It's pretty much Gmail or bust over here in Shmitten Kittenville. If you use anything else for your personal email, we will judge you accordingly. Having a Gmail account means that you appreciate functional design and progressive technology. I'm not saying that we'll be a perfect match--and, we won't hesitate to block you on gchat if it doesn't work out--but, it's a promising start. When we see that you have a Gmail address, we let out a little sigh of relief, like maybe you won't show up to our first date wearing the dreaded blue-o duo: a bluetooth and a shiny blue button down shirt. Yesssssss!
I'm two greyhounds in and I think that this is a good idea. I might change my mind. But, in this post I will answer any questions you guys have. Anything (well, within reason and as long as it's not too vulgar.) Having trouble with your dude or lady and want some terrible advice that will probably backfire? Ask away! Want to know what shoe size I wear? It's a women's size 11.
I have no idea why you are being so intense about this. Yes, I saw The Hangover last week, but it was really funny and I think that'd you'd enjoy it. Honestly, I would like to see this movie with you and I want to watch it again. It'll be fine. *take a deep breath*
- Lalo Siffre - "I got"
- The Spits - "Let us play your party"
- The Who - "My Generation"
- Beastie Boys - "Hey Ladies"
- Jackson 5 - "I want you back"
- The Meters - "Chicken Strut"
- Fatback Band - "Funky Drummer"
- The Charlestons - "The only one I know"
- Loving Spoonful - "Summer in the city"
- Donovon - "Wear your love like heaven"
- Neil Young - "Mr. Soul"
- Stealers Wheel - "Stuck in the Middle"
- Co Real Artists - "What about you"
- Cajmere - "Percolator"
- Triangle - "Peut etre demain"
- Snuki Tat - "He's the groove"
- David Bowie - "Rebel rebel"
- Ronettes - "Be my Baby"
- Beatles - "8 days a week"
- Shadows of the night - "Shake"
- Commodores - "Keep on dancing"
- Rolling Stones - "Let's spend the night together"
- The Nerves - "Hanging on the telephone"
- Frankie Valli - The Night"
- Shawn Lee's Orchestra - Hey Ya"
- Belle and Sebastian - "Legal Man"
- Google Rene - "Smokie Joe's Lala"
- John Barry - "This is how you dance"
- Ballin Jack - "Found a Child"
- Loving Spoonful - "Summer in the City"
You just made us dinner, you're cracking us up with your A+ funny stories, but we're gonna have to pass on your offer to give us a massage. You know why? Because you are terrible at giving massages. In fact, you somehow manage to give the least relaxing massages we've ever had. Your "technique"--if that's what you want to call it--is basically to beat up our muscles with your fingers, one knead at a time. It's like you learned how to do this by just mimicking what you've seen on TV. And, for the record, these are yelps of pain, not relief. Who yelps when they are getting a massage? That should've been your first clue.
We find it endearing when you casually mention how you used to be a metalhead in middle school. When gently prodded, you'll even admit that you used to own a jean jacket that you'd sew patches on and scrawl the logos of all your favorite bands. Can we just say how THAT IS EFFN' AWESOME!
Have you ever run into the problem of accidentally getting the totally wrong impression of a guy? There was this dude I used to work with who I wrote off upon first glance. He was this big, muscular dude who wore a haircut and clothes that I constantly associate with douchebags (actually, I kind of still do). I used to groan every time I shared an elevator with the guy without ever getting to know him.Huh. We're sure that we've misjudged guys, but misjudging a potential buddy is very different than misjudging a potential romantic interest. For the most part, we know what we like. As they say, this pie--our attraction pie, that is--is baked.
About a year after we all got laid off, I ended up running into the guy at a barbecue across the street from my house of all places. After like half a beer with the guy, I realized he was this super nice, really smart, awesome guy. I missed out on having an awesome work buddy. I'm not sure how this relates to you, your blog, dating, or dudes, since this was a bromantic situation, but the story made me think of you and your site for some reason.
Signed,
Judge Reinhold
Maybe I can't believe that I can get free stuff just for being a girl, but there's something in my DNA that renders me incapable of turning down a free drink, even if I'm uninterested in a guy. It's like there's a disconnect between my brain and my id: my brain knows that if I accept the drink then I'm signaling interest to the drink-buyer. However, my id is on some kind of permanent spring break going, "Hell yeah! Woohoo! FREE DRINKS! Thanks, Guy." *gulp*
The first time I heard about the Smiths was when I was a 17 year-old snotty punk rocker. I was loitering with my crew when this French kid, Laurent, peddled up to us his on his bike. He was wearing a Smiths t-shirt. I asked who they were and he rolled his eyes. "Ze Smiths are pretty mutch ze best band EVAH," he explained, exasperated. I thought he was a condescending prick so I shot him daggers with my eyes. Little did I know that this band would come to influence my dating patterns as an adult. Now, I can say that my favorite dudes are all unabashedly huge Smiths fans.
I miss Northern girls in large coats. I miss seeing them on the snow-covered streets of Center City when it's 10 degrees out--and that's before factoring the windchill in. Watching you all bundled up in a flurry of scarves and gloves makes me understand how Dostoevsky became mentally unstable. I miss Northern girls who play lacrosse--the worst sport in the world--and major in subjects like economics, political science or journalism.Aaaand, now we know what exactly those brooding types at the corner cafe have been scribbling in their journals: love letters to us! There's so much love in here that they should print this out and display it in Love Park. Fellas, what else do you appreciate about Philly girls? Our ability to jam on water ice? How we can name at least three Phillies players if you ask us? How cute we look when we chant E-A-G-L-E-S? Let us know!
I live in the South now. It's not like I particularly cared about Northern girls before. My level of women-caring was pretty much equal to Axl's desire to release a new album between 1993 and 2008. Then, I moved to the South, and Axl released the--unsurprisingly--underwhelming "Chinese Democracy." I soon realized that even though I've never cared about girls one way or the other (it's not that I'm gay, rather that I think of girls kind of like how I think of The Yeah Yeah Yeah's, i.e. an inevitability one encounters but doesn't actively care about), I miss ones from above the Mason-Dixon Line.Now, I know what you're gonna say. "There are plenty of girls down there from above the Mason-Dixon. In fact, I'm pretty sure 1/4 of New Orleans are girls from the North who never moved home after they graduated from Tulane." Well yes, that's true. But they don't count. Northern girls are ambitious. They want to be successful. They dream of one day having a husband whose balls they own and they say "OMG," "Fabulous." And, for the record, it's hot as shit.
But the Northern girls down here? They all majored in liberal arts--which is a total fraud--since any self-respecting journalism, econ or poly sci major has read 3/4 of the assigned books, understood them better and probably hated half the ones they were supposed to "love." They debate things like whether or not they are being good people. They dance around and smoke Camel Lights when they're out at a bar. Which would be great, except well, they're not Northern girls.
They laugh. A lot. About anything. I don't hate laughter or dancing, but when someone laughs--especially if it's a female--it better be at a joke I made. See, the girls down here are the girls a guy pursues when he "wants to find himself" but realizes that ultimately, he's a moron.
So please, Philly girls, I'm pleading with you. Come down here! Bring your confidence. Bring your swagger. Bring your desire to be my boss and then use your powerful position to crush me. There are guys down here who worship what you are: smart, funny, sexy career-women who can drink Bourbon and talk about Hunter S. Thompson whilst wearing heels and a cocktail dress. Or maybe it's just me, the ultimate Yankee in the heart of the South. I miss ya'll.
Don't get us wrong, we are all for charity and we are fans of duvet covers, but, this cardboard bedding is making us puke in our mouths a little. As part of their mission to bring awareness to homelessness, a design company has produced these: "The Home Duvet lets you sleep under a cardboard box so a homeless person doesn't have to!" How about we aim for no one sleeping under cardboard boxes?
Totally! x a trillion. Well, if it makes you feel any better, this happens to us, like, once a week. A dude will campaign for our affection and once they get it, they quit the race. I'm punching a pillow right now just thinking about it.Is it bad to admit that the movie He's Just Not That Into You helped me come to a realization? A few weeks ago, I made the mistake of letting an acquaintance of mine come home with me, although he and his girlfriend had recently broken up. He poured it on thick, saying he'd had a thing for me for awhile, that I was beautiful, yada yada. Everything was great the next day, and we parted on good terms. We decided that in a few weeks we'd go to a movie together. He was busy until then, and I thought it'd be a good chance to give him time to sort out his post-girlfriend life.
Flash forward to the Thursday before our Sunday date. He emails to see if we can switch up our plans to Saturday dinner instead. I have other things on my calendar but I want to be open and so I say sure, and that I'd see him tonight at this show we would both were attending. So what happens at the show? We hadn't yet exchanged hellos but saw each other and did the whole smile and nod thing.
At one point during the show, I turned around and I saw him making out with some random girl. He was engaged in a full-on tongue lathering saliva fest. Even if he didn't see me and he's just "playing the field" now that he's single, as my friends suggested, that doesn't fly with me. I left the bar with my roommate, sent him a quick, "Hey, sorry I didn't see you until you were otherwise engaged" text and canceled our plans. I haven't heard from him since.
So how does HJNTIY come into this? Just like in that movie, my friends said that he didn't see me and that he probably still likes me. But you know what I say? I'm glad I saw that happen now instead of months down the road when I was emotionally invested. He's just not that into me, at least not enough, if he's making out with other girls in front of me. Right? Right.
But, WHAT IS UP with guys? Seriously, it's like I wasn't even considering him until he got me all worked up, just to knock me down. It would be one thing if I'd been the one chasing him but he was totally driving that train. Grrrrr.
Dude, we are the same way! We practically turn into C3PO once we find out that a guy is into us. "Error. Error. Does not compute." We walk and talk all stiff, like we are Johnny #5 on a first date. Totally!Here’s the problem: I never think guys are into me, so when I meet someone new it’s great because I’m completely myself, i.e. fun, relaxed, and normal. The second I realize they like me, I get so nervous that I become completely devoid of personality. I’m incredibly self-conscious. Normal human movements such as sitting, standing and walking become these awkward movements as if I’m doing them for the first time.
Then, over the coming days, I see them slowly lose interest in me because I’m not the person I was in the beginning when we first met. I literally feel like that scene in Amelie when Audrey Tautou's character melts into a puddle of water as the guy she’s in love with walks out of the café because she’s too shy to reveal her identity.
Oh man, that's too funny. We totally just had a mental image of your lips literally sinking the Love Boat. That'd be crazy, to say the least. What are you terrible at? Drop us a line at hi@shmittenkitten.com and share the shame.I AM THE WORSTTTT! The reason why I can't keep a date--let alone a boyfriend--is because I have the loosest lips that constantly sink my love boat. I end up telling guys all the weirdest and most off-the-wall shit about me way too soon. The weird thing is that I don't even need to be drunk.
I scare them off with my blabbering, whether it's about my 21 year-old sister's 40 year-old boyfriend, my random bulk text messages to everyone in my phonebook, my drunken stories of sleeping under couches, or just some weird shit that happened in boarding school. I don't know what it is, but I cannot keep my mouth shut for just a little while! I have crazy written all over me. What can I say? I am who I am!
Hey! My name is Bianca and since I have absolutely no filter from my brain to my fingers, here's an awkward sentence you won't know how to reply to! LOL. j/k. uh, BRB?
Ok, Maggie, your story is downright adorable. I'm happy for you two. It's like "Paradise by the Dashboard Light," except it's "Paradise by the Fluorescent Light." That's a Meatloaf joke, guys.I have a successful office romance story that's riddled with scandal. Actually it wasn't that scandalous, I just like to sound vixen-y every once in a while. When I was a senior at Temple, I scored an internship at a local PR firm. During my interview, I had to fill out this current events test to assure everyone that I read the news, which I did occasionally. Lucky for me, there was a cute and helpful junior account exec who didn't mind helping a cute girl cheat. He slid up next to me as I sat outside the boss' office and gave me some answers. I, being the dazzling intern that I was, gladly accepted the dishonest help.
When I returned to the firm on my first day as an official intern, I was secretly giddy to see him again. We soon became cubicle pals, and before long I was referring to him outside the office as my "work boyfriend." I bored my roommates with stories about how you-know-who walked past my desk five times today to go to the bathroom, even though I'm pretty sure he really didn't have to go to the bathroom each time.
One day, we all headed to A Bar Named Sue (RIP) for a coworker's birthday celebration. After some PBRs and a few too many mystery shots, the intern/employee line was drunkenly crossed. Fast forward through a few awkward work days, an eventual lunchroom conversation on "what happened the other night," and several knowing glances from fellow coworkers, and we officially became a couple.
Like a good, respectible intern, we waited until my program wrapped up before officially going public. It's been three years and we're still together! I guess love can be found deep within the florescent lighting and gray walls of Corporate America.
So we've established that we're terrible at several aspects of dating. Alright, let's be honest: We're terrible at pretty much every single aspect of it. That's not news.
The funky divas of En Vogue instructed me to, "Free [my] mind," promising that, "the rest will follow." I'm not sure if they were talking about my dating life, but they couldn't be further off the mark. I've accepted dozens of dates with the most outlandish suitors in a vain effort to keep an open mind and now I can freely admit that I am terrible at it.
I'm gonna throw this out there: I have 0% of a clue about how to handle calling a boy that I like. I call my guy friends all the time, but something about calling boys I wanna date terrifies me. As a result, I never call boys, even when I date them. I guess I'm afraid of coming off pushy so, I become the exact opposite of pushy. My cell phone bill statement can back me up on this.
1. 10:04am on a Tuesday is not my prime time for macking. I am terrible at cold-stepping under fluorescent lights. I get overly anxious, wondering if my eye makeup has smeared, if there's something in my teeth, or if, god forbid, I have coffee breath. What if he does? My attempt to flirt during the daytime is a shitshow. I act like every heroine in every indie movie ever made, i.e. I become socially inept and self-conscious. Yikes.
