without it going terribly awkward.

Oh man, that does sound truly torturous, although I'm pretty sure this all has happened in a Saved By The Bell episode. I'm pleased to hear that you've bounced back. I'm sure now you pick out a certain movie, coordinate the time, and even buy her popcorn. The more you know!

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Movie Mayhem: Watch At Your Own Risk

Nothing's worse than spoiling the mood with an intensely inappropriately flick. May we humbly suggest that you stay away from these films if you'd like to keep the romance alive:

• War documentaries, especially about the Iraq War and its subsequent mismanagement.
• For that matter, any of Michael Moore's films.
• An Inconvenient Truth. Global environmental crises are a bummer. The only thing that rises in the film is the dolly Al Gore uses to demonstrate our skyrocketing carbon dioxide levels.
  
• New skool Star Wars movies. Just say no to Jar Jar!
• Any movie where an NBA star interacts with animated characters *cough, Space Jam, cough*
• Rambo/Rocky movies. Really, anything with Sylvester Stallone. Gross-a-loss.
  
• Movies that involve a psycho girl: Single White Female, The Hand That Rocks The Cradle, Monster, etc.
  
• Blazing Saddles. I still haven't seen this, much to many boys' chagrins. I probably never will just to spite them.
  
• Closer. A movie about deceptive, cheating couples? Don't do it!
• Complicated, plot-driven television shows on DVD. For example, it's really hard to get sexxxy to the 1st season of The Wire.
  
• Anything with Jean Claude Van Damme/ Steven Segal/ Chuck Norris. I don't care how rad that high kick is. Snore!
  

What movies would you suggest couples on a date should stay away from?

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Movie Mayhem: Rings And Necklaces

Movie dates can be a sweet intro into dating when you are young, but what if the whole date is a surprise?

I thought nothing of it when my friend John asked me to the movies. With only a driver's permit in my purse, my mom dropped me off at the movie theater, where I unknowingly waltzed into my very first date. I saw my friend John sitting at a table near the snack counter, alone. He wore a pea coat and nice shoes. He said that he already bought tickets and that no other friends were joining us for the movie. Wait, what?

In well-concealed confusion, I went to buy some snacks and realized--duh!--John had invited me out on a date. As a junior in high school, I felt genuine panic, mostly because I didn't know what to do on a date! Stranded at The Regal with a large popcorn tub in my hands, I considered the situation.

When I got back to our seats, he handed me a small gift box: a souvenir from his family vacation. Wrapped in Disney paper, I was expecting a key chain or some other reasonably priced souvenir. Instead, cradled in tissue paper, I found a silver necklace with a heart and a Tinkerbell charm dangling from it.

This shouldn't have been complicated, but being a teenage Bridget Jones, it naturally was. Aside from feeling awkward by receiving a gift on a date I didn't realize I was going on, I happened to have one of the worst topical allergies to metal my doctor has ever seen. I practically break out with terrible eczema just looking at jewelry. Despite the obvious consequences, I slipped the necklace on and said thank you.

My teenage Romeo wanted to hold my hand for the entire movie. And in case you live under a rock and didn't know, The Lord of the Rings movie is three hours long. Frodo & co. were boring me so much that I couldn't move and my hand fell asleep in his. Instead of fluttery emotion, all I was feeling were pins and needles. The hand holding also foiled my plan to remove Tinkerbell from my increasingly itchy neck.

I finally excused myself, shaking my numb hand the whole way. I bolted to the bathroom, leaned into the mirror and discovered a bright red rash developing around my neck. I put the necklace in my pocket, then I called my mom to pick me up as I wrapped my scarf around me to conceal the growing rash. When the movie was over, I thanked John, told him I'd talk to him soon and dashed for my mother's car. We did talk later that evening, but our teenage romance wasn't going to develop past playing SNES on the weekends. We never ever spoke of our super awkward movie date again.

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Movie Mayhem: Hunger Pangs, A Mood Ruiner

We received this reader submission from Attia. It's almost like an afterschool special about what NOT to do on a movie date:

I went to The Ritz with this incredibly hot guy who I had been in love with since forever. I decided to see Paris Je T'aime with him because I thought it would be the perfect date movie. Since I didn't want us to miss the movie, I made up a lie about not being hungry. In hindsight, that was a Bad Idea.

Throughout the film, my stomach made the strangest noises imaginable and I tried everything I could to cover them up. I was soooo embarrassed because everyone in the theater could hear 'em. I fidgeted in my seat and just felt really uncomfortable about it. Meanwhile, my "date" kept falling asleep during the film. After the movie, I wanted to crawl under one of the seats and die either from embarrassment or starvation, possibly both combined.

We awkwardly parted ways at the train. He called me the next day and told me how how much of a good time he didn't have. I lied and said that I was really depressed and that I wasn't really ready to "hang out" with him. I guess lying isn't my strong suit. It was a nightmare! I am really good friends with this guy now but I refuse to go on any solo dates with him in fear of my stomach doing back flips.

I'm not a professionally trained medical professional or anything, but it seems like eating a slice of 'za before the movie could've saved your entire relationship. Well, if a guy can't laugh at your growlin' tummy or at least offer to go grab you guys some popcorn, then he doesn't sound like much fun anyway. Down with growlin' tummy non-laughers and popcorn non-grabbers!

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Movie Mayhem: Those Rogue Kernels

We received this reader submission from Elizabeth about one of the diciest predicaments a girl could find herself in while on a movie date: getting popcorn stuck in your bra. Take it away, Elizabeth:

Ladies, ladies, ladies. Can I get a, "Hells, yeah!" from every lady who has sat in a darkened theater and accidentally dropped a kernel or two of popcorn and had it land in their cleavage? You know the spot, just under your cutest shirt's neckline, balancing precariously on your underwire. And can I get a, "What what!" from every lady who has had to reach into her shirt to remove the popcorn, if only to avoid letting the popcorn fall further down her shirt.

Now, how about a loud, enthusiastic, "OH EM GEE!" from every woman who has had to execute this while sitting next to her date. And of course, that date happened to look over at the exact moment your fingers emerge from inside of your shirt. And OF COURSE the look on your date's face is a mix of surprise, disgust, and intrigue. Ladies, we have all been there.

To the boys out there: stop looking at us like that. We did our best--we straightened our hair, took our time putting on eyeliner, selected The Perfect Outfit, only to sit IN THE DARK. You should be happy you're with a girl who has enough cojones (er, cojonas?) to pull that popcorn out of her bra and not spend the next hour shifting uncomfortably. Oh, and you should be delighted to be on a date with a girl down to earth enough to pop that popcorn into her mouth and continue to watch the movie. Clearly this girl is a seasoned film buff who isn't thrown off by a stray piece of popcorn. She's not missing a beat and I can guarantee the post-movie discussion will be insightful.

So stop staring and go back to watching the movie. She's going to have a lot to say afterward, and you don't want to blow the whole date because you can't keep up.

-Elizabeth Marley Eisenstein

There you have it! Chomp chomp.

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Movie Mayhem: Bubba Blues

This guy, let's call him Bubba, was one of the sweetest guys I knew. He had asked me out a few times over the years, but I always politely deferred. Well, this time when he asked me out to a movie, I said yes. I thought I'd throw him a dating bone. I mean, he called me on the telephone and asked me out on a date like a mature human being so I agreed. It seemed harmless enough, right?

Let's back up a bit. Bubba was a really big dude. Like, really big. He was in a popular local hardcore band, so he made the obese thing work for him with the "cargo shorts and tattoos" look. It is safe to say that he had a doughy physique, if you're pickin' up what I'm puttin' down. *collar tug*

On date night, he pulled up to my house in his a red pickup truck. I hopped in and off we went. He seemed really nervous which only made me more nervous. The movie I chose for us to see was Austin Powers II, which proved to be a terrible decision and not just because the movie was woefully unfunny.

At the theater, I remember him wedging himself into the seat. It was painful to watch. The poor guy looked like a loaf of bread stuffed into a matchbox.

Well, if you remember, one of the characters in the movie is named Fat Bastard. When he came on screen bellowing his catchphrase, "Get in my belly!" I wanted to straight up die. I felt terrible for Bubba. It was really hard to ignore their similarities. I was mortified! The more fat jokes Fat Bastard rattled off, the redder my face became. How could I have taken him to this terrible film? The poor guy! He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. I avoided all eye contact.

I prayed the entire ride home that he wouldn't try to kiss me. When he pulled up to my house, I sprang out of my seat, thanking him for picking me up as I bolted out the door. To this day, I feel terrible about this movie misstep. I'm sorry, Bubba! Yikes times ten.

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Tip Our Hats: Chubby Hipsters In Tight Jeans

Warning: the following post does not reflect the views of Shmitten Kitten as a whole. This is totally my deal.

I might be in the minority here, but I think these boys look goooood. For my birthday party this Friday, I want to have a roomful of chubby hipster-ish dudes in tight jeans. Like a pinball, I'll bounce between their bellies as I twirl around the dancefloor. If you have to suck in your stomach to zip up your Levi's, you're in like flynn. Extra credit will be awarded to those that have their keys dangling off a carabiner clipped to their belt loop. The line forms to the left, fellas.

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Tip Our Hats: Drunk Emoters

Honestly, we think it's really awesome that you cornered us at a party and gushed about how you've had a crush on us for years. It's freakin' great! I know you're slurring your words and you seem a little unsteady on your feet, but it's nice to hear how deep your love runs. You mean at that barbecue last summer you wanted to kiss me but were too nervous to make a move? You've wanted to ask me out for three years but convinced yourself to back off? We're like the Pink Ladies in Grease: tell me more, tell me more!

While you do the wake and cringe the next morning, we're waking up with a smile on our face knowing that you let your guard down for us, even if it took a six-pack of shitty beer and two shots of Jameson to make it happen.

So, Drunk Emoters, we tip our hats to you. We'll take your effusive compliments and tuck 'em away in our pocket for safekeeping. As a bonus, you just catapulted yourself from the rad guy we'd see around town every few weeks to someone we'd consider kickin' it with. Nice work!

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Bonerkiller: Guys Who Have Smelly Cars

If you thought guys with terrible smelling houses were bad, put that sucker on four wheels and try to control your gag reflex. When you open the passenger side door and get a whiff, it's like being bitchslapped by the angry ghost of a McNugget. His rusty chariot deathmobile smells like cat's breath mixed with a beer-stained, cigarette burned couch cushion.

The interior of his car looks like a crime scene: there are fries under the seat, stiff from fast food rigor mortis. Garbage is strewn everywhere and cracked cassette tapes line the floor. Empty Coke cans are jammed in every crevice. It's like the inside of a meth addict's brain in there. Yikes.

He knew that he was picking you up for a date. Couldn't he have at least cleared away the Big Mac wrappers and moldy coffee cups? Are you going on a date with Wesley Willis? Is he pulling a Jewel and living in his car? Is he morally opposed to air fresheners? What the eff?

Sorry, guys with crummy cars, but we cannot hang with you. We don't care how awesome your record collection is, how many friends you have that bartend and can hook us up with free drinks, or how well you can email us funny flickr photos while we are at work: your shitshow of an automobile is a bonerkiller.

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Raise Our Glasses: We Pound One Back With Fergal!

Tip your favorite small-batch, locally-made Porter; Beer Week is over. I know, sniff sniff. But, before we shut the spouts off, we wanted to blow Beer Week out with a bang. We got the chance to sit down with Fergal "Freakin' Beer God" Murray. Don't know who he is? Pull up a chair.

Hailing from Dublin, Ireland, Fergal Murray is the Brewmaster of Guinness beer. He's been brewing Guinness for more than 25 years. That's like 100 times longer than any relationship I've held down. And, he's got an Irish accent. Swooooon. Over a pint, Fergal talked with us about his supercool career as a brewer for Guinness and even gave us some insight into dating. This silver fox is a dude that Philly boys can learn a thing or two from.

For instance, Fergal explained that if a guy walks into a bar and sees three girls with different drinks, he could surmise the following: The wine drinker would be great to take out to dinner, but it ultimately wouldn't last. The vodka drinker would be great for one night only (we don't need to elaborate on the details of that), but a girl sippin' a pint of beer commands the room. According to him, she has "power" over men and can bring any guy to his knees. I don't know about that--I've ordered a stout many times and the boys were all still standin'and making goo-goo eyes at the nearby vodka drinker--but he does have a point about pints being sexy.

So once you've recovered from the aftermath of Philly Beer Week, be sure to raise a glass once more to your favorite brewer. *Gulp*

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Tip Our Hats: Guys That Can Complete A Crossword Puzzle In One Sitting

Watching this whiz kid go to town on the Times' crossword is a sight to behold. He barrels through it with ease, only stopping every tenth clue to work out a tricky one, which he figures out in about ten seconds. We just sit there, stunned at his skill. When he finishes, he reads the lame punchline to the puzzle's theme out loud to us with satisfaction. Is there anything this guy can't do?

It's even hotter when he fills it out in ink. That's some crossword cojones, right there. That level of recklessness is the normal dude's equivalent to doing a handstand on a moving van or getting a jokey tattoo on a prominent place on his body; it's just crazy to us!

So, guys who can compete a crossword puzzle in one sitting, we tip our hats to you. You're the samurai of the Sunday paper and that definitely blows our hair back. For serious.

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Tip Our Hats: Guys That Watch The British Office

It's always reassuring when you peruse his DVD collection and see this series on the shelf. It's a shorthand way of knowing that you've landed a winner, like if they have a girl best friend or do volunteer work in the community. As a bonus, they will understand and heartily laugh at the following references:

• Hat FM
• David Brent: Now you do not punish a girl, Dutch or otherwise, for having big boobs.
  Gareth: If anything they should be rewarded.
  David Brent: No, they should be equal.
• "You're a cock! You're a cock! You're a cock!"
• "Free love on the Freelove Freeway/ The lovin's free and the freeway's long."
• "Different frogs, different times."
• Is it 'Wank Me Off Before You Go-Go?'
• "Isn't Schindler's List a brilliant film?"
• 'Lee love Dawn, marriage?'
• Gareth Keenan Investigates
• Red Nose Day
• "I was thinking will there ever be a boy born who can swim faster then a shark?"

Really, we could go on batting quotes around but you get the point. Dudes who love the British Office, we tip our hats to you. Sure, the American version of the show has its merits, but the British version will always have a special place in our hearts (and so will the guys who enjoy it as much as we do.)

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Bonerkiller: Guys With Smelly Houses

Oh, this is the worst. When a dude's house smells horrible, it's off! There are a variety of categories for the bad smelling homes out there. Here they are, cataloged.

The first is the Soup Shack. If your house smells like soup that's not good, especially if it's a pea soup smell--or worse- a beef-barley kind of stench. Yuck. Any chance of us dating long-term just flew out the window. Buh-bye Chef Boyardee, I am flying the soup-coup and I won't be back.

The second category is the Animal House. It's bad enough when you walk into a dude's house and are greeted by a slobbery dog that won't stop trying to smell your crotch. If the house smells like wet poodle to boot, I'm out. Slobbery dogs are one thing, but if the entire house smells like dog breath, it's unsalvageable.

Even worse than dog smell is cat smell. I love those little furry dudes more than anyone, but if your house smells like cat pee, there's something seriously wrong with you and your feline. Would it kill you to change the litter box every now and then? Maybe then your cat would pee in there and not on your carpet. It's not rocket science, people.

The next category is the Rotten Row Home. This smell is hard to describe, but it's really just about stagnant air that reeks of BO and dust. It's so stuffy that I have to wonder is there's any oxygen left in the atmosphere. The smell is so old and gnar that I expect the Cryptkeeper to pop out of a casket at any time. I'd be like, "Who's this, your roommate?" Jeez.

The very last category is the Foodie Flat. If I can sense that you cooked salmon yesterday, we have a problem. If you let an old squash go bad on your counter and it still smells like Thanksgiving-gone-bad at Christmas, you need to invest in some Chlorox, STAT. I wish the Pine-Sol lady would magically appear in your house and give it a good scrub down. Guys who let their houses reek of rotten potatoes and crusty spaghetti sauce typically never clean their kitchen and I like to call them "crumb-bums" because they leave a trail of nasty crumbs and food splatter everywhere they eat.

If you enter a dude's house and smell any of the aforementioned odors, my advice is to back away slowly. If this is what his foyer smells like, imagine what's going on in his bedroom. Shudder. My guess would be a dingy mattress on the floor, piles of dirty laundry and an accompanying fart aroma lingering in the air. Too bad I won't stick around long enough to find out.

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Tip Our Hats: Neighborhotties

You're the cute boy we constantly run into as we run errands in the six-block radius around our apartment. We exchange coy smiles as we wait for the #48 bus in charged silence. We run into you at the local cafe when we make a quick coffee run before a job interview. And, we dodge you at CVS when we have our hair bunched up in a floppy ponytail as we stock up on maxi-pads and deeply discounted Valentine's day candy. Who are you?

Any attempts to interact with the Neighborhottie will backfire. Mark our words: he will disappoint you. He'll have a lisp, bad breath or nose-holdingly offensive body odor. He'll have some strange job that will render him instantly undateable, like he's participating in a sleep study at Penn four days a week and can only hang out Monday mornings. Or, he'll have a girlfriend and it will transform your awkward flirting into just plain old awkwardness. Treat the Neighborhottie like a baby panda at the zoo; appreciate the cuteness--stop and stare if you must--but resign yourself to the fact that it ain't comin' home with you.

However, we give you Neighborhotties out there props because running into you while we sprint to the corner mailbox to return our Netflix gives us an unexpected jolt (and makes us wish that we had swiped on some undereye concealer before we left the house.) We tip our hats to you for keeping us on our toes and reminding us that you never know what's around the corner.

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Tip Our Hats: Jukebox Heroes

A guy who knows his way around a jukebox is hot. We're not talking about those ridiculous digital ones where you have to search an online database and pay roughly a dollar a song. Those are lame. We're talkin' about those beat up push-button behemoths that you'll find in the better dive bars around the city. They are basically CD depositories that skew heavily towards '90s alternative and classic rock. You know the drill.

These guys flip through the reams of CD covers in deep concentration. Once they find the perfect song to play next, their eyes twinkle as they tap in the corresponding code. When they come back to your table, they're all smug, knowing that they programmed the perfect soundtrack for the next 23 minutes.

David Bowie, Prince, "Cheer" by the Descendants, INXS, Dinosaur Jr., Squeeze, Velvet Underground, The Cure, early Michael Jackson, Thin Lizzy, old skool Metallica, lesser-known Rolling Stones songs, "100%" by Sonic Youth, Bob Dylan, anything off Pet Sounds, and/or most of the songs on the Singles Soundtrack are all totally acceptable song choices.

Jukebox no-nos can include: Slayer, Moby, Slipknot, Eminem, Kid Rock, that "Sex and Candy" song, Right Said Fred, the Barbie Girl song, the "Macarena," "Mambo #5," Fatboy Slim, Blink-182, early No Doubt, Prodigy, new school Metallica, and anything off the "Now That's What I Call Music" compilations. Yuck.

The best part is when your favorite Pixies song comes on over the house stereo system and you share a smile over your Kenzinger. We tip our hats to you, jukebox heroes, for kickin' out the jams and kickstartin' our hearts.

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Bonerkiller: Guys That Buy Season Passes to Amusement Parks

It's one thing if you go to Six Flags as a one-off day trip because it's the first warm day of the year and your Coke can gave you $10 off the admission price, but guys who buy season passes to amusement parks are totally bonkers. Do they really enjoy standing in lines that much? Is the idea of winning a scratchy, shoddily made, over-sized stuffed animal that alluring to them? I guess eating terrible, overpriced food and mingling with the general public is a draw?

These baggy jorts-wearing Peter Pans live for the thrill of a two minute roller coaster ride, happily waiting over two hours in line for their turn. And, they get pumped when a ride involves a flume and splashes water on them. They genuinely get excited if a ride has a series of medical warnings before you board it. If you looked in their shitshow of a bedroom, you'd find at least two airbrushed t-shirts (which they wear down at the shore too) and a drawn caricature of them--framed!

The only plus side about these baby-men is that they have iron stomachs. They can jam on a funnel cake, a corn dog, wash it down with a frozen lemonade and ten seconds later, they're ready to ride the Great American Scream Machine. That's the name of an actual ride. We looked it up.

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Beer Week Blitz: Who's With Me?

Ales are in the air and suds are in our steins; Philly Beer Week is upon us and of course, we have some things to say about that. The whole shebang starts today and goes until March 15. Boasting over 600 sud-soaked events and with almost 30 brewers participating, it's a straight-up beer bonanza!

But, before you embark on your pub crawls with a troop of your best buds, keep an eye out for these beer bozos. Nothing can ruin a brewboner like these brewbusters. Man, I'm really having fun with these alliterations! Sorry 'bout that.

So, we're gonna talk about all the beer-related beer-tastrophes that we've encountered. Do you have any beer-related dating stories? Send 'em in to us at hi@shmittenkitten.com. Hey, the next round is on us.

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Beer Week Blitz: Cheerleader Beer - Half the Calories, Twice As Hard To Swallow

About a month after I left my ex, I decided to go dancing with some friends and a new gentleman caller. He had a full-time job, a car, manners and heck, he could even dance and not look like a complete tool. So, what made him go from beer hottie to beer nottie? Aside from issuing an unusual level of unwanted physical contact (hint: my best friend now refers to him as The Leg Toucher), the buzzkill came straight from the fridge in the form of 12 fluid ounces.

We were gettin' our dance on and I was ready to make my way over to the bar for something cold. The Leg Toucher, seeing me paw through my purse, intercepted, "I've got it. What do you want?"

Since the music was loud and hard to yell over, I mouthed, "Whatever you get!" and waved him to the bar. With a decent, reasonably-priced beer list 30 feet to my right, I really was not expecting a worse case scenario. This dude crashed the date--and deflated any potential future boners for him--via two bottles: two Miller High Life Lights for both of us. Homeboy seriously drank beers that are usually seen in the manicured hands of cheerleaders.

It never occurred to me that a Miller High Life could even have a lighter counterpart, as I thought it was a beer reserved for suburban barbecue parties at your uncle's house. High Life Light was never in my vocabulary before that evening and, despite my better judgment, I now know that it tastes exactly like seltzer water.

Oh poor Leg Toucher, you never had a chance. I wouldn't have cared that much if you had just said you weren't really into beer, but you failed to even humor me. Your surprising and awkward brew choice, in the newly proclaimed best beer city in America, was not sexy at all. I promptly texted my best friend that my date had managed to water down both the champagne of beers and my interest. Nice work!

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Beer Week Bonerkiller: Boys That Drink Crappy Beer

Nothing kills a she-boner like boys that drink crappy watery beer and have Budweiser/Miller paraphernalia all over their apartment like a freshman dorm room. We get it: you drink beer. But, this is the same stuff I used to drink in high school with friends after scoring a six-pack from my older brother, huddled in my parents' basement thinking we were badasses.

As people mature, their taste in beer should too. I recently took a guy to Monk's who commented on what a lame-o bar it was because they didn't serve Miller. "Well, what kind of beer do you like?" I asked. "You know, BEER," was his response. Groan.

He perused the menu grimacing, unsure of what to order. It was like watching a dyslexic eighth grader looking at an LSAT exam. Don't get me wrong, I have no issues with downing a PBR every once in a while at Bob and Barbara's. I can't afford to always drink beer that has more than 3.6% ABV, but when he ordered the "Chimney" beer after I suggested Chimay, any boner I may have had for this dude vanished quicker than a Milwaukee's Best in a fraternity chug line. Bottoms up.

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Raise Our Glasses: Philly Craft Brewers

As Philly Beer Week approaches, we can't help but raise our glasses to all the craft brewers who are descending upon Philadelphia. With so much going on, one might forget that some of the finest breweries are in our own backyards: Yards, SlyFox, Flying Fish, Victory, Philadelphia Brewing Co., as well as a slew of fantastic brew pubs. Craft brewers are the reason we don't have to down nine Coors Lites before we feel like shakin' our booties on the dance floor. Give me a Troegenator Double Bock and I'm good to go.

These beer chemists can work up to twelve hours a day perfecting a brew that tickles our tummies and gives us enough confidence to do just about anything; whether it's belting out our favorite song at karaoke or finally talking to that dude we've been crushing on (just try not to burp while whispering your phone number into his ear.) And, while we're nursing our hangovers well into the afternoon, these brewers are up at the crack of dawn, mixing and mashing their magical beer potions so that we can re-live the delicious experience all over again the next night.

We're more impressed with your encyclopedic knowledge about stouts and barley than stocks and bonds. So grab your drinking shoes and head out to any of the dozens of "Meet the Brewer" nights for Philly Beer Week. Pop a few Tylenol the next morning; you'll thank us.

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Beer Week Blitz: Busboy Love

I am a sucker, not for bartenders but for busboys! I was absolutely in love with one at this bar I used to frequent when I lived in Denver called The Giggling Grizzly, but we dubbed it The Sweaty Bear for reasons I'll leave unexplained. This kid was smokin' hot. I used to gulp down my drinks JUST so he would come fetch my glass. Do you think this means I want a subservient dude? He had some hot forearm tattoos and wore tees that fit juuust right.

One day I was at the mall when I heard the sweet sounds of an approaching skateboarder. It was him! We (mostly I) shared (with myself) a brief moment.

At the bar one night, I stepped to him with this gem of a pick-up line: "Hey, umm, my one friend thinks you look like you would have a girlfriend? Oh, you don't!? Well my OTHER friend thinks you look gay? Oh, you're not! Okay. Cool." Please note: absolutely NONE of my friends thought these things, they were standing behind me shaking their heads and laughing the whole time.

So, Denver's hottest busboy, are you still single and hetero? Can you clear and wipe down this table when you get a second? That'd be great. Just so you know, I still hold a little shot-glass-sized place for you in my heart.

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Dear Shmitten Kitten: Status Anxiety

This week, one of our readers writers in with a serious question. Let's take a look:

Dear Shmitten Kitten,
This is a weird question and I totally feel like a sixth grader for asking you this, but when is it ok to change my relationship status? I've been kickin' it with a dude for almost a month. We've decided not to see anyone else but we haven't gone ahead and made the public declaration about our commitment to each other.

Part of me thinks the whole thing is lame, but part of me wants to announce to the world that I have a man! I don't want to be a freak and change my status before he does. So, what's the answer? Do we have to do it simultaneously? I don't want to bring it up to him, but at the same time, I'm itching to click that button!

Signed,
Good to Go

Whoa, GTG. We hear ya. There's something reassuring about seeing your name in the newsfeed next to a heart icon announcing that you are in a relationship to your friends, acquaintances, and people you never liked but felt weird about hitting the "ignore" button on. Weeeee! It feels like you are on a technological love slide. That's a powerful rush, we know.

But, on the other hand, you don't want your dude to know that you care about those things. So, what's the answer? Write "Your Name is in a relationship with His Name" on a piece of paper. Get crafty. Put some glitter on it. Draw a heart or two; really doll this thing up. Once you have it looking all nice and pretty, mail it to yourself. Because really, no one gives a fuck about your budding beau like you do. There, I said it. Boom!

The only people who are going to care about this life update of yours are your mouth-breather exes and you know that this will prompt them to rummage around your profile like it were a sock drawer, hunting for info about your new suitor. Your best friends already know that you two are an item, so leave it at that for now. Besides, we all know that clicking the "single" button when it doesn't work out is one of the sharp pains of 21st century living. Spare your future self the discomfort. Your future self will thank you for it.

Have a question that's been keeping you up at night? Drop us a line at hi@shmittenkitten.com and we will take you seriously. Girl Scout's honor.

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